A day in the life

Notice how people in the public eye, to borrow a phrase, are now revealing intimate details about their lives? Singers, actors, politicians, and athletes are spilling their innards with information concerning their frailties and imperfections. Food and drug addictions, sexual escapades, and mental breakdowns head the list. Such revelations seem to elevate status. To borrow another phrase, “go figure.”

If the opening paragraph has heightened your expectation that I… will… let me put it this way… I, like my colleagues, am on the outer boundary of a circumscribed public eye, that being the legal profession and journalists looking for a judicial mishap to publicize. Nevertheless, in the concluding paragraphs of this column, I intend to reveal one of my many flaws. The revelation will not be elevating, and I doubt will elicit much of a reaction other than “what else is new?” So why do it? At this moment, I wish to help others learn from my mistake and in this way maintain the standards of excellence demanded of all in the legal profession. “At this moment” means that as I draft this paragraph, that is my intention. I could change my mind by the time I get to the end of this column. If so, you will not be reading this paragraph.

In a related vein, and in the interest of revealing more of the quotidian life of a judge, me, off the bench, I offer a day in my life a week ago Sunday. My intention is to illustrate that, despite the awesome power I exert in my judicial role, I am an ordinary citizen, like you, dear reader, subject to the whims of an impersonal universe. (Note–previous sAentence is not intended in any manner, shape, or form to demean, denigrate, insult, mock, or criticize those with deep, or even superficial religious beliefs.)

Sunday morning ritual. 9 A.M. Barbara and I breakfast with friends at Café Vida. (Love using “breakfast” as a verb.) 9:48 A.M. Find a place to park. Barbara and I exit… whoops, I mean, get out of the car. (Sorry, I have read too many police reports.) We bring cloth bags with us to carry a variety of organic fruits, vegetables, and other organic food products we purchase at the outdoor market adjacent to and beyond Café Vida. 9:50 A.M. While hurrying to the restaurant to get a premium table before the restaurant officially opens at 9 A.M. (our friends are occasionally late–hope they don’t read this column), we see an object on the ground. What we saw completely changed my plans for the day.

It did not come to pass that later in the day I would sit outside under an umbrella in the backyard reading the Sunday papers, after which I hoped to finish an unusually difficult case that was driving me nuts.

There on the ground before us was… a money clip holding a driver’s license, numerous credit cards, and… money. What to do? Wait?... Hope that the unfortunate person whose personal possessions lay unprotected on the sidewalk would come looking for them? What about the table we hoped to secure? Leave the money clip there, secure the table, and hope that a good Samaritan will do the right thing? Pardon the cynical question I posed to myself, but just how many good Samaritans are there these days?

After an agonizing 15 seconds of indecision, I took the money clip with me to breakfast. We arrived at breakfast, met our friends, and ordered breakfast. It was then that I hit upon a brilliant idea. I will call one of the credit card companies, tell the operator the name of the person who lost his credit card, and the address where I am “breakfasting” He can come by and get his money clip, driver’s license, credit cards, and money, and maybe buy me a cup of coffee.

Good idea… right? Wrong! You know the drill. Wait on hold to finally get an operator who, if you can understand the person, will inform you that what you request is against company policy. “We cannot call the credit card holder.” You mean won’t. Oh well, I suppose we cannot be too careful these days.

By the way, the owner of the money clip is… let’s use initials, as we do with dependency cases to protect the privacy of litigants and their children. I will not use his true initials. Well, you understand, “we cannot be too careful these days.” How about the unimaginative A.Z.? What if readers of this column figure out who the unfortunate person is who is ruining my Sunday? They spread the news, and A.Z. sues me for publicizing his negligence. He is fired from his job as a security consultant for a major defense contractor and is unable to secure employment anywhere, including all fast-food restaurants.

After striking out with the credit card company, I contacted the supervisor of the outdoor market adjacent to the breakfast café. The supervisor looked at the license with A.Z.’s name and photo and could not identify him. Neither could anyone at any of the markets or establishments nearby. The clerk at Gelson’s told me I was a wonderful person. Oh… sorry, I neglected to inform you why I did not simply go to the address on the license and return the lost items. I wasn’t up to driving 50 miles on a warm Sunday afternoon. Even good guys have their limits.

So… I finally took the lost items to the nearest police station, seven miles away. It takes a while to endure beach traffic on a warm Sunday afternoon. The morning was shot. Before the arduous drive I thought it best to first call the police department. Try calling a police station on a nonemergency matter. You can always attend to other things while you wait on hold for a week or so. The police officer behind the desk at the West Los Angeles Community Police Department was warm, friendly, and professional. She took possession of the money clip and complimented me for being such a good citizen. If any criminal defense attorneys are reading this column, please rest assured, because of this pleasant encounter, I will show no favoritism for police officers in any criminal case I may decide.

Darn! I forgot to ask the pleasant police officer behind the desk whether she or the department will get A.Z.’s phone number from the Department of Motor Vehicles and call him. How else is he going to know his money clip is seven miles from where he lost it? I thought of calling the DMV on a nonemergency call. Short-term memory kicked in. Killing one day was enough. I am not waiting on hold for hours. I am not that nice of a guy. And like most of you, I have no access to DMV records.

So, I decided to write A.Z. a letter. I had copied his address from his license. Hope I didn’t break the law by doing so. I threw caution to the winds and wrote him. In my letter I described my efforts to reach him. So far, I have not heard from A.Z. Who should I blame–the mail delivery service? Maybe A.Z. moved and left no forwarding address. Maybe I will never know. Maybe it’s better that way. Life is so… unpredictable. So I guess that ends this column. Oh, that’s right. I promised to reveal one of my many shortcomings.

In last month’s column, I wrote about the apartment I lived in on Dwight Way in Berkeley where I attended law school. It was the beginning of the 1960’s before most of you were born. When the apartment was built, decades earlier, I suppose one could say it was raised. Soon after I graduated in 1963, the apartment was razed. Guess you know where I am heading. Never write a brief or opinion in a hurry under a deadline. O.K., columns too. So those of you who read my columns to find grammatical and spelling errors, you get a star. I meant to write “razed.” Keep pointing out these mishaps. I hear constructive criticism builds character.

By the way, student housing is about to be constructed on People’s Park, only 60 years later. I guess that’s because we are now friends with Vietnam.

A.I. did not write or participate in this column.

Postscript. Last Tuesday, June 25th, my dear friend and colleague, former Los Angeles Superior Court Judge David Rothman passed away. Our friendship began in Hollywood High School. His invaluable California Judicial Conduct Handbook reflects the civility and gentility of this remarkable person. He was a gifted painter, whose sensitivity permeated all aspects of his life. He was the ideal judge who set an example for all of us in the legal profession. Dave, you continue to make a difference.