Keep Dreaming
by Learned Ham
The scariest part of the Bar Journal is usually the Discipline Corner. There but for the grace of the Office of Professional Conduct go I. But this issue is different. There’s a letter to the editor asking the best way to wake a dozing judge. It’s one of the most frightening things I’ve ever seen in print (next to last year’s State of the Union Address and that picture in my high school yearbook). The terrifying thing about it is the idea that someone would seriously consider waking a sleeping judge. Letting a 17-year-old pack (or draft) my parachute – yes; climbing behind the wheel of a ’72 Vega and dropping in a Barry Manilow eight-track – in a heartbeat; but “Ahem, rise and shine, your honor…” Sleeping dogs, sleeping giants, sleeping babies, sleeping sickness, Sleeping Beauty, sleeping judges – all the same thing. Don’t go looking for trouble.
Why would you want to wake a judge? If your case is anything like most of mine, a catatonic judge is a dream come true. No one’s going to deny my groundless objections, and there’s less chance of being held in contempt. Lemons to lemonade, I always say. “I take it by your silence, your honor, that you do not object to a bail reduction.”
Has it occurred to you the court might not be asleep? Instead, your too-eloquent-for-words pronouncement of timeless legal truths has likely induced a deep meditative state (like Civil Procedure lectures in law school, remember?). Step back and let your words have their effect. Abandon your desire for instant gratification (especially if it’s an appellate court). The court will presently return from its transcendental realm, and will probably send the bailiff out for some stone tablets (and espresso) when it does. Justice can’t really be dispensed with open eyes anyway. That’s why the lady holding those scales is blindfolded. If there were any sand nearby, she’d be plunging her head into it. First rule of the bench: when you take something under advisement, a clear view is an obstruction.
Finally, empathize. Imagine yourself at home on the couch, watching Animal Planet while another Saturday floats past the window. You’ve seen one too many Jack Russells lose to the mechanical rabbit and you pick up the remote and take aim. But nothing happens. You press the button harder, because that always works. But this time it doesn’t. You replace the batteries, and it still doesn’t work. You walk over to the cable box and start punching buttons, but nothing happens. You bend down and try switching channels on the TV. No response. You have four options: (1) you can pull the plug on the TV; (2) you can leave the room; (3) you can sit there and watch Jack Russells until you go barkingly insane; or (4) you can sit there and watch Jack Russells until you fall blissfully asleep. Being a judge is a lot like that, except you don’t have the first two options. And as between options 3 and 4, well, it doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to make that pick. And decisions are what judges do for a living.
Still want to wake the judge? To quote from a recent prospectus: “Whoever gave you this idea is trying to take advantage of you. This is a terrible idea that will leave you broke, friendless, and unemployed. It will also result in serious personal injury and certain death. Bad things might happen, too. Do not stay the course. This is the point where even the most gullible summer associates turn and run like Hell.” (You can’t stick me with 10b-5 liability, at least not twice anyway.) If you’ve got your heart set on it, though, here are the tried and trues:
10. “Accidentally” knock a handy copy of Black’s Law Dictionary to the floor.
9. Politely inquire, in increasingly loud tones if necessary, “Your honor, might this be a good time for a break?”
8. Ask the bailiff to open a few windows, especially if it’s January.
7. Bump the microphone for that annoying “scratch, scratch, BOOOOM, scratch” effect.
6. Have an associate at counsel table sneeze or cough loudly each time the judge nods.
5. Wrestle opposing counsel to the floor, and then say, “Sorry, I thought the gun was real.”
4. Say something remotely interesting for a change. (I apologize; a very alert judge who enjoys a good cheap shot made me add that one.)
3. Start yodeling like Roy Rogers on quaaludes. After four or five seconds, swallow a couple of Tic Tacs and say “Sorry . . . Tourette’s.”
2. Calmly call the witness a lying scoundrel, and opposing counsel a bottom-feeding shoe clerk. When opposing counsel bellows out an objection, guess who gets in trouble?
1. “Thank you for your consideration. Does the court have any questions?” That has a frighteningly invigorating effect on the most comatose judge.
1. What a nice name, “Discipline Corner” – so cozy and snug. Bring me a warm mug of cocoa while I sit here and contemplate my disgraceful lapses. (If only they were lapses!) Say, it’s getting a little crowded here. Guess that just adds to the coziness. Would you put that ruler down, please?