Utah Bar Journal

I am willing to guess that few members of the bar today would recognize the name ‘Willis Ritter.’ He served as U.S. District Judge for the District of Utah from 1949 until his death in 1978, and was one of the most controversial public figures of his time. He was respected, feared, and vilified by friends and enemies alike.

Patricia Cowley never knew Ritter personally, but became interested in writing his biography. She began conducting interviews and researching his life and career. She even started drafting, but health problems prevented her from continuing, so she approached Parker Nielson and asked him to take over the project. He had tried cases before Judge Ritter, and they had been casual acquaintances outside the courtroom. He agreed, and started reviewing boxes of material representing years of Patricia Cowley’s work. A few more years of research and writing followed before the book was ready for publication.

Everyone who knew Willis Ritter has a few stories about the iron fist with which he ruled his courtroom. One example: the mail sorting room of the post office was in the basement of the old federal building at Fourth South and Main, and all the noise rattled up through the ductwork to a vent in the courtroom behind Ritter’s bench. One day Judge Ritter became annoyed by the constant buzzing and clattering of a freight elevator used by the postal workers. Announcing that “it sounded like a bowling alley,” he ordered the use of the elevator discontinued. When his order was ignored, he had the offending postal worker arrested. The noise continued despite the arrest, and each time the elevator rumbled into action, Ritter ordered another arrest. By the end of the day, he had 24 postal employees in custody.

Parker Nielson was kind enough to spend time with me discussing the book. He described appearing before the U.S. Supreme Court as “a piece of cake” compared to practicing in front of Ritter. Ritter used a “trailing” calendar. Litigators probably know exactly what that is, but for the benefit of lawyers like me who find a courtroom about as familiar as a corn maze, that means he would schedule several different trials to begin on the same date and time. He wanted to keep his courtroom busy. He didn’t want any down time from cases settling – as they always do – just before trial. The result was, of course, tremendous inconvenience to trial counsel, litigants, and witnesses. Counsel were well advised to stay close to the courtroom even when the case was far down the list, as Ritter was not above selecting juries and starting trials regardless of whether counsel were present. Yes, there were some remands for new trials. No, that did not change the judge’s behavior.

Ritter’s iron fist wasn’t reserved exclusively for the courtroom. These days, you don’t often read about a judge punching out the owner of a private club, or getting into table-pounding arguments with the staff at Lamb’s, or playing strip spin-the-bottle at Club Manhattan (and losing). Where have all the outrageous characters gone anyway? How did we all become so predictable and well-behaved?

Years ago, Gerry Spence came to our evidence class as a guest lecturer. He was supposed to talk about “the cross-examination of the expert witness.” He started off at the chalkboard drawing a picture (it looked like a broom handle with a noose on the end – he called it his “witness stick” but never quite got around to explaining it), and over his shoulder he muttered, “Expert witnesses. I hate the mothers.” Then he turned around, looked at us, and announced (after all these years this is not going to be verbatim, but it’s close), “This is the biggest bunch of #%@$*& rule-followers I’ve ever seen all together in one place in my life. You people like to think you’re so *^&%#$ original – nobody tells you what to do. Well you’re not fooling me. There’s nothing original about any of you. The only reason you’re here is because you’ve learned to play the system for all it’s worth.” Nothing more was said about expert witnesses or their cross-examination.

I know, it was a bit of an act, but there’s something to it. We all succeeded in college because we learned how to play the game by the rules. We went to law school to learn another game with even more rules. Because of that we make great committee members. But without those rules we struggle. Not the Ritters of the world – they thrive without rules. If they need one, they make it up. Whether that amounts to capricious activism or principled judgment is only a matter of perspective.

It would be a shame if Ritter were remembered as nothing more than a curmudgeon. He was also a serious jurist; and in many ways he was ahead of his time. As chief judge for the District of Utah, he handed down a bundle of controversial decisions. He ruled that Lake Powell had to be drained until water no longer encroached on the Rainbow Bridge National Monument. He ordered Salt Lake City to remove the Ten Commandments from the Metropolitan Hall of Justice. In a series of criminal cases he articulated the right to counsel and other rights of the accused that anticipated and very likely influenced subsequent rulings of the U.S. Supreme Court.

It is possible to argue with his decisions (he was no stranger to reversals from the 10th Circuit), but it would be unfair to dismiss them as arbitrary or politically motivated. He subscribed to the judicial philosophy of Oliver Wendell Holmes. He believed in the evolution of the common law to reflect the changing needs and values of the society. Like Holmes, he was no strict constructionist. He believed in a living constitution (a phrase which unfortunately has become practically “fighting words” in some quarters). He recognized that he was sacrificing a degree of stability and predictability in the interest of adaptability, but did so consciously because he thought it was worth the bargain.

As one might guess, he was a New Deal Democrat before ascending to the bench – not so rare a species in Utah then as one might imagine today. His nomination to the federal judiciary was at least in part attributable to his loyalty and efforts on behalf of the election campaigns of Senator Elbert Thomas. Thomas served as a U.S. Senator for the State of Utah from 1932 to 1950, and is an interesting figure in his own right – Google him sometime.

The account of Ritter’s confirmation hearings is fascinating. It was a pivotal event in his life – protracted and accusatory at the instigation of his enemies (of which there were more than a handful) – and can be described as either a spirited inquiry or a degrading witch hunt, depending on the point of view. One can’t help but wonder if the ability to withstand public humiliation is really the best way to measure judicial temperament.

Ritter’s enemies and critics very nearly derailed his nomination – but only very nearly. As Judge Ritter took his place on the federal bench, however, his personal life seemed to become more unsettled. He became increasingly lonely and bitter. It is not clear whether the contentious confirmation process triggered changes in his personality (although it’s easy to imagine that public attacks on one’s patriotism and marital fidelity might have that effect), or whether his less admirable traits simply intensified with age. As time wore on, however, he became vindictive, erratic, dictatorial, and at times just plain mean and uncouth.

He seemed to take refuge in his courtroom, where he was shielded and empowered by his constitutional independence. That independence undoubtedly made him a better judge – able to rule as he saw fit and let the chips fall where they may – but by giving full play to his autocratic inclinations, it did little to endear him to anyone.

He engaged in a long-running and petty feud with Judge Sherman Christensen, whose appointment Ritter took as a personal insult and threat. In Ritter’s mind, the District’s caseload did not warrant a second judge, and Christensen’s appointment was nothing more than a political attack on his independence by diluting his power. As the senior judge in the District – and therefore, the “chief judge” – he refused to share any of the administrative responsibilities of the District with his “little helper.” He made all the case assignments; he made all the court personnel decisions; and he refused even to meet with Judge Christensen. Not surprisingly, no case of any importance ever seemed to get assigned to the associate judge. An exasperated Judge Christensen appealed repeatedly to the Judicial Council, which eventually intervened and directed that case assignments be made by lottery. The lottery might not have been completely foolproof, however, as an uncanny statistical aberration continued to send all significant cases to Judge Ritter’s docket. Parker Nielson told me that he used the phrase “Chief Judge” on the cover of the book, rather than simply “Judge,” for a reason: he didn’t want Ritter rising from the grave to hold him in contempt. I sympathize.

Ritter gradually succumbed to an incurable melancholy. Wary of his random outbursts of rage, friends increasingly avoided his social invitations. He responded by drinking alone in his chambers, and often, late at night, had to be helped across the street by the custodial staff to the room at the Hotel Newhouse where he lived.

Ritter’s life story is not a happy one. When Willis was a teenager, his mother left his father, taking Willis’s sister and two younger brothers with her. Willis had little or no contact with his mother after that. Initially, he remained with his father, but his father apparently wasn’t up to the task, and Willis was soon taken in by foster parents. His father died a few years later. Willis emerged as a determined and brilliant young man, earning an LL.B. from the University of Chicago Law School, and an S.J.D. from Harvard Law School. He achieved a string of professional and political successes, but struggled with personal relationships. He had a sad marriage. He lost friends.

Adversity visits everyone. Whether and how we respond is the real story of our lives. The mystery and tragedy is why some people can’t or won’t. Parker Nielson and Patricia Cowley clearly admire Ritter’s intellect and judicial principles, but don’t hesitate to describe the flaws. The result is a kindly portrait, but not necessarily a glowing one, that memorializes a legendary Utah legal figure before he fades completely from public consciousness.