Goodbye to a Good Friend

UNDER SUBMISSION

In April of 1991, I wrote a goodbye column about my dear friend and colleague Justice Richard Abbe who had just retired from Division 6 of the 2nd District Court of Appeal. Richard, then-Presiding Justice Steve Stone and I had just returned from a study trip to Cuba. We, along with other judges, lawyers, journalists and physicians, had met with judges, administrators and government officials for a frank exchange of ideas.

One evening as our group was having a drink at La Bodeguita, the very place where Hemingway held court, drank and swore, we affectionately toasted Richard "Buena suerte, Viejo [Good luck, old man]," we shouted.

And someone said to me, "And why do you call him Viejo?"

I, feeling the resolute hand of Papa Hemingway on my shoulder, said, "It is good you ask this question because it is a good question, an honest question, and I say to you that Señor Abbe, he sees the world as joven [young], because in his heart he is joven, and that is why we call him Viejo because he is the opposite; he is joven. And so when we see Señor Juez Abbe, we think he is joven, but we say, 'Viejo,' and everyone laughs."

And now it is with a heavy heart that I must write another goodbye column to Richard, a remarkable person who died suddenly and quite unexpectedly on September 3, 2000, of a cerebral hemorrhage.

"Sui generis" is a good term to describe Richard. All you lawyers and pharmacists know that it is a Latin term that we misuse now and then. It means one of a kind, unique, having no equal, unparalleled.

Richard was a walking collection of contradictions. I was never quite sure whether he was a liberal conservative or a conservative liberal. In any event, he was highly respected by both groups. He was a former district attorney of Shasta County, who vigorously opposed the death penalty. He was the most charitable person one could ever meet, always ready to help the poor and the disadvantaged, extremely principled and moral yet not fond of organized religion. He was not sentimental but carried warm passionate feelings for his family and friends. He was extremely congenial and warm to his colleagues but took pride in his license plate, which bluntly stated DISSENT with unabashed candor. He had a gargantuan intellect and crisp dry wit that always found its mark, yet he was unassuming, down to earth and self-effacing.

Known for uncompromising integrity, unwavering fairness and fierce independence, he made his written legal opinions direct, well-reasoned and to the point.

"No need to ramble on," said Abbe. "It is really quite simple. Simply state the holding in simple language, then move on to the next case and do the same thing again."

Retired Presiding Justice Steven Stone called Richard a "hero, a fearless judge who exhibited both physical and intellectual prowess."

Through the hundreds of opinions he wrote, he brought distinction to the Court of Appeal and played a major role in shaping the law in California. For example, in Raytheon v. Fair Employment and Housing Comm'n, 212 Cal.App.3d 1242 (1989), he wrote that an employer may not discriminate against an employee with AIDS. In Hanson v. Department of Social Services, 193 Cal.App.3d 283 (1987), he wrote the decision requiring that the Department of Social Services provide emergency child care services to homeless families. In People v. Harbor Hut Restaurant, 147 Cal.App.3d 1151 (1983), he held that in order to protect our natural resources the Department of Fish and Game could periodically inspect commercial fishing establishments. Professor David Mellinkoff praised the opinion for simply stating that defendants asked the court to "suppress the fish." How refreshing, pardon the expression.

Richard, Steven and I were the first members of Division 6, created in 1982. Richard and I first met at our confirmation hearing before the Judicial Appointments Commission in December of that year.

This is one event where everyone wears a suit. I noticed that Richard's pants and jacket did not match. The fabric and the contrasting shades of gray were, well, sui generis.

"Nice outfit," I whispered in his ear.

"I accidentally grabbed the pants to the wrong suit," he said sheepishly.

He gave me a once-over and then said, "I guess now you don't feel so bad wearing brown socks with your blue suit."

Steve was wearing polyester pants. And so was born the dress-down dress code of Division 6. We became known as the think tank with tank tops.

Richard, an avid sportsman, was a runner, a hiker, a tennis player and a cyclist. Richard, Steve and I often rode our bicycles from Santa Barbara to Ventura. Once, Richard and I served as crew in a sailboat race at Lake Tahoe. That we did not place is not pertinent to the story. After the race, we anchored the sailboat offshore and with other members of the crew, dejectedly rowed to the dock in a small skiff, a small skimpy skiff. Once on the dock, Richard remembered he had left some provisions on the boat and asked me to row him back to retrieve them. It was cold and windy, and the sun was setting. Against my better judgment, I agreed and got back into the skiff. It promptly capsized, sending me sprawling, fully clothed, into the dark chilly waters of Lake Tahoe. When I reached the surface sputtering water, I saw Richard casually looking down at me from the dock. No doubt he was thinking of his dissent in the last case we had just filed.

"Arthur, you are as wet as your last opinion," he said, holding out a hand to help pull me out of the water.

Judges on the same court are often called brothers or sisters, even in the occasional case where they are not on speaking terms. Richard, Steve and I were as close as brothers could be. We have a special relationship that, despite death, endures. You could call it sui generis. I suppose that is why this goodbye is not final. There will always be that sparkle in viejo's eyes, like the sparkle of the sun on the sea. Viejo is forever joven.