There’s an old lawyer joke:
Many years ago, a junior partner in a firm was sent to a far-away state to represent a long-term client accused of robbery. After days of trial, the case was won, the client acquitted and released. Excited about his success, the attorney telegraphed the firm: “Justice prevailed.” The senior partner replied in haste: “Appeal immediately.”
It’s what we lawyers do, appeal. But this decision, like every other decision we make, should be subject to some small degree of thought and discretion. That message comes from Judge Stephan Reinhardt of 9th Circuit Court of Appeals in United States v. Beltran-Moreno, courtesy of Eugene Volokh.
After pleading guilty to a multiple-count indictment charging, inter alia, two independent firearms counts under 18 U.S.C. § 924(c), Jose and Abraham Beltran-Moreno benefited from the district court’s erroneous construction of that statute at sentencing. They should have quit while they were ahead.
Appellate counsel argued that the sentence was excessive. As a matter of law, the defendants sentence was below the mandatory minimum due to the requirement of consecutive sentences, and a lifetime below the guidelines. But they appealed anyway. As it turned out, no harm came of it because the government chose not to appeal the error and post-sentence caselaw precluded the court from increasing the sentence absent a government appeal. That was just lucky.
Ken at Popehat also posts about this decision, and provides a great story of his own to go along with it.
Counsel, do you know what Satchel Paige said?The title of this post is a line that Manny Real, a United States District Court judge in Los Angeles of some hard-earned infamy, likes to bark at lawyers before him. He’d utter it when a lawyer insisted on arguing a point when he or she had already won the issue. Judge Real was referring, of course, to Satchel Paige’s sage advice, “Don’t look back. Someone may be gaining on you.” This coy reference is intended to tell the lawyer to sit down and shut up and leave well enough alone. Few lawyers catch the reference; most stand there, terrified and gaping, until some merciful soul hisses to them that they’ve won and to shut up. Judge Real derives visible enjoyment from this process.
While it may be somewhat more difficult to realize when you’ve hit the point in argument where you’ve persuaded the judge to see things your way, most lawyers find if impossible to stop talking when there’s still air left in their lungs. The other side argues something, and they feel compelled to stand and confront it. Sometimes, the argument raised is foolish and unworthy of the court’s time, but it’s not always clear that the judge feels the same as he does, and so he goes on.
The problem in oral argument is that once you’ve won a point, more sound emitting from your mouth presents an increasingly strong potential to seize defeat from the jaws of victory. Yet lawyers just can’t let go. Even here, when someone raises a silly and obviously pointless argument in a comment, someone usually feels compelled to explain why the argument is ridiculous. I usually ignore it, as further argument gives it more credence than it had standing alone. Other people just can’t do it. They just can’t leave well enough alone.
But on appeal, as opposed to Ken’s Manny Real story, there is no excuse. The appellate counsel had all the time in the world to figure out, if it wasn’t obvious from the outset, that his argument was not merely a loser, but a killer. For his own client. Thus, pursuing it suggests two possibilities. One, the lawyer was glaringly incompetent. Two, the lawyer’s compulsion to pursue an appeal was an autonomic reaction, blinded from sound judgment. Either way, it was just plain foolish.
Ken points out that many clients will chose to pursue an appeal even when it could result in a crashing blow, as this case had the potential to do. He suggests that this might not be the fault of counsel, but the choice of the client. While he may be right about the client’s misbegotten choice, it’s critical to remember that the lawyer, not the client, is solely responsible for the tactics employed in his representation, the choice of arguments and the pursuit of any particular avenue of redress. The client may well have demanded the lawyer pursue this appeal, but the lawyer is solely at fault for having handed his responsibility over to the client. If the client refuses to accept the lawyer’s performance of his duty, then the lawyer’s responsibility is to move to be relieved. The lawyer does not get a free pass for being a bonehead at the client’s insistence. We are not merely a client’s mouthpiece, and we are not saved from our failings because “the client said so.”
Judge Reinhardt’s decision is a lesson to remind all of us to get a grip on that lawyer bone that makes us engage in the knee-jerk reactions to do what lawyers do. Sometimes, we are ahead of the game and need to say to ourselves and our clients, this is where it stops. Yes, we could appeal, but to do so is to invite further damage. Yes, we could argue more and address every silly point raised by our adversary, but to do so is to seize defeat from the jaws of victory.
We need to know when to stop trying to win. After all, now you know what Satchel Paige said. And Judge Reinhardt too.
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I would like to share the gentille 4th Circuit version of “Shut up, Counsel.”
I was a young Yankee lawyer who had saved time for rebuttal. However, my opponent AUSA was my own best argument, and the judges had to lecture her about the law. When I stood up for rebuttal, the presiding judge looked me in the eye and said, “Don’t feed oats to a dead horse.” I had to think about it for a few seconds, but said, “Thank you, Your Honor. I have nothing further unless you have questions.” I got the flicker of a smile from the bench and I sat down. My client’s conviction was reversed.
Great story. I have stood up for rebuttal a number of times, only to say the same.
There’s also the ever-popular judicial finger pointed at you with the bark “submitted, counsel?”
Even when you go first, I’d have to say that on appeal, usually the best oral argument is “I rest on my brief, do you have any questions?” 90% of the time the appeal is decided long before the oral argument anyway. Appeals are won on the briefs. Only very rarely does oral argument matter. Save the client some money and don’t do oral argument unless it is one of those rare times.
That’s a very dangerous misconception. While judges invariably have a good idea where they plan to come out prior to oral argument, that’s the opportunity to turn around those judges who would vote against you. No lawyer should pass up the opportunity to argue, answer the lingering questions and find a way to persuade those judges disinclined to see things your way. To fail to argue would be a grave injustice to your client. And there’s no additional fee for argument. It’s part of the deal.
Doesn’t the length of the sentence factor in here? Somehow?
Back to the last paragraph in Ken’s post, and fleshing out the hypothetical…
You have a client who is telling you, “I feel like there’s a 1% chance of getting a lower than 35 year sentence, and a much greater probablity that I end up the same or worse than I am now. I want my 1% shot.”
You then… what? What do you do?
Does your answer change if he’s currently got a 55 year sentence, but is likely to get higher?
Does it change if he’s 60 years old, and he (legitimately?) feels like the difference between 35 years and life is truly the same for him?
Even if you are convinced that there is a 0% chance, why not give the 60 year old a few years of hope? You’re not going to be able to convince everyone that they have a 0.00000000% chance of success on appeal?
I do not know the answers to these questions, but, I didn’t know it was a 35 year sentence until I clicked through to Popehat.
I’m not saying that changes the legal analysis, but it makes me understand why the client chose to appeal. Hope springs, and all that…
Hell, I might appeal if I were in some of those situations. Maybe the judges will all simoultaneously have brain aneurisms and accidently lower my sentence.
Ahhh. I see you didn’t read the decision. The defendant received a 35 year sentence. Aha, you say. Why not appeal? 35 years is forever!
But the mandatory minimum sentence was 40 years, so if 35 is bad, 40 is worse. But if the purpose is to limit the point to the facts of the particular case, then there’s not much reason for me to post about it as you can read the decision as well as me.
The point of the 1% option has more to do with the downside potential. If it’s 1% up and 99% down, then it’s a problem. You are right about there being a difference if the defendant is 60 and has no chance of getting out of prison alive. He then does whatever he can, because the 35 to 40 differential isn’t worse. He’s already dead either way, so no loss.
This is all about letting the lawyer taking his client from bad to worse. There are always odd factual scenarios where things will change the equation, but there’s a limit to how many tangential oddball situations we can cover in a blawg post. As far as I’m concerned, the rule works either way, with appropriate recognition that the rules changes when the facts change.
Well, if that is the case, I’d still say that the best argument is what I mentioned – I have even seen appellate judges explicitly state that they prefer it. One judge used to tell war stories about various appeals – I heard many a tale of how an lawyer who would win talked his way into losing. I never heard a single story about a lawyer losing turning it into a win by his or her oratory. As you said, best to shut up and take a win.
And I know for a fact that the opinions for over 85% of the cases on appeal in my state are pretty much written well in advance of oral argument.
Just curious: How do you know this?