How I Spent Inauguration Day

I was in Pointe Coupee Parish on Inauguration Day. The courthouse in that rural venue is a squat concrete structure built by the WPA in 1939 and appears hunkered down on its square for the long haul, notwithstanding its quaint domed cupola. During Ike’s 2nd term, the clock on the courthouse cupola fetched up somehow and so --since Sputnik or thereabouts-- its been 10:05 on False River, the large oxbow lake upon which the courthouse faces. Inside, the corridors are wide with light rose hued terrazzo floors trimmed with dark green – highly polished. When you get there early—as I do—you can hear yourself making progress down the hall on those floors. The courthouse deputies there are all older men carrying coffee, many speaking to each other in French – shifting effortlessly back to English to chat with the interlopers. Some are black and some are white but none are young.

Judge Robin Free’s courtroom is on the 2nd floor and I’m set to try a petitory action there this morning – an action which will finally determine who actually and legally owns Lots 419 and 420 in Island Woods subdivision there in Pointe Coupee. This is “drywall lawyering,” I call it. It’s heavy work cutting, angling and lifting all the reams of paper required to establish title and you end up feeling dusty somehow. It’s not what I generally do, so it’s interesting. Plus, I really like my client, Len Greene, think he has the better title and I therefore plan to get the fella squatting on these lots labeled a trespasser and sent packing.

I like my Judge, too. I’ve known Robin since 1985 when he was a law clerk for another District Judge, Jack Marrioneaux, down in Iberville Parish. I defended a lady in Plaquemine, the Parish seat, who had been charged with embezzling money from the local gas company where she’d worked for 26 years. That trial took 2 weeks and so we’d gotten to know each other well then, finding ourselves bonding over several odd incidents occurring during the trial. Like what happened during voir dire. This was waaaaaay before TLC and, as a young lawyer, I had an ardent, competitive spirit in my heart toward the young ADA, Allen Myles, who I nicknamed “Bullet” because of his shaved, polished, bald, copper-brown pate. Early during the voir dire, I thought “Bullet” was making remarks which poisoned the entire venire, so I stopped the process and moved –and I have no idea where this came from-- that we conduct voir dire one sequestered juror at a time. No one else in the room, just us and the single juror. The flustered ADA—having never heard such a motion—didn’t really know what to say. Neither did I, but I said something. Judge Marrioneaux looked at his law clerk, Robin, who just shrugged. The Judge shrugged back and granted the motion after about 10 seconds of reflection. So, that’s the way we did it. It took 2 days. (We also bonded over another incident in the middle of trial where a juror told the Judge to get fucked, but that’s another story for another day. )

Judge Free and I bonded yet again in the Island Woods case he’s set to adjudicate today, too. We had an earlier hearing on who should have possession (an issue legally differentiated from ownership) of Lot 419 and we won. Given this, we promptly alleged the other fellow was encroaching on 419 from 420 and we had a survey and pictures which showed this. The other guy and his lawyer disagreed. I had the defendant on the stand, looking at my pictures showing some pretty blatant encroachment, when he said: “You know, if you’d look at MY pictures, you’d see I’m on my side of the line. They’re right here on my laptop.” He extracted his laptop from his satchel and fired it up. Judge Free and I watched as the screen lit up and he marched through the windows folders necessary to get to the pics, which appear in due course and we go through them, maneuvering the laptop onto the bench so Robin can see them clearly. Soon, Judge Free himself is scrolling through the pictures as we watch when suddenly—BANG—there’s a picture of a fat, naked dame holding a 16 ounce Bud Ice sitting on the defendant’s couch wearin’ not so much as a blush. Remaining clothed is really best for some people. A moment of silence ensues. “Oh….that’s just a friend,” says the defendant. “Mus’ be a pretty good frien’!” says the Judge, with his beautiful Cajun accent.

This sorta stuff seems to happen when I’m in front of Robin for some reason. When I left the courthouse after that hearing, I was walking to my car when I heard my name being called from amid the huge oak trees surrounding the courthouse: “Hey, Clary….Clary….” I peer through the trees to see Judge Free leaning out of an open 2nd story courthouse window, his robes fluttering in the breeze. “Well, hey, Judge, “ I say. He shakes his head at me slowly, a smile on his handsome face and we make eye contact for a moment or two. Then, he says: “Lord, Jim…are you ever gonna bring me a NORMAL case?” I allow as how I’ll try and he slips back into his chambers, shaking his head and chuckling as he slides his window down.

Anyway, it’s not a normal day today. It’s Inauguration Day, like I was sayin’. Barack Obama, our first African-American President, is being sworn in today. As I wait for my turn at bat, the morning advances laboriously through the packed docket. It will be some time before our starting gun goes off, so my client and I wander from Robin’s courtroom and across the hall to see that the double-doors to the Judges’ Conference Room are wide open. Judge Jim Best is in there. Some other folks are there, too – some black and some white. Some ladies and some men. All different ages, but a lot of older folks. They are all sitting and quietly watching a TV set up in there, which is usually used to view DWI field sobriety and attendant breath tests. Len and I wander in and join them, dragging in chairs from the corridor.

Senator Diane Feinstein is emceeing the Inauguration ritual. Joe Biden is sworn in. Then Feinstein says: “And now, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, John R. Roberts, Jr., will swear in Senator Barack Obama as President of the United States. Would you please stand?”

Judge Jim Best, his eyes riveted to the TV, slowly stands. The clerks stand. The deputies stand. Len and I stand. Everybody stands.

Nobody speaks.

Barack takes the oath, becoming President Obama before our eyes. We all remain quietly standing as we watch his Inaugural Address. When he’s done, and as the crowd on the TV reacts, everyone in the room—all unknown to me except Judge Best and my client—start shaking hands. I do too. There are tears in the eyes of some of the old African-American deputies, who struggle with their emotions, their Pointe Coupee Parish Sheriff’s Deputy caps crushed in their hands.

“Well,” Judge Best says, “Here we go.”

Indeed, sir.

Here we go, indeed.

And that was how I spent Inauguration Day.

J.R.