Over the summer, I received two offers to write books. Yes, I felt very important and worthwhile, having people come to me and ask me to put my words of wisdom on paper for all the world to read. It was almost a Sally Fields moment.
Alas, I declined. The offers weren’t quite as financially rewarding as I would hope, to the tune of my essentially subsidizing the publishers for the time I would spend writing. It’s one thing to write because of restless fingers syndrome, and another to write because someone wants to make money off your efforts. Not that I have anything against making money. I am a capitalist through and through. But if someone is to make money off my efforts, I would prefer it be me.
But the financial issue wasn’t the primary reason for my turning the very kind offers down. The most basic reason is that I don’t know that I could have met the expectations of the books. I don’t doubt for a minute that I could have written enough tripe to satisfy the publishers, their only interest being that my efforts be sufficient to sell sheets of paper with writing on it to unsuspecting lawyers. It’s my own expectations that wouldn’t be met. Could I produce a writing that would be truly worthwhile?
One of the publishers sought a book along the lines of how to win criminal cases. There’s no answer to that question. The idea was absurd. How ridiculously arrogant would I be to pretend that I can craft a book telling other lawyers the secret to winning. The only thing I know is to work hard, and then work hard some more. What would I write on the next page?
There are so many people out there who want to be a guru, even if it means that they are only one chapter ahead of their disciples in the textbook. Then there are some really bad books out there, plainly meant to be read by the perpetually ignorant. The ego boost from having one’s name on a book, and being able to lay claim to being an author, must fill a gap in the lives of many lawyers, enough that they are willing to shove all good sense under the desk and whip out the old Selectric III. Do they ask themselves, do I really have anything to say that will help others to be better lawyers? Am I really so wonderful that I can tell other how to do it?
The word guru evokes a negative reaction in some people. It’s seen as a pejorative term, where someone unworthy holds themselves out as having the wherewithal to tell others what to do. There are a lot of people who do exactly that, but want to avoid the taint of being called guru. You can’t have it both ways. If you hold yourself out as having the answers that others need, then you hold yourself out as a guru. Whether you deserve to be a guru is another matter. I’m no one’s guru.
I just like to write. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to write a book. Poems maybe. Not Haiku though. Maybe someone will ask me to write a law book that I will feel comfortable about, competent to do. Maybe I’ll happen onto an idea that I feel is really worthwhile, where I can help others with some solid and sound advice. There are a few things that I think I know pretty well, and can offer some serious insight. I’m not that they are book-worthy, though they could fill a pamphlet without much problem.
I am flattered and appreciative of the offers to write books. But when and if I do, I also want to be proud of what I’ve done, and feel that I’m worthy of the honor to provide information to others. That time has yet to come. I’m still learning.
Monthly Archives: September 2009
Ugly Decisions of Meaningless Words
The other day, I received an email from a lawprof (yes, some of them do chat with me on occasion) about a decision in which he was involved that resulted in a huge win for the good guys. While still basking in the glow of the win, he expressed his disappointment in the decision itself, rambling and often incoherent. The view is often different from the inside.
My response, though he didn’t ask for my thoughts, was that we always dream of a brilliant decision, the kind that is cited forever with approval, but we take a win no matter how ugly. They just don’t come along with great frequency. An ugly win is a win nonetheless, and absent knowledge of all the specific facts and circumstances, the real details of the case, the wins don’t look so bad from the outside. It’s like having a case in the newspaper, where we know that they’ve got the facts all wrong, but if it works to our advantage, we take it anyway.
What’s curious about this is that those of us who read judicial opinions and try to figure out what impact they might have on our work spend such an inordinate amount of time trying to make sense of things that the insiders know makes no sense at all. This comes from a variation on the presumption of regularity, that judges aren’t all nuts, stupid, deceptive or manipulative. We presume that the facts recited are accurate, and that there’s a legitimate reason that they’ve reached whatever decision they’ve reached, without being openly cynical about it.
Then comes along an opinion like Judge Stephen Reinhardt’s, concurring in United States v. Hickey , via Mike at C, which blows the lid off of the secret world of make-believe of appellate courts. They’ve got a decision to make, and they aren’t going to let anything like reality stand in the way.
Who the heck are we kidding?
Now I enjoy doing appeals as much as the next guy. Crafting an argument, well cited with incisive quotations from esteemed judges that clearly present my arguments, fully grounded in firm law, can be very satisfying. And yet decisions come back that make me wonder if we’re talking about the same case. The facts of the case seem only vaguely familiar, and sometimes there are new facts according to the decision that can’t be found anywhere in the evidence. And then there is the black letter law that says “day”, and then the “but” conclusion that says “night”, happening so suddenly that I’ve risked whiplash trying to figure out how the decision got from here to there.
Am I naive when it comes to my own cases? Hardly. I’m every bit the skeptic you find here. But I can be a bit optimistic that this case, this decision, will be the one that reflects an honest and accurate application of law to fact. By fact, I mean what actually happened in the case, rather than a set of “facts” that exists only in the facile vision of a hell-bent judge. I feel quite fortunate to have had a fairly good number of sound decisions, both at the trial and appellate levels. But like all lawyers, I’ve had my share of Alice-in-Wonderland decisions that make my want to scream.
It would be easy to rationalize the bad ones, the incoherent ones, the painfully wrong ones, based on Judge Reinhardt’s brutally honest concurring opinion. Even paranoids have enemies, right? But to do so would be to give up all hope, and without hope we would stop striving to achieve the best we can for our clients. We need to pretend that there’s a chance that our next decision will be a great one, a monumental one, a decision that students of the law will be required to learn.
And yet, if we just get a win in an ugly, incoherent, rambling decisions, we’ll take it. If they want to use the word “slight” to mean “substantial”, at least let them do so in our favor. Trust me, it won’t happen often.
My response, though he didn’t ask for my thoughts, was that we always dream of a brilliant decision, the kind that is cited forever with approval, but we take a win no matter how ugly. They just don’t come along with great frequency. An ugly win is a win nonetheless, and absent knowledge of all the specific facts and circumstances, the real details of the case, the wins don’t look so bad from the outside. It’s like having a case in the newspaper, where we know that they’ve got the facts all wrong, but if it works to our advantage, we take it anyway.
What’s curious about this is that those of us who read judicial opinions and try to figure out what impact they might have on our work spend such an inordinate amount of time trying to make sense of things that the insiders know makes no sense at all. This comes from a variation on the presumption of regularity, that judges aren’t all nuts, stupid, deceptive or manipulative. We presume that the facts recited are accurate, and that there’s a legitimate reason that they’ve reached whatever decision they’ve reached, without being openly cynical about it.
Then comes along an opinion like Judge Stephen Reinhardt’s, concurring in United States v. Hickey , via Mike at C, which blows the lid off of the secret world of make-believe of appellate courts. They’ve got a decision to make, and they aren’t going to let anything like reality stand in the way.
I do not favor depriving words of all meaning simply in order to reach a desired legal result. Here, I see no reason, rational or otherwise, to treat the word “superseding” as meaning “not replacing,” as we have done before and as we do again here. An abundance of judicial creativity has been devoted to tasks like interpreting “another” to mean “the same”[fn2]; “slight” to mean “substantial” [fn3]; and “superseding” to mean “not superseding” [fn4]. I propose redirecting that creativity to better uses, such as finding terms that actually mean what they appear to mean. We could start by using “second indictment” or “first additional indictment” to describe an indictment that follows the original indictment, but does not “supersede” it. Were we to do so, we might earn more public trust and respect than we are accorded now. Any additional amount, no matter how slight, i.e. substantial, would be most welcome.Mike has all the details of the case, not to mention to footnote citations, in his post. My concern is more about the game played, the one where we parse appellate decisions for significance in their language and implications for the future. We can argue this stuff all day, as if they carefully crafted each phrase, each sentence, to convey something of lasting importance to the law.
Who the heck are we kidding?
Now I enjoy doing appeals as much as the next guy. Crafting an argument, well cited with incisive quotations from esteemed judges that clearly present my arguments, fully grounded in firm law, can be very satisfying. And yet decisions come back that make me wonder if we’re talking about the same case. The facts of the case seem only vaguely familiar, and sometimes there are new facts according to the decision that can’t be found anywhere in the evidence. And then there is the black letter law that says “day”, and then the “but” conclusion that says “night”, happening so suddenly that I’ve risked whiplash trying to figure out how the decision got from here to there.
Am I naive when it comes to my own cases? Hardly. I’m every bit the skeptic you find here. But I can be a bit optimistic that this case, this decision, will be the one that reflects an honest and accurate application of law to fact. By fact, I mean what actually happened in the case, rather than a set of “facts” that exists only in the facile vision of a hell-bent judge. I feel quite fortunate to have had a fairly good number of sound decisions, both at the trial and appellate levels. But like all lawyers, I’ve had my share of Alice-in-Wonderland decisions that make my want to scream.
It would be easy to rationalize the bad ones, the incoherent ones, the painfully wrong ones, based on Judge Reinhardt’s brutally honest concurring opinion. Even paranoids have enemies, right? But to do so would be to give up all hope, and without hope we would stop striving to achieve the best we can for our clients. We need to pretend that there’s a chance that our next decision will be a great one, a monumental one, a decision that students of the law will be required to learn.
And yet, if we just get a win in an ugly, incoherent, rambling decisions, we’ll take it. If they want to use the word “slight” to mean “substantial”, at least let them do so in our favor. Trust me, it won’t happen often.
Playing Find The Expert
I haven’t always been kind to those who offer 10 rules for success. Naturally, this hasn’t endeared me to the cadre of folks who profess to tell others how to deal with such novelty items as blogs and twitter, seeing each new medium as either the path to great riches (for them) or the absolutely, positively, definitely future of the law. Call me a curmudgeon, or prickly for that matter, but everybody bought 8-track tapes and leisure suits once.
It’s gratifying, therefore, to find others joining the chorus of skepticism. At The Inquisitor, Duncan Riley questions whether a trust crisis is coming to social media experts:
But the most disturbing issue of trust is the dirty little secret underlying one’s social media existence. It’s not necessarily real. So many have reinvented themselves online, creating their carefully crafted personas, that the lawyer first coming into the blawgosphere wouldn’t have a clue who is worthy of trust and who is an unmitigated liar. And make no mistake, there are unmitigated liars out there. It just takes a while to figure out who they are.
Lawyers, like most people who enjoy meals, need to earn a living. While I’m not exactly convinced that the internet is the future of lawyer marketing, or that it’s really a very good way to find much of anyone whose services one wishes to retain, it’s undeniable that many lawyers have, and many more will, seek to use the internet as a primary means of communicating their existence to the world. My bet is that the more lawyers tout themselves online, the more likely the media will topple over from the sheer weight of it all. Every lawyer can’t be the most loving, the most aggressive, the biggest, baddest, smartest, meanest lawyer around.
But in the interim, while the media mature and the laggards in the law feel compelled to catch up to the early adapters, the social media experts will be there to teach them how to ramp up overnight and achieve success beyond their wildest dreams. Riley’s explanation of why this presents a trust crisis spells it out pretty well. The joke that every person with a blog or more than 12 twitter followers is a social media expert is no joke at all.
To the newcomer, they seem to know so much, be so savvy. The newbie, fearful that new technology has passed him by, is desperate to catch up and not be the only kid on the block who doesn’t twit. They turn to the person with what appears to be the shiniest credentials, never realizing that there’s no one behind the curtain. As those of us who have observed this happening for a while have come to realize, there are plenty of curtains out there, but not too many folks who have accomplished enough for themselves to have anything to offer anyone else. But that hasn’t stopped anyone from proclaiming themselves to be a social media expert. Trust is the first casualty of technology.
I disagree with Riley in only one respect. The crisis isn’t coming. It’s here.
It’s gratifying, therefore, to find others joining the chorus of skepticism. At The Inquisitor, Duncan Riley questions whether a trust crisis is coming to social media experts:
The label social media expert is being used by all and sundry just because they have used Twitter, or started a blog, or at the extreme, have a Facebook account. It’s not a title I’ve ever applied to myself, although it has been applied to me on occasion. I’m probably qualified to use it given my experience, but I have no particular interest in being a “social media expert.” I’d rather use my skills to build something quantifiable that doesn’t involve me telling others at every opportunity that I have some idea about what I’m doing.There’s something deeply troubling about people who have placed the mantle of expert around their own shoulders, and then offer themselves to others (for a fee). Twitter is lousy with social media experts for lawyers, my primary focus, all available for speaking engagements. The blawgosphere is replete with blawgers telling others how to successfully blawg. And yet I’ve never heard of half of them and can’t help but wonder how someone who has yet to achieve success deigns to tell others how to do it.
The problem here is that in many cases the implied trust is flawed: the audience expects to hear true experts, but that trust only extends as far as the audience’s knowledge level; once you get more knowledgeable audiences, those not really qualified to talk will be caught out. As a fundamental, that has to undermine trust, and once that stretches out across many, the whole sector suffers a trust crisis that even those qualified may be caught up by.
But the most disturbing issue of trust is the dirty little secret underlying one’s social media existence. It’s not necessarily real. So many have reinvented themselves online, creating their carefully crafted personas, that the lawyer first coming into the blawgosphere wouldn’t have a clue who is worthy of trust and who is an unmitigated liar. And make no mistake, there are unmitigated liars out there. It just takes a while to figure out who they are.
Lawyers, like most people who enjoy meals, need to earn a living. While I’m not exactly convinced that the internet is the future of lawyer marketing, or that it’s really a very good way to find much of anyone whose services one wishes to retain, it’s undeniable that many lawyers have, and many more will, seek to use the internet as a primary means of communicating their existence to the world. My bet is that the more lawyers tout themselves online, the more likely the media will topple over from the sheer weight of it all. Every lawyer can’t be the most loving, the most aggressive, the biggest, baddest, smartest, meanest lawyer around.
But in the interim, while the media mature and the laggards in the law feel compelled to catch up to the early adapters, the social media experts will be there to teach them how to ramp up overnight and achieve success beyond their wildest dreams. Riley’s explanation of why this presents a trust crisis spells it out pretty well. The joke that every person with a blog or more than 12 twitter followers is a social media expert is no joke at all.
To the newcomer, they seem to know so much, be so savvy. The newbie, fearful that new technology has passed him by, is desperate to catch up and not be the only kid on the block who doesn’t twit. They turn to the person with what appears to be the shiniest credentials, never realizing that there’s no one behind the curtain. As those of us who have observed this happening for a while have come to realize, there are plenty of curtains out there, but not too many folks who have accomplished enough for themselves to have anything to offer anyone else. But that hasn’t stopped anyone from proclaiming themselves to be a social media expert. Trust is the first casualty of technology.
I disagree with Riley in only one respect. The crisis isn’t coming. It’s here.
ABA to Prosecutors: Stop Being Unethical Scum
While I was AWOL, Scott at Grits for Breakfast picked up on a post by Alexandra Natapoff at Snitching Blog about a new ABA opinion requiring prosecutors “make timely disclosure to the defense of all evidence or information known to the prosecutor that tends to negate the guilt of the accused or mitigates the offense.”
Alexandra explains the opinion:
Let’s begin at the mothership, Brady v. Maryland, the case that likely gave rise to more guffaws within the Supreme Court’s sanctum sanctorum than any other since Plessy v. Ferguson. Brady is filled with so many sweet words that it could give a criminal defense lawyer cavities, but it’s a right without a remedy. It leaves the fox in charge of the chicken coop, the prosecutor being the initial arbiter of what must be disclosed and, worse still, when to do so. After the verdict has proven to be a convenient time for many prosecutors, which likely is decided after the celebratory beer blast following the sound of “guilty”.
As Brady has been one of the most painful jokes the law has to offer, so too is the ABA’s belated chorus of Kumbaya. Aside from the fact that the ABA’s opinion carries slightly less weight than the hot air of its debates, it’s nothing more than amusing given that the Supremes feel compelled to undermine even the non-practicing theory of Brady by issuing decisions like Van de Kamp v. Goldstein, absolving prosecutors of responsibility even in the oddball circumstance of Brady non-disclosure coming to light.
However, Alexandra’s point that this opinion reflects a growing recognition that this is a very real problem, and has disastrously bad consequences, is well taken. That the ABA not only recognizes the need for change and sees the extant law as inadequate and going in the wrong direction, perhaps it will eventually have an influence on either courts or legislatures who are considering the issue. Of course, it’s unclear that legislators are worried about the problem, given how their attention is largely focused on getting re-elected. Nonetheless, it’s certainly better that the ABA comes out in favor of supporting disclosure of Brady and extending it to the point where it might actually serve its promise.
The relative silence on this opinion isn’t so much a reflection of the lack of interest on the part of criminal defense lawyers, but our not wanting to be the butt of yet another lawyer joke. This is no laughing matter, and it should be appreciated that the ABA, toothless tiger though it may be, put in the time and effort to take a stand on this critical issue.
It’s just that we’ve all lived through the promise of Brady, and again with Kyles v. Whitley , only to be reminded case after case that it’s an empty promise. We don’t want to have our hearts broken again.
Alexandra explains the opinion:
The opinion interprets this ethical mandate very broadly: it is more demanding than constitutional Brady disclosure requirements; it covers all information favorable to the defense, not just evidence; it is up to the defense, not the prosecution, to evaluate the utility of the information; the government must disclose information as soon as is reasonably practical, and the defendant cannot waive these rights or absolve the prosecutor of her disclosure duties.Anybody got a beef with this? I didn’t think so. So why hasn’t this opinion been smeared across every criminal law blog throughout the blawgosphere? Why have the lawprofs not expounded in pedagogical fashion about the scope and breadth, not to mention ethical implications, of this rule. Why are we not dancing in the streets?
Let’s begin at the mothership, Brady v. Maryland, the case that likely gave rise to more guffaws within the Supreme Court’s sanctum sanctorum than any other since Plessy v. Ferguson. Brady is filled with so many sweet words that it could give a criminal defense lawyer cavities, but it’s a right without a remedy. It leaves the fox in charge of the chicken coop, the prosecutor being the initial arbiter of what must be disclosed and, worse still, when to do so. After the verdict has proven to be a convenient time for many prosecutors, which likely is decided after the celebratory beer blast following the sound of “guilty”.
As Brady has been one of the most painful jokes the law has to offer, so too is the ABA’s belated chorus of Kumbaya. Aside from the fact that the ABA’s opinion carries slightly less weight than the hot air of its debates, it’s nothing more than amusing given that the Supremes feel compelled to undermine even the non-practicing theory of Brady by issuing decisions like Van de Kamp v. Goldstein, absolving prosecutors of responsibility even in the oddball circumstance of Brady non-disclosure coming to light.
However, Alexandra’s point that this opinion reflects a growing recognition that this is a very real problem, and has disastrously bad consequences, is well taken. That the ABA not only recognizes the need for change and sees the extant law as inadequate and going in the wrong direction, perhaps it will eventually have an influence on either courts or legislatures who are considering the issue. Of course, it’s unclear that legislators are worried about the problem, given how their attention is largely focused on getting re-elected. Nonetheless, it’s certainly better that the ABA comes out in favor of supporting disclosure of Brady and extending it to the point where it might actually serve its promise.
The relative silence on this opinion isn’t so much a reflection of the lack of interest on the part of criminal defense lawyers, but our not wanting to be the butt of yet another lawyer joke. This is no laughing matter, and it should be appreciated that the ABA, toothless tiger though it may be, put in the time and effort to take a stand on this critical issue.
It’s just that we’ve all lived through the promise of Brady, and again with Kyles v. Whitley , only to be reminded case after case that it’s an empty promise. We don’t want to have our hearts broken again.
Taser’s Response: They’re Just Plane Crashes
In a fascinating and thorough exploration of the Taser phenomenon, via our hinterlands correspondent Kathleen, Scott Thill at Alternet not only runs through the ever-increasing saga of abuse and death at the end of an electrode, but gets an executive, and one of the founders of Taser International, to spill his guts.
“You’re picking plane crashes,” argued Steve Tuttle, vice-president of communications and one of Taser International’s founding members, by phone to AlterNet. “We’re not in the business of armchair quarterbacking, and we don’t write the use-of-force policies. That’s left up to individual agencies and the constitutional guidelines. When we see the controversies, we have to take a look at the totality of the circumstances.”
That Tuttle immediately reacts with the “not my job” defense is hardly surprising. And indeed, has some merit when viewed in light of the manner in which cops use Tasers in lieu of thinking. After all, it’s just so much easier to tase someone than talk to them. But it hardly covers all manner of problems arising from the proliferation of Tasers.
They are indeed plane crashes, full of human and mechanical wreckage that are nearly impossible to turn away from. And with each new astounding report, they’re bringing more heat onto the already embattled company, whose stock has plummeted nearly 80 percent since 2005. In 2008, Taser had to dish out $5 million in punitive damages after a product-liability suit found the company to blame for improperly informing police that repeated shocks could kill suspects such as Robert Heston, who died after police officers in California tasered him multiple times until he stopped moving. In addition, Taser has settled at least ten cases out of court with not distraught suspects but rather police officers, who were injured by tasers during training.
There’s been little written about cops harmed during Taser training, though plenty about how cops shrug it off as if it’s nothing. It’s not that Tasers don’t will a gap in the resources available to law enforcement; Indeed, it’s a far better tool than putting a bullet between a suspect’s eyes when force is required.
In Taser’s defense, its deployment has displaced other mid-range weaponry like pepper spray and batons — “a caveman’s tool,” asserted Tuttle — and even more old-fashioned, hands-on techniques like punching, kicking and chokeholds. And the use of tasers has decreased danger to both suspects and officers, according to some unlikely sources.However, the promotion of the Taser from the outset, emphasizing it’s harmlessness, coupled with its use in mass media to suggest that it’s a marvel of modern technology, that has elevated the Taser from a dangerous weapon to cult status.
But it is clear from the increasing penetration of the taser into pop culture that use of the weapon within, and without, legally limited guidelines — the gray area so beloved by lawyers, marketers, and law enforcement — carries some kind of cachet.
“We’ve seen it used spectacularly,” Tuttle explained. “I’ve seen hundreds of cartoons that have it. I saw three shows last night that had it, including a Disney kids’ show and a Cops episode. It’s out there in pop culture. That poor yahoo that said ‘Don’t tase me bro!’ got us tremendous name recognition. We do provide them to prop houses, which give it to movies that use them.
Ask your kids what they think of Tasers, and don’t be surprised if they tell it’s “coo-ooo-oool!” Seriously, if Batman uses one, it must be cool.
“There’s a learning curve when departments get tasers,” Tuttle concluded. “Cops aren’t perfect. They’re human, but we expect them to be Robocop.”The problem, ultimately, is that the Taser is already ubiquitous (except in Memphis), already a part of our pop culture, and already in the hands of poorly trained police officers and departments lacking appropriate use-of-Taser policies that recognize that these are not harmless devices, particularly when deployed with as little thought and concern as the dumbest or laziest cop on the street might exercise.
A fitting description, given the fantasy of power and technology that tasers and other weaponry imbue their carriers with. Compelled by an increasingly permissive militarism that has gone supernova since 9/11 and armed with state-of-the-art force technology, taser-happy cops are in danger of becoming cyborgs out of step with the humanity they’re in charge of pacifying. Characterized as Heroes or elevated to the status of Robocop, without fully understanding the weapons that can save their lives, and kill those they’re supposed to protect, they’re walking a tightrope between thuggery and enforcement, and losing their balance with every bad episode.
In the old days, the question posed was whether one would give a loaded gun to a child. The new question is whether one would give a charged Taser to an untrained cop. The results speak for themselves. Bad consequences are always just “plane crashes,” unless you happen to be the guy on the plane.
Where Does “Cheap and Simple” Fit In?
There’s almost a visceral reaction to any idea that includes the words “cheap and simple” or “good enough.” But after reading Carolyn Elefant’s thoughtful explanation of why, when applied to the right areas of law and under the right circumstances, it makes perfect sense, the shaking and sputtering has begun to subside.
Less than perfect, but quick, easy and inexpensive, may well be more fruitful for society than perfect, sophisticated and beyond the reach of those who need it. It’s the confluence of individualized expertise and reasonable cost. Given how many legal things are required by ordinary folk to navigate their normal dealings in life, the high cost of monopolistic legal services seems more than a bit unfair. The trade off of perfection and cost begins to make a lot more sense when we think of it in these terms.
But does this apply to criminal defense as well? One could well argue that the bulk of criminal defense addresses low rent offenses, ranging from disorderly conduct and public drinking/urination to the wealth of vagrancy related offenses, and are disposed of at arraignment with a quickie plea and a fine or a day or two of community service. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to accept the offered plea and speak the magic words of a guilty plea.
This is where I start to shake again, unfortunately. Not that I’ve done much of this sort of work for the past quarter century, but I can remember the early days when I handled my fair share of low level offenses. Rather than cop the quick plea and move defendants along an assembly line, I felt compelled to read the complaint for adequacy, talk to my client about the details of the arrest and search, keep abreast of the relevant law and, with some regularity, argue for legal insufficiency or bad search or some other fault in the proceeding. Even when the plea would result in nothing more than a violation and a $100 fine. There was this bone in my head that made me feel that it was my duty to be a lawyer rather than a grocery clerk.
Carolyn’s point, that cheap and simple isn’t the same as cheap and cheesy, rings true. There is much that can be accomplished without a lot of fanfare and at a very reasonable cost by simply losing the bells and whistles and focusing on the client’s very limited, very clear-cut, very basic needs. Like every lawyer on the face of the earth, I have a simple will in my computer that merely requires a change of names to complete. Five minutes and the whole thing is done, assuming that it’s just a matter of inserting names where blanks used to be.
In the past, I’ve watched clients agonize over who to make executor or guardian after I’ve explained the consequences of certain choices and the potential problems caused by ill-advised, knee-jerk decisions, and note that by the time a will is needed, they won’t be around to undo the poor choices made today. But then, does my throwing monkey wrenches into their simple decisions add value to my service or just make a simple task needlessly complicated? I think it helps, but then that’s because it reflects my view of what lawyers should do. Of course, it takes that five minute simple will and turns it into 3 meetings and 22 telephone calls, not to mention the formality of execution.
The virtue of unbundling services is clear. Far too many people simply can’t afford the legal services they need, which means they must either forgo obtaining services, a serious problem given that our society has way too many legalistic requirements to simply eschew compliance, or pay for services beyond their means. I don’t want any children going hungry because the folks spent the grocery money on my time.
And yet, my experience is that there are few aspects of legal practice that are truly cheap and simple, and wouldn’t do far better with thought, effort and diligence. Maybe it’s only one in ten that requires greater effort than a quickie form filled out in five minutes, but how do we know that until we’ve talked to clients, understood their needs and made sure that their idea of cheap and simple isn’t our idea of potential legal disaster? It’s a tough question.
Carolyn is referring to Robert Capps’ recent article, The Good Enough Revolution: When Cheap and Simple Is Just Fine, promoting the unbundling of legal services and volume selling of the some of the less sophisticated and complex legal products, such as simple wills or shareholder agreements. The point is that not everything we, as lawyers, produce requires the mind of an inchoate supreme court justice.More likely, lawyers haven’t been discussing this issue because we’d prefer to avoid acknowledging that sacred legal services can ever be “cheap and simple” because that would lead to competition based on price and a race to the bottom.
Or would it? Because my take away from the Wired article isn’t that cheap and simple means compromising standards. Rather, at the core of cheap and simple is to deliver value by providing the key features of a product that matter most to consumers.
Less than perfect, but quick, easy and inexpensive, may well be more fruitful for society than perfect, sophisticated and beyond the reach of those who need it. It’s the confluence of individualized expertise and reasonable cost. Given how many legal things are required by ordinary folk to navigate their normal dealings in life, the high cost of monopolistic legal services seems more than a bit unfair. The trade off of perfection and cost begins to make a lot more sense when we think of it in these terms.
But does this apply to criminal defense as well? One could well argue that the bulk of criminal defense addresses low rent offenses, ranging from disorderly conduct and public drinking/urination to the wealth of vagrancy related offenses, and are disposed of at arraignment with a quickie plea and a fine or a day or two of community service. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to accept the offered plea and speak the magic words of a guilty plea.
This is where I start to shake again, unfortunately. Not that I’ve done much of this sort of work for the past quarter century, but I can remember the early days when I handled my fair share of low level offenses. Rather than cop the quick plea and move defendants along an assembly line, I felt compelled to read the complaint for adequacy, talk to my client about the details of the arrest and search, keep abreast of the relevant law and, with some regularity, argue for legal insufficiency or bad search or some other fault in the proceeding. Even when the plea would result in nothing more than a violation and a $100 fine. There was this bone in my head that made me feel that it was my duty to be a lawyer rather than a grocery clerk.
Carolyn’s point, that cheap and simple isn’t the same as cheap and cheesy, rings true. There is much that can be accomplished without a lot of fanfare and at a very reasonable cost by simply losing the bells and whistles and focusing on the client’s very limited, very clear-cut, very basic needs. Like every lawyer on the face of the earth, I have a simple will in my computer that merely requires a change of names to complete. Five minutes and the whole thing is done, assuming that it’s just a matter of inserting names where blanks used to be.
In the past, I’ve watched clients agonize over who to make executor or guardian after I’ve explained the consequences of certain choices and the potential problems caused by ill-advised, knee-jerk decisions, and note that by the time a will is needed, they won’t be around to undo the poor choices made today. But then, does my throwing monkey wrenches into their simple decisions add value to my service or just make a simple task needlessly complicated? I think it helps, but then that’s because it reflects my view of what lawyers should do. Of course, it takes that five minute simple will and turns it into 3 meetings and 22 telephone calls, not to mention the formality of execution.
The virtue of unbundling services is clear. Far too many people simply can’t afford the legal services they need, which means they must either forgo obtaining services, a serious problem given that our society has way too many legalistic requirements to simply eschew compliance, or pay for services beyond their means. I don’t want any children going hungry because the folks spent the grocery money on my time.
And yet, my experience is that there are few aspects of legal practice that are truly cheap and simple, and wouldn’t do far better with thought, effort and diligence. Maybe it’s only one in ten that requires greater effort than a quickie form filled out in five minutes, but how do we know that until we’ve talked to clients, understood their needs and made sure that their idea of cheap and simple isn’t our idea of potential legal disaster? It’s a tough question.
The Time For Talk Is Over
As regular readers know, I’ve been poking GW Law Professor and Concurring Opinions honcho Dan Solove in the side for a while now to get a reaction out of him, It’s not that I’ve got a special thing about Dan, but he became the poster boy for what I saw as the insular lawprofs. This culminated in a back room discussion between Dan and I via email. Dan asked that I keep the conversation private, and I will respect his wishes.
But since I’ve been my usual noisy self about the lack of discussion between practitioners and professors, it seemed only right to close the loop on the subject. The bottom line is that Dan disagrees with me that there is a serious divide between the lawprofs and practitioners. He doesn’t see it. He tells me that he’s all for vigorous debate and discussion with practitioners as well as professors.
However, that’s just the beginning, rather than the end, of the issue. The love of debate notwithstanding, I was told that my tone, and apparently that of my “circle” (the meaning of which is not entirely clear) as well, is too “disrespectful” to the scholars. I didn’t see it that way, but obviously I’ve offended Dan and that’s how he felt. The problem, from my side, is that my tone was no different toward Dan (or any other lawprof) than it would be toward anyone else. Practitioners don’t seem to have a problem with it. Dan found it unacceptable.
My offer of a truce, coupled with my offer to tone it down so as not to offend academic sensibilities, was appreciated, but rejected. Dan’s position was clear: I have already “poisoned the well.”
Needless to say, my views differ from Dan’s, but it’s no longer relevant to explain why. Regardless of my thoughts about the lawprofs, or their thoughts about me (or my circle, whoever that may be), I have been clearly told that I am persona non grata. Whether this foreclosure of discussion reflects a failing on their part or mine is no longer a worthy subject of discussion. Right or wrong, it’s done, and Dan is neither willing nor desirous of engaging in any discussion with me. Having heard nothing from other lawprofs, I assume his views are an accurate reflection of others.
On the one hand, I suppose that Dan’s decision to put me on permanent ignore is a wise. I don’t really think I have it in me to express myself in a way that would suit academic sensitivities, even though they deny that they are either sensitive or averse to debate. I am a trial lawyer, and I express myself like a trial lawyer. I won’t please everyone, and I’m just going to have to live with that.
On the other hand, however, it’s sad that some within the legal profession, meant in its broadest sense, would rather hide behind being offended than confront the scrutiny of their ideas. I’ve no doubt this sentence will be seen as highly offensive, but that’s how it goes. It’s not all hugs and kisses in the real world, and we sometimes duke it out with each other to test our thoughts and beliefs. We are cavemen to those with refined sensibilities, but we are also the cavemen who actually do the stuff that others just talk about.
So I have failed to meet Dan’s qualifications. I am saddened by that, not because I agree that I’m too coarse and vulgar, or that I’m too strident in my expressions, but because I find much of interest and value in the lawprofs’ writings and believe that the divide is huge, and quite dangerous. Too many of my brethren don’t bother with the academics because they find them clueless, and they are wrong to ignore them. Unlike me, they want nothing to do with the lawprofs, or their nuanced messages of deep thoughts. Real disrespect can be found in the fact that practitioners ignore you rather than disagree with you.
But if the lawprofs won’t engage us unless we change our ways to meet their delicate sensitivities (and yes, they are extremely delicate no matter how much they deny it), then they will continue to pursue their theories and we will continue to suffer lawmakers and courts using their theories to justify bad and dysfunctional law. If the theories can’t withstand the scrutiny of practitioners, and yet the lawprofs are cool with that, then I guess we’re just stuck with things as they are. One might ask why we don’t demand that lawprofs get their heads out of the clouds and start expressing themselves more like practitioners. Of course, that will never happen.
To be clear, I still respect Dan Solove and the rest of his “circle”, as well as those writing at the wealth of other lawprof blawgs. I may not care for the way they express themselves at times, or how they circle the wagons rather than court controversy, but they offer new ideas that merit attention, whether positive or negative. And I hold no malice toward Dan or others for feeling as they do. They’re entitled, whether I agree with it or not. But I do not regret, and do not apologize, for not meeting with their approval. That they would rather hide from the brutish Greenfield is their choice, and it’s their theories at stake for their refusal to confront the challenge of at least one real world practitioner.
But no matter. I’ve been rebuffed and my quest is at an end. And to the extent that I hadn’t offended every lawprof in the nation before, I’ve probably done so now. But remember, guy and gals of the Academy, I’m one of the few practitioners who even cared that you existed.
We Never Figure Things Out First
Now that it’s clear that Cameron Todd Willingham was executed for an arson/murder that wasn’t, there’s a question that demands an answer. Scott Henson over at Grits for Breakfast asks it. Bob Herbert at the New York Times asks it too. Why is it that we convict people first, based on the hyperbolic claims of junk experts, and only put in the effort to vet the truth from the garbage after it’s too late?
Now comes a report on the case from another noted scientist, Craig Beyler, who was hired by a special commission, established by the state of Texas to investigate errors and misconduct in the handling of forensic evidence.Great. A devastating report, ripping the prosecution’s theory to shreds, exposing the fire marshal as a fraud. But only after Willingham, who turned down a plea that would spare his life and protested his innocence to the end, was put to death. Where the heck was Craig Beylor when Willingham needed him? Where are all the experts when the time to fight prosecution by voodoo needs to be made?
The report is devastating, the kind of disclosure that should send a tremor through one’s conscience. There was absolutely no scientific basis for determining that the fire was arson, said Beyler. No basis at all. He added that the state fire marshal who investigated the case and testified against Willingham “seems to be wholly without any realistic understanding of fires.” He said the marshal’s approach seemed to lack “rational reasoning” and he likened it to the practices “of mystics or psychics.”
Let’s not mince words: The defendant’s best chance is at the trial of his case. Thereafter, the legal presumptions work against him. He’s no longer presumed innocent after a conviction, and evidence must be viewed in the light most favorable to the prosecution. Only before trial, before conviction, does he possess the full panoply of rights afforded by the Constitution. That’s when a defendant needs the help. After he’s dead, it’s all academic.
The sad fact is that access to the level of interest and scrutiny doesn’t exist when it’s most needed. There’s no money for the fight, and worse still, even if there was the chances of capturing the interest of world renown experts to debunk the prosecution’s payroll experts is slim to none. Two points need be made. At the time of trial, every cop suddenly becomes an expert beyond reproach as far as the prosecution, judge and jury are concerned. They’ve got their act together and practiced it until it comes off very convincingly. The only problem is that it’s almost always a lie, even when they have the right defendant and their accusations are accurate. As the old-time columnist, Murray Kempton, used to say, “there they go again, framing the guilty.”
The second point, however, is the most disturbing. Try getting an expert, and I mean a real expert, when you need one. Aside from the cost (and these guys know how to charge, enough so that they make plumbers blush), they just aren’t interested. They couldn’t care less about your case or your client; you would be lucky to get them on the phone at all. It’s not until the case hits the front page of the paper that there is a sudden flurry of interest. Suddenly, experts want to be the one who breaks the case wide open and gets their mug on Page 1. That motivates them.
So Willingham is dead for an accidental fire. And absolutely nothing has changed because of it. Just another blip in the criminal justice system. After all, it’s not perfect, but it’s the best there is. I’m sure Willingham takes comfort in knowing this, as do all the other Willinghams who sit in prison because some prosecutorial expert scientifically proved their guilt as well. But they aren’t front page news.
As The Story Spins: Death Threats Are Not A Positive
As of yesterday, Cy Vance captured the endorsements of all three of New York City’s newspapers, the New York Times, the Daily News and the New York Post. This is no small feat, given their disparate approaches and politics and the strength of his opponents, Leslie Crocker Snyder and Richard Aborn. I too endorsed Cy, not that my endorsement is likely to put him over the top.
For reasons that have never been entirely clear, I’ve been on Leslie Crocker Snyder’s campaign email list since her last run four years ago. I receive her campaign promotions, and read the rhetoric. I’ve generally avoided commenting on it, both because I’m disinclined to support a candidate based upon their being the least objectionable, and because of a position I took some years back when 60 MInutes did a profile on her, and I was her counterpoint in the segment.
But as the campaign heats up to the boiling point, particularly given that Leslie has been denied the endorsement of the City’s newspapers, there is one disturbing claim that demands correction.
When Leslie sat as a judge in Manhattan, first as an Acting Supreme and later as a Court of Claims (she was never elected to her own Supreme Court judgeship), cases were funneled to her because she was the most reliable judge on the bench when it came to assuring that the most serious, or most shaky, cases would result in both convictions and extraordinarily harsh sentences. For this reason, she presided over some particularly nasty drug gang trials. And, in fairness, these were indeed some very bad, very violent people.
But that’s not why her life was threatened. Leslie had a bad habit, while wearing the robe, of engaging defendants in a vituperative commentary about their lives, their worthlessness, their evilness, in the course of doing the job one expects of a judge. It’s not that she imposed harsh sentences. Other judges imposed harsh sentences. It’s that she wasn’t satisfied merely imposing sentences, but felt compelled to harangue the defendants, insult them, attack them, emasculate them, in the process. While imposing a sentence is the job of a judge, using the bench as an opportunity to vent and attack in the process is not.
It was Leslie’s compulsion to make sure that defendants knew what she really thought of them that brought about these threats to her and her family. When imposing a sentence of 232 years, thus assuring that a defendant would never breath free air again, there isn’t much to be gained by verbally castrating them as well. But that didn’t stop her. As long as she had the chance to humiliate a defendant, she did. And they, being violent, nasty people, didn’t take kindly to it.
As a result of the threats against her and her family, Leslie was given round the clock police protection, including a car and driver, for protection at a huge cost to the people of New York. These were cops no longer available on the street, but a full contingent at her beck and call. They sat inside her courtroom. They scanned people entering. They protected Leslie from harm. All so she could use her bench to harangue and humiliate defendants.
To get a better sense of Leslie’s thoughts about her role as judge, she put them in writing in a book entitled “25 to Life,” a self-serving screed that showed her to be both the avenging angel of the law as well as the savior of New York City. It’s not to suggest that any judge should be subject to death threats, or that any defendant, no matter what’s said to them, is entitled to threaten the life of a judge. But if any judge ever begged violent criminals to do so, it was Leslie Crocker Snyder. To the extent that her life was threatened, she did as much as humanly possible to bring it upon herself.
Lacking the sound discretion and temperament to perform her function as a judge, without giving rise to needless antagonism at the expense of a City is hardly an indication of her strength and fortitude in the face of criminal evil. It was a clear demonstration, however, of the perversion of power and the inability to control the vitriol that flowed. As a judge, Leslie went not merely too far, but into places where no judge has any business being. What does that say about her exercise of discretion should she wield the power of District Attorney?
For reasons that have never been entirely clear, I’ve been on Leslie Crocker Snyder’s campaign email list since her last run four years ago. I receive her campaign promotions, and read the rhetoric. I’ve generally avoided commenting on it, both because I’m disinclined to support a candidate based upon their being the least objectionable, and because of a position I took some years back when 60 MInutes did a profile on her, and I was her counterpoint in the segment.
But as the campaign heats up to the boiling point, particularly given that Leslie has been denied the endorsement of the City’s newspapers, there is one disturbing claim that demands correction.
For more than 35 years, Leslie has spent her career standing up to the powerful — whether it be the Old Boys network that told her she couldn’t try a felony case because she was a woman (she was the first to do so), or the gangs that took over New York City streets and threatened the life of her family (she put the violent gang leaders in jail and helped make our City safe again).What’s troubling about this, aside from the fact that Leslie was the establishment in every conceivable way from the moment she hit the bench to the moment she left to challenge Morgenthau for DA four years ago, is the claim that her life, and that of her family, was threatened because of her efforts to “make our City safe again.” That’s not quite the way I remember it.
Leslie has never pandered or surrendered to the establishment, and has always been unwavering in her fight for what is right, no matter the personal cost.
When Leslie sat as a judge in Manhattan, first as an Acting Supreme and later as a Court of Claims (she was never elected to her own Supreme Court judgeship), cases were funneled to her because she was the most reliable judge on the bench when it came to assuring that the most serious, or most shaky, cases would result in both convictions and extraordinarily harsh sentences. For this reason, she presided over some particularly nasty drug gang trials. And, in fairness, these were indeed some very bad, very violent people.
But that’s not why her life was threatened. Leslie had a bad habit, while wearing the robe, of engaging defendants in a vituperative commentary about their lives, their worthlessness, their evilness, in the course of doing the job one expects of a judge. It’s not that she imposed harsh sentences. Other judges imposed harsh sentences. It’s that she wasn’t satisfied merely imposing sentences, but felt compelled to harangue the defendants, insult them, attack them, emasculate them, in the process. While imposing a sentence is the job of a judge, using the bench as an opportunity to vent and attack in the process is not.
It was Leslie’s compulsion to make sure that defendants knew what she really thought of them that brought about these threats to her and her family. When imposing a sentence of 232 years, thus assuring that a defendant would never breath free air again, there isn’t much to be gained by verbally castrating them as well. But that didn’t stop her. As long as she had the chance to humiliate a defendant, she did. And they, being violent, nasty people, didn’t take kindly to it.
As a result of the threats against her and her family, Leslie was given round the clock police protection, including a car and driver, for protection at a huge cost to the people of New York. These were cops no longer available on the street, but a full contingent at her beck and call. They sat inside her courtroom. They scanned people entering. They protected Leslie from harm. All so she could use her bench to harangue and humiliate defendants.
To get a better sense of Leslie’s thoughts about her role as judge, she put them in writing in a book entitled “25 to Life,” a self-serving screed that showed her to be both the avenging angel of the law as well as the savior of New York City. It’s not to suggest that any judge should be subject to death threats, or that any defendant, no matter what’s said to them, is entitled to threaten the life of a judge. But if any judge ever begged violent criminals to do so, it was Leslie Crocker Snyder. To the extent that her life was threatened, she did as much as humanly possible to bring it upon herself.
Lacking the sound discretion and temperament to perform her function as a judge, without giving rise to needless antagonism at the expense of a City is hardly an indication of her strength and fortitude in the face of criminal evil. It was a clear demonstration, however, of the perversion of power and the inability to control the vitriol that flowed. As a judge, Leslie went not merely too far, but into places where no judge has any business being. What does that say about her exercise of discretion should she wield the power of District Attorney?
A Bond Too Big
Nobody is likely to feel particularly sorry for Michail Sorodsky, the 62 year old Brooklyn one-time physician who has just taken the crown, according to the New York Post, for the highest bail ever imposed. What exactly he did isn’t quite clear from the Post story, shocking given the Post’s reputation for accuracy and thoroughness.
Attorney General Andrew Cuomo said Sorodsky, 62, was practicing without a license since at least 1995, administering “treatments” out of his Emmons Avenue office in Sheepshead Bay that may have been harmful, and sexually abusing at least eight female patients.
Despite the painful lack of detail, the story clearly suggests that Sorodsky’s the sort of fellow who should not be allowed to play doctor or get his hands on female patients while the case proceeds. Fair enough. But protecting the public isn’t the purpose of bail, and he really isn’t that much of a threat to others under the circumstances anyway. Nonetheless, high bail was set.
When he was first charged, in 2008, Judge Cassandra Mullen set a more modest $1 million cash or $3 million bond.
Another judge, Gustin Reichbach, reduced it to $500,000 bond if the alleged perv wore a monitoring bracelet.
Just for the record, neither $1 million, nor $500,000, is what a reasonable person would consider a lightweight bail. These are some very big numbers in the first place, given that their purpose is limited to assuring the defendants return to court or loss of the bail. Notably, there are no factors offered to suggest that the defendant was attempting to flee the jurisdiction, and as bad as the allegations might be, we’re not talking a capital murder charge here. Nonetheless, matters worsened.
“I got a call from the bracelet company numerous times that the bracelet had been tampered with,” said the bail bondsman, Ira Judelson. The original conditions were restored.
Knowing Ira well, Ira being the only bail bondsman I would want to have a beer with, I am confident that he wouldn’t have raised the bracelet issue if he wasn’t seriously concerned about the situation. Bear in mind, if the defendant is in the wind, Ira ends up having to pay the full bond amount. Ira’s a sweetheart, but not stupid.
As if that wasn’t enough, then more alleged victims came out of the woodwork, giving rise to the prosecution adding additional charges. Sorodsky was arraigned again, and this time bought the big one:
As if that wasn’t enough, then more alleged victims came out of the woodwork, giving rise to the prosecution adding additional charges. Sorodsky was arraigned again, and this time bought the big one:
At the re-arraignment, Justice Vincent Del Giudice set $10 million cash or $30 million bond on the new case, which added to the original bail comes to $11 million cash or $33 million bond.It would appear that the new charges were leveled separately, meaning that Sorodsky now had two indictments against him, or else there would be no way in which the two bails would be added together. That said, it’s a bit hard to understand how $1 million was sufficient to assure his return to court on the first indictment, but $10 million was deemed necessary on the second. Two thoughts come to mind. First, that the amount of bail is so staggeringly high as to be intentionally prohibitive. Second, that everyone was angry enough with Sorodsky that they wanted to make sure he got a good, hard smack. As bad as Sorodsky might be, this isn’t the way to deal with it.
The nature of the charges against Sorodsky, presumed innocent still having yet to be convicted of anything, precludes the court from remanding him. The typical plan B is to set bail beyond his means, thus being able to say with the straight face that he has bail, but he just didn’t make it. Bear in mind, this happens regularly at the low end of the spectrum, with impoverished defendants being held in lieu of bail of $500, because they don’t have $20 to their name. Bail isn’t really relative to the crime so much as relative to the defendant’s means. Whatever amount is out of reach is sufficient to keep a person in jail pending trial.
But the issue of exorbitant bail, as the Constitution prohibits, is invariably tested at the high end of the spectrum. And as one would suspect, it’s usually tested by ugly defendants under ugly circumstances like Sorodsky’s. While there’s too little information on what is meant by tampering with the bracelets, whether this was an effort to remove them or just somehow adjust them for greater comfort, to comprehend whether this reflects a threat of flight, it’s not really a critical point. First, the bracelet was imposed for the reduction of bail from $1 million to half a mil, and even if the bracelet condition was changed, the bail would have reverted back to its original amount.
Moreover, Ira Judelson is a bail bondsman. If he was no longer comfortable bonding out this defendant, he simply could pull the bond and go home. Ira was under no duty to bond out Sorodsky once the rules of the game were changed. In essence, the bail bondsman is a secondary check on the reliability of a defendant to comply with the conditions of his release, to return to court as directed and to commit no crimes while out. After all, the last thing a bondsman wants to do is pay the bond. He’s more inclined to scrutinize the defendant’s compliance than a judge, since he’s the one who pays the freight.
That additional victims appeared is similarly a difference without a distinction. There were eight alleged victims in the initial indictment. That’s more than enough to make a fellow flee if that’s his intention. Whether it’s eight or more (and the story neglects to mention how many additional victims showed up), the numbers reach the point of icing on the cake, not a new or different cake. Moreover, while the Post also neglects to mention what sort of “abuse” Sorodsky is alleged to have committed, it seems fair to suspect that it was a touching rather than rape. This isn’t mention to trivialize the conduct, but to consider the risk of his presence in the community and the penalty for the crime.
By upping the bail to the astronomical number of $11 million, Judge Del Giudice has brought the issue to the fore: Should Michail Sorodsky be denied bail, because imposition of bail of this magnitude is, without a doubt, a sham and effectively remand under circumstances where remand is facially inappropriate?
No matter what your feelings about the allegations against Sorodsky, the answer must be no. Excessive bail is no bail, whether for the impoverished defendant or the nasty former Brooklyn doctor.
H/T Turley