Tales out of Court - - Valediction

by John Davis Collins © 1995 by John F. Clennan, Esq. all rights reserved.

for RJB

There is a moment that marks the dividing line between what was and what's going to be, the world of the former title holders and the emerging leaders. Where past and present meet, we call that the Valediction, the assurance of continuity.

For most of my time at court, I had worked closely with Richard Blount, the 60 year old deputy clerk in charge of motions, who generally oversaw the work of the law assistants crammed in the oversized living room from his position in the corner. While his supervision of the law assistant handling reports for the court was not strict, anyone intruding upon his absolute jurisdiction over motions was dealt with summarily. I was surprised that, over time, Blunt had confided so much of his secrets to me.

There was no part of the motion process that Blunt had not been involved with. While different law assistants assisted him from time to time, he carefully checked their work before he published a decision. Important motions were presented by him to the court. All motion decisions were personally typed by him onto the lithographic roll that went down to the court's printer in the basement for publication. The process was decades out of date. What kept the archaic system going was the excellent memories of Blunt and others in the court for the court's docket.

Tall and broad shouldered with wavy faded blonde hair, Blunt, the undisputed master of motion practice, knew civil and criminal procedure codes from cover to cover as well as the precedents of the court. At any time he would lift his fingers flattened by years of typing at a standard typewriter to explain in great detail the most obscure precedents of the court.

Blunt kept alive many court traditions including the Friday afternoon cocktail party for which he personally supplied the liquor from a file cabinet which he kept double lock secure during the week. Staff and judges often mingled at these informal gatherings.

He had had his share of disappointments. Only recently, he had been passed over in favor of a younger man for promotion to the prestigious position of Clerk of the Court. True to his code of being a "classy guy" with magnanimity in victory and honor in defeat, he continued toiling tirelessly.

Then, one day a management analyst went from desk to desk in the court surveying what each employee did in preparation for computerization. "Nothing will come of it," Blunt declared bluntly. "They'll spend all the money to buy the computers." That had been true sop many times in the past, but the high court had now lagged so far behind the current standards in businesses that sooner or later the computer would gain admittance.

Not long afterwards huge cardboard boxes began to clog the basement, the narrow private corridors, the clerk's office and even the central atrium.

Passing them, Blunt snickered, "It'll be like calling an insurance company: I'm sorry computers are down today. And then they'll cart away all this junk to the dump and spend a billion on something else-- anything but the working conditions." large portions of the building were in disrepair. The antiquated phone system could not accommodate the staff. Often I, and others ran down to Court Street to make important calls.

A general training session was held in the exquisitely paneled high ceilinged first floor courtroom. Blunt sat with his cronies hands crossed snickering at the instructor in private among themselves.

For Rich, who up to now, had laboriously typed all the court's motions decisions on a standard (non-electric) typewriter, the computer presented an insurmountable challenge. Staring transfixed at the menu screen, Rich would poke cautiously at the plastic keyboard as if fearful that his next move would injure himself or damage the machine, before he turned to me to say, "I can't see how this thing does work any faster." After a few weeks of carefully toying with the machine, Rich had caused the tidal wave of the court's motions to stall on the breakwater of his desk.

I offered to help Rich process his work. He shot me a warning glance before he wistfully said, "maybe, the court will get tired of its new toy and let things go back to the way they were."

Work could not back up indefinitely; it was not long before the Clerk of the Court, usually secluded in semi-divine splendor in a spacious first floor office, paid a visit. Youthful for his position, the Clerk could combine a sense of officiousness with a pleasant and outgoing, but thoroughly impersonal manner.

After assessing the situation, the Clerk said,"So you can't work the computer. No problem. You write it out and I'll assign you a secretary to enter it into the computer system."

Rich looked wounded. For 30 years, he had done everything himself. "At your rank," the Clerk added, "you should have had a secretary long ago."

I couldn't tell whether Rich dreaded the computer more than the secretarial assistant.

The newly assigned secretary was an attractive woman in her late 30's. At first, the relationship was restrained, but cordial. However a dispute quickly broke out when the secretary, handed an old fashioned styled order, translated it into the modern abbreviated format standardized by the computer. Blunt used the misstep to bring the secretary before the Clerk.

Seated behind his desk in the mahogany paneled first floor office, the Clerk listened to both sides of the story and studied the draft against the final copy before he asked, "So, what's the difference, Rich ?"

"The difference is that I'm the motion clerk. A secretary isn't supposed to overrule me."

Excusing the secretary from the room, the Clerk said, "Rich, we're trying to standardize some of these forms and to remove a lot of the old syrupy phrased that nobody understands anymore. These secretaries have had extensive training..."

Smarting from the rebuff, Blunt was about ready to depart when the Clerk held up a finger. "One thing more." The Clerk's expression changed from impassive to a pained grin. "The Friday afternoon--ugh-- cocktail party has to end-- I know it's been going on for years... it's been a court tradition-- But, there have been complaints and we can't very well preach to the public about the evils of drinking--"

"When do you want me to put my papers in ?" Blunt asked.

"The Presiding Judge would consider a generous terminal leave, if that's what you want," the Clerk replied officiously.

Stinging with resentment, Blunt hung on until some underling accidentally reassigned Blunt's privileged parking spot to a judges aide. A reserved parking spot in downtown Brooklyn was a coveted prize.

Even the Clerk was surprised when Blunt asked to take the promised terminal leave immediately.

"Need a clean break," Blunt told me when he returned to clean up his desk. "They hastily organized a Testimonial Dinner. I wonder what those frumpy judges will think when they're sitting around honoring themselves--- I don't want to hear the chief backstabbers crowing, 'Oh what a nice fellow.'"

"Is that your final word, your testament, your valediction?" I asked.

We walked to the Pierpoint House, an elegant restaurant not far from the Court. Although Blunt hesitated at the door, once he entered he was as much at ease as if this had been his promotion party. The Clerk, three judges and about five staff members attended the dinner thrown together at the last minute. However, at the appropriate juncture, the Clerk turned to Blunt as if the entire staff had attended and asked for a few words.

A bit flustered, Blunt bit on his lower lip and paused to think.

"Thank you all for coming. We celebrate the occasions in life that make the line between what was and what will be. In a true sense, this party is not so much for the past that's gone but the future that must be and gives the past's blessing on the new world being born..."