Judge Manuel Real: A Complex Mosaic

United States District Judge Manuel L. Real was in his eighth of what would be 53 controversial years on the Central District bench when I first appeared in his dreaded courtroom. I had been warned; he was a force. In spite of the random "wheel" selection process, his courtroom seemed to be a magnet for my cases. A curse I thought.

Litigation in Judge Real's court was a ticket on a bullet train. When he hit the bench, he was all elbows: pushing, prodding and dominating lawyers, parties and process alike. Decisions were delivered whip-like. No explanation. No small talk. No B.S. He was fast; he was in charge. Sit down, say a pray, and shut up.

During my 21 years of federal practice, Judge Real and I never spoke a word to each other when he was off the bench. Realizing I was going to be constantly fighting with him in court, I avoided him out of court. He might have been "the nicest man off the bench," but I only knew him on the bench, looking the tiger in the tooth.

He was an enigma to me. Here I offer no conclusions, just a few pieces of the giant mosaic that was this fearless tiger:

William obsessively threatened a corporate executive over several years. The discovery was voluminous in several boxes. Over my pleas for a more reasonable trial date, Judge Real set the trial for two weeks.

That afternoon I prepared and hand-carried upstairs to the circuit an emergency writ to stay the trial date. Judge Shirley Hufstedler issued the writ. Back in his court the following morning, Judge Real raged at the circuit, "if they think they can run my court, they should come down and do it." I was a mere spectator.

Gregorio's drug case was one of three Judge Real had set for jury trial on the same day. His pattern. He questioned and we selected all three juries before lunch. Prior to Gregorio's jury selection, I had observed selection in the other two. Before beginning our selection, I addressed the court:

"I observed the court's questioning in the other two cases, and saw prospective jurors seemingly ejected from their seats to a standing position (no one told them to stand) by the speed of the court's voir dire. I respectfully ask you to slow down the questioning to allow jurors a moment before answering, if they need it."

Judge Real's response spared legalese, "Get outta here counsel, and sit down." His rapid questioning continued. He questioned all 12 initial jurors in 10 minutes!

Robert was dressed in a suit, tie and sunglasses. He entered a bank and threatened that he had a bomb in his briefcase. There was no bomb in the briefcase, but there was a police alarm in the bank. It was activated. Robert wanted money. He instead got arrested -- in the bank. He plead guilty.

Robert had no prior convictions, was a documented compulsive gambler, and Judge Real sentenced him to one of his split sentences (probation and up to six months in custody), which included his now famous informal private chambers conference with his probationers and their probation officers each 120 days.

Not enough time passed before Robert walked into a jewelry store near the Grand Central Market. His unloaded briefcase had been exchanged for an unloaded pistol. Again, Robert was arrested at the scene. The state judge sentenced Robert to a suspended prison sentence.

I had advised Robert that he could expect Judge Real to remand him to custody pending a violation hearing and he probably would be going to prison. When Judge Real did not remand, and ultimately continued Robert on probation under same terms and condition, it was not due to advocacy, but Judge Real being Judge Real.

Robert had been on the 120-day program. I never got called for another violation hearing for Robert or anyone else. In later years Judge Real was quietly and rightly proud of the success of his probationers and his 120-day conferences.

In the 90s I sought one of the open (33 of them) federal public defender positions around the country. All prior applications had failed. The District of Hawaii was my last one. The week before the interview, I received a letter from the 9th Circuit informing me of the names of the nomination committee, among which was "Honorable Manuel L. Real." The curse. Feeling sorry for myself, I wept.

Although I was not ultimately chosen by the circuit, curious about Judge Real's input in the nominating committee, I discreetly inquired. I was told that "in spite of our battles" he took a vigorous lead in supporting my ultimate nomination to the circuit. I was humbled. I hand wrote a note of thanks and apology to him. He called me, and we could not have had a warmer conversation. A first one in two decades.

Soon there were lunches, hugs and a friendship grew. He showed me his orchard, plants and harbor. One day he told me he loved me. I teared again. I realized I loved him, and told him so, silently sure that were I to appear again in his court, he would growl a short trial date, and brush off my protestations.

As the longest serving district judge, Judge Real, with his rocket docket, no doubt handled more cases than any other judge, and many will not recall him fondly, but there are those who will remember the judge who cared, believed in them, and told them so each 120 days. How special they must have felt.

When the bells toll in a week or so in a San Pedro church, John Donne's famous words may be whispered by all who by their presence bear witness, "No man is an island, entire of itself. Each is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.... Each man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.

Peace, Manny. 