Tomorrow my client and I will appear before a federal judge for sentencing.
Of course that is wrong. My client will appear for sentencing and I will be there with him, defending him to the best of my ability every step of the way.
My client and I have spent a lot of time together. Well over 300 hours in court, as well as hundreds of hours preparing the case for trial. I can recognize his hand writing at a glance, as it was a case involving records he prepared. I can easily decipher his shorthand notes, a skill I obtained while working with him in preparation for trial, and a skill that gave us a small but distinctive edge over the FBI agents that were tasked with deciphering the records. Unfortunately, while my client was acquitted of some conduct, it wasn't enough.
So Friday will be the first time that his future and fate goes completely out of my hands and into the hands of someone else- the judge. The judge is a good judge, with an excellent reputation for being fair and hard working, and from what I've seen, the reputation is well earned.
But I feel like I will be sentenced as well, as I lost the case. Earlier this week when we met, my client apologized for being late, as he had to drop his son off at school. I winced. Is this the last week he will be able to do that? I've never met his son, not wanting to get too close to my client and allow my feelings to affect my ability to think clearly in court during tough moments.
And yet, like myself, my client is a professional. He has a degree. Dresses well, drives a better car than I do (more on my beat up old red pickup truck some day when I feel like explaining why I won't get rid of it). He has a family and a life and now all of that is more than in jeopardy. All of that will change Friday, whether or not the sentence is lenient, whether or not I am successful in keeping my client out during appeal, and whether or not we are successful on appeal. Tomorrow my client gets a prison sentence and his life will be inexorably altered. While he made poor decisions that brought him to the point of being arrested and indicted (the phrase "when you sleep with dogs you get fleas" came up fairly often in our discussions), the fact remains with me that he entrusted me to explain his decisions and frame them in a non-criminal manner to the jury. And I failed. It will make me wake up earlier to work longer on his appeal. It will make me read those obscure cases in different jurisdictions to see if I can discern some point on appeal that I can use to undue this damage that has been wrecked upon his life, but it will not ease the pain of my failure.
So tomorrow my client will be sentenced, and whether or not the US Marshals ask him to put his hands behind his back and lead him away while I stand there powerless; and although I will go home tomorrow no matter what, (I'm fairly certain, although there were a few dicey moments when I pushed the judge a little bit too far) I feel like I am being sentenced as well.
I once heard a college basketball coach say that he quit coaching because while he only barely remembered all the wins, he could remember every agonizing detail of every loss. I feel that way about every case I have lost. And although I am fortunate that those loses have not been as frequent as the coach's, they stay with me. The murder case in Daytona Beach in 1997 (lessers). The tax fraud case in 2000. That DUI I lost after not losing a DUI trial in over a decade (I will never try a case with facial hair again.) Even that DUI injury case I lost as a prosecutor in 1988 still bothers me every time I walk in that courtroom in the Miami criminal courthouse.
That will be my sentence tomorrow.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Saturday, August 23, 2014
CHANGE IS THE PRICE OF SURVIVAL
Gary Player is a world champion golfer. At the age of 29 he became the third golfer in the world to win all four major titles. He did it before Tiger Woods was born and he did it before Jack Nicklaus, the golfer who still holds the record for most major title wins (18). Gary Player was lifting weights and exercising and studying nutrition in the 1960's, when the rule of thumb for golfers was that weights and exercise would damage a career, and nutrition was for nuts. That is why at over 80 years of age Gary Player looks and acts like he is in his 50's, and starts his day with a thousand sit-ups and a hundred push-ups.
On Gary Player's website he has a page called his Ten Commandments. The commandments are gems of philosophy integral to his success. The two I like most are #2: Everything in business is negotiable except quality, and #1: Change is the price of survival.
In Miami, criminal defense lawyers for decades made a good living specializing in DUI defense. The police had economic incentives (lots of overtime) to make arrests, and the consequences of a DUI conviction made defense and litigation a valuable legal service people were willing to pay for.
And then a few years ago the Miami State Attorneys Office instituted a pre-trial diversion program for DUIs called Back On Track. We have the details of the BOT program on our website at Woodward and Reizenstein.
All of the sudden 90% of the DUI clients disappeared as there was no longer an economic incentive for most clients to pay for a quality DUI defense when a reduction of the charges could be guaranteed by enrolling in BOT.
We in the criminal defense bar in Miami all had fair warning it was coming, but many lawyers did nothing to prepare. They didn't change their practice area or develop another area of the law to specialize in and market themselves to clients. Many small criminal defense law firms that depended on DUIs closed. The firms failed because they ignored or didn't know Gary Player's first commandment: Change is the price of survival.
There are so many ways in recognizing that change is the price of survival that would make a positive difference in our own personal lives. The Internet and the way business is done is one drastic change. Just ask Blockbuster video (if you can find one that is open) about Netflix and whether change is the price of survival.
How about diets and nutrition. Remember the low fat craze of the 1990's? We now know that there are healthy fats that our bodies need and that sugar and carbohydrates are the main cause of many diseases.
That change is the price of survival goes to the very heart of the problem of people saying "but that's how we always did it." We always listened to music on records. Until CDs. And we always bought albums on CDs until ITunes. And we always listened to music on regular-terestial radio until satellite commercial free radio came along.
History is littered with the failure of people and projects who never recognized that change is the price of survival.
In my law practice, in my business life, and in my personal life, I challenge myself each day to look at how I do things and whether I am missing the change that is the necessary price to my survival and success. It's a worthwhile and thoughtful endeavor. It's one of the reasons I decided to write this blog, after the internet SEO gurus told me no one would ever find me, my firm, or my website on the internet unless I started doing things like writing a blog. In other words, I had to change.
On Gary Player's website he has a page called his Ten Commandments. The commandments are gems of philosophy integral to his success. The two I like most are #2: Everything in business is negotiable except quality, and #1: Change is the price of survival.
In Miami, criminal defense lawyers for decades made a good living specializing in DUI defense. The police had economic incentives (lots of overtime) to make arrests, and the consequences of a DUI conviction made defense and litigation a valuable legal service people were willing to pay for.
And then a few years ago the Miami State Attorneys Office instituted a pre-trial diversion program for DUIs called Back On Track. We have the details of the BOT program on our website at Woodward and Reizenstein.
All of the sudden 90% of the DUI clients disappeared as there was no longer an economic incentive for most clients to pay for a quality DUI defense when a reduction of the charges could be guaranteed by enrolling in BOT.
We in the criminal defense bar in Miami all had fair warning it was coming, but many lawyers did nothing to prepare. They didn't change their practice area or develop another area of the law to specialize in and market themselves to clients. Many small criminal defense law firms that depended on DUIs closed. The firms failed because they ignored or didn't know Gary Player's first commandment: Change is the price of survival.
There are so many ways in recognizing that change is the price of survival that would make a positive difference in our own personal lives. The Internet and the way business is done is one drastic change. Just ask Blockbuster video (if you can find one that is open) about Netflix and whether change is the price of survival.
How about diets and nutrition. Remember the low fat craze of the 1990's? We now know that there are healthy fats that our bodies need and that sugar and carbohydrates are the main cause of many diseases.
That change is the price of survival goes to the very heart of the problem of people saying "but that's how we always did it." We always listened to music on records. Until CDs. And we always bought albums on CDs until ITunes. And we always listened to music on regular-terestial radio until satellite commercial free radio came along.
History is littered with the failure of people and projects who never recognized that change is the price of survival.
In my law practice, in my business life, and in my personal life, I challenge myself each day to look at how I do things and whether I am missing the change that is the necessary price to my survival and success. It's a worthwhile and thoughtful endeavor. It's one of the reasons I decided to write this blog, after the internet SEO gurus told me no one would ever find me, my firm, or my website on the internet unless I started doing things like writing a blog. In other words, I had to change.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
WHY WE LIE TO JURIES IN FLORIDA
Every day in the Richard E Gerstein Justice Building, which is the criminal courthouse in Miami, Judges, with the full agreement of both sides in a case, lie to jurors.
This is the lie: Florida standard jury instruction 3.10(5):
This is the lie: Florida standard jury instruction 3.10(5):
5. Your
duty is to determine if the defendant has been proven guilty or not, in accord
with the law. It is the judge's job to determine a proper sentence if the
defendant is found guilty.
This is the truth: with dozens upon dozens of criminal statutes carrying minimum mandatory sentences, the Judge does NOT determine the proper sentence. The legislature already has done that, about twenty years ago in many cases. The judge, who sees the defendant, sees the unique circumstances of the case, has NO say in what the sentence is. If it is a drug trafficking case, the sentence for a twenty year old first offender could be as high as twenty five years.
How could that be, you might ask? How could a first offender get mixed up in a drug case carrying a twenty five year sentence?
When I was a prosecutor many years ago in the Dade County State Attorneys Office narcotics division, I was assigned to investigate a case where an undercover drug unit was buying a lot of heroin. Possession of heroin, over a certain amount, immediately becomes a drug trafficking charge. That's what drug trafficking in Florida is- nothing more than possession over a certain amount. You don't need to be selling the drug in a Ferrari, while wearing a Rolex.
The drug deal went bad, the bad guys ran away, the cops chased them, and one of the bad guys threw a bag containing about 200 grams of heroin in an alley. Enter the homeless man in the alleyway who saw the whole thing unravel. grabbed the bag, and started to run. Eventually the cops chased him down and arrested him. The charge? Trafficking in Heroin. He had grabbed the bag, taken possession of it, and tried to run away. Smart? No. A mistake worth twenty five years of his life? No. (which makes me think that if he had been fully prosecuted and convicted, he would be getting out around now).
I reduced the charge. The unfortunate soul pled guilty to obstructing justice or tampering with evidence, served a few weeks and went on with his life.
But let's say I wasn't a reasonable prosecutor. Let's say I was looking to burnish my trial stats and get an easy conviction on my record as I tried to make a name for myself. And let's say the case went to trial and I won (which I did close to a hundred times as a prosecutor). I- as a twenty seven year old prosecutor three years out of law school, had all the power. The trial judge (I forget exactly who it was)- hopefully a learned and experienced man or woman who could have recognized the extraordinary zealous abuse of power by the prosecution, was and is completely powerless to do anything about the case or the sentence.
The legislature has made many sentences mandatory and given the prosecutor- many times the least experienced lawyer in a case- total power about seeking or waiving a minimum mandatory.
Which goes back to judges lying to juries. Going back to my example, if I had forced the case to trial, the judge would have been required to read to the jury the jury instruction above. One could imagine the jurors in the jury room carefully reviewing the instructions. Seeing that the prosecution had technically proved drug trafficking (simple possession of the drug over a certain amount) one could imagine the jurors saying something like "well even if we convict him, the judge will surely realize this is an unusual case and give him a fair sentence. He's not a real drug trafficker, even though he did possess the heroin."
If the jurors in that case would have convicted the homeless man, he would have served a quarter century in a Florida prison, assuming he survived.
I am attaching a motion I am now filing in these cases for my clients. I invite any lawyer to email me and I will send you a clean copy to use for your client who may be caught in this horrible and unfair situation. Philip@miamicriminallaw.net,
It's time Florida took the unfettered power and discretion away from twenty five year old prosecutors and gave the power of sentencing back to Judges- the people we depend upon to make our justice system work fairly.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
UNCONVENTIONAL
Yesterday, Monday August 18, 2014 was the 80th birthday of Roberto Clemente, the greatest baseball player I will ever see. As a young boy growing up in Pittsburgh, I saw Clemente play in Forbes Field, and then Three Rivers. I saw Clemente play in the 1971 World Series in which my Pirates beat the Orioles in seven games and Clemente, who hit safely in all seven of the world series games was voted the MVP. Clemente played in all seven of the 1960 world series when the Pirates upset the powerful NY Yankees. Clemente also hit safely in all seven of those world series games.
Clemente played the game with a passion that burned. I could see it, but as a young boy not fully cognizant of the racial politics of the 1960's, I didn't fully understand his pride in being a black-Latin man, his quiet arrogance in being the best, knowing he was the best, and not playing the part of a safe, friendly, subservient man of color in a racist society. There is a story of Clemente and his young wife walking into a furniture store in Pittsburgh after a few years in the majors, and the salesman sizing up this young, dark skinned couple, and telling them there might be some old furniture in the bad of the store they could look at a a discount. Such was the way people of color were treated in our country less than half a century ago.
I could write forever about Clemente's mistreatment and the pride he had that refused to let him back down. I could talk about how I would watch with envy the basket-catches he would make below his waist on high fly balls, or the arm that would throw runners out who hit a single to right field and improvidently took a bit of a turn, only to find themselves tagged out after a Clemente rocket of a throw. I could write about that throw in game seven in the 1971 series where he picked the ball up off a ricochet off the wall, effortlessly spun and threw the ball on one hop to third base, a perfect strike- a throw some say was the greatest they ever saw. I could talk about how I saw the red in his eyes in game three at Three Rivers, when he thought he had hit a home-run down the first base line, but the umpires ruled it a foul ball. Seething, he stepped back into the batters box and nearly took the pitcher's head off with a line drive up the middle on the next pitch. That was, incidentally, the first night world series game ever played, and I was there. Thank you Dad and Grandpa.
What I want to talk about is, that in this era of baseball by the numbers, Clemente did it all differently, and many would say wrong. His batter's stance was unconventional. He swung wildly, and often at the first pitch, eschewing the conventional wisdom to work the count in favor of the batter. As he got older, Clemente would coach young players in the winter leagues in Mexico and Puerto Rico. He would tell the hitters they couldn't get a hit if they didn't swing. It's advice no one would give any hitter today.
And yet, Roberto had 3,000 hits. He led the NL in batting four times. In eighteen seasons he batted .319 and hit 240 home runs. And like Frank Sinatra sang, he did it his way.
As I walk though the courthouse in Miami, I see young Assistant Public Defenders and young Assistant State Attorneys learning their craft. And they are indoctrinated with a set of rules, passed down from era to era: don't ask a question you don't know the answer to; keep your opening statement short as jurors lose patience with you; try your case in voir dire if you can.
Why? Has anyone looked at these rules in the last forty years?
Cross examination is a lawyer's best chance to get at the truth. Why limit yourself?
Opening statement is the first chance the jury gets to hear your client's side of the story. Why not craft a compelling story. Make it interesting. Capture and hold the jury, no matter how long it takes.
Voir Dire is the most important part of the case. A time to learn what a juror thinks. Why waste your time trying to indoctrinate thirty or forty people, many of whom don't have an open mind and never will.
Clemente didn't follow any of the conventional rules. He played the game his way, and at a level rarely if ever seen. And damn if he wasn't the best baseball player I will ever see. And beyond his athletic abilities, he had a pride about his skills, and himself, and he refused to follow the rules of America, 1960. He wouldn't eat in the back of any damn restaurant that wouldn't serve him with everyone else. And ask any Hispanic who saw the post game interview in 1971 after the Pirates won the world series if their heart didn't swell with pride when the first thing Roberto did on national television was speak in Spanish to his people in Puerto Rico. That was something NBC didn't expect and that was something that "wasn't done".
We are all born as individuals. And the best of us- the best trial lawyers, the best ballplayers, the best leaders, the people who make a change and make a difference, see the way things are done and ask "why?"
Bill Gates did it. Steve Jobs did it. Rosa Parks did it. Bobby Kennedy, as memorialized by his brother Teddy did it. The founders of our country did it.
And I hope that in the times I get the opportunity to work with young lawyers, I remember to instill a little bit of Roberto Clemente in how they approach their work, and maybe, their life.
PLR.
Clemente played the game with a passion that burned. I could see it, but as a young boy not fully cognizant of the racial politics of the 1960's, I didn't fully understand his pride in being a black-Latin man, his quiet arrogance in being the best, knowing he was the best, and not playing the part of a safe, friendly, subservient man of color in a racist society. There is a story of Clemente and his young wife walking into a furniture store in Pittsburgh after a few years in the majors, and the salesman sizing up this young, dark skinned couple, and telling them there might be some old furniture in the bad of the store they could look at a a discount. Such was the way people of color were treated in our country less than half a century ago.
I could write forever about Clemente's mistreatment and the pride he had that refused to let him back down. I could talk about how I would watch with envy the basket-catches he would make below his waist on high fly balls, or the arm that would throw runners out who hit a single to right field and improvidently took a bit of a turn, only to find themselves tagged out after a Clemente rocket of a throw. I could write about that throw in game seven in the 1971 series where he picked the ball up off a ricochet off the wall, effortlessly spun and threw the ball on one hop to third base, a perfect strike- a throw some say was the greatest they ever saw. I could talk about how I saw the red in his eyes in game three at Three Rivers, when he thought he had hit a home-run down the first base line, but the umpires ruled it a foul ball. Seething, he stepped back into the batters box and nearly took the pitcher's head off with a line drive up the middle on the next pitch. That was, incidentally, the first night world series game ever played, and I was there. Thank you Dad and Grandpa.
What I want to talk about is, that in this era of baseball by the numbers, Clemente did it all differently, and many would say wrong. His batter's stance was unconventional. He swung wildly, and often at the first pitch, eschewing the conventional wisdom to work the count in favor of the batter. As he got older, Clemente would coach young players in the winter leagues in Mexico and Puerto Rico. He would tell the hitters they couldn't get a hit if they didn't swing. It's advice no one would give any hitter today.
And yet, Roberto had 3,000 hits. He led the NL in batting four times. In eighteen seasons he batted .319 and hit 240 home runs. And like Frank Sinatra sang, he did it his way.
As I walk though the courthouse in Miami, I see young Assistant Public Defenders and young Assistant State Attorneys learning their craft. And they are indoctrinated with a set of rules, passed down from era to era: don't ask a question you don't know the answer to; keep your opening statement short as jurors lose patience with you; try your case in voir dire if you can.
Why? Has anyone looked at these rules in the last forty years?
Cross examination is a lawyer's best chance to get at the truth. Why limit yourself?
Opening statement is the first chance the jury gets to hear your client's side of the story. Why not craft a compelling story. Make it interesting. Capture and hold the jury, no matter how long it takes.
Voir Dire is the most important part of the case. A time to learn what a juror thinks. Why waste your time trying to indoctrinate thirty or forty people, many of whom don't have an open mind and never will.
Clemente didn't follow any of the conventional rules. He played the game his way, and at a level rarely if ever seen. And damn if he wasn't the best baseball player I will ever see. And beyond his athletic abilities, he had a pride about his skills, and himself, and he refused to follow the rules of America, 1960. He wouldn't eat in the back of any damn restaurant that wouldn't serve him with everyone else. And ask any Hispanic who saw the post game interview in 1971 after the Pirates won the world series if their heart didn't swell with pride when the first thing Roberto did on national television was speak in Spanish to his people in Puerto Rico. That was something NBC didn't expect and that was something that "wasn't done".
We are all born as individuals. And the best of us- the best trial lawyers, the best ballplayers, the best leaders, the people who make a change and make a difference, see the way things are done and ask "why?"
Bill Gates did it. Steve Jobs did it. Rosa Parks did it. Bobby Kennedy, as memorialized by his brother Teddy did it. The founders of our country did it.
And I hope that in the times I get the opportunity to work with young lawyers, I remember to instill a little bit of Roberto Clemente in how they approach their work, and maybe, their life.
PLR.
Monday, August 18, 2014
YOGA AND TRIAL LAW
You wouldn't know it by looking at me, but I practice Bikram Yoga 3-5 times a week. I'm 6'3 255 on a good week, and 2__ when I succumb to the Dark Side of the Force: chocolate chip cookies.
But there are valuable lessons I learn from spending 90 minutes in a 105 degree studio surrounded mostly by women half my age wearing impossibly small pieces of spandex as they maneuver their bodies into seemingly impossible positions.
Breathe. When starting an asana, a beginning yogi will hold their breath trying to put themselves into a difficult pose. Remembering to breathe is important.
During a trial or hearing, I will often will look across the aisle at my counterpart in court when something unexpected occurs during their case- hopefully because of me- and notice that they are holding their breath as the unexpected unfolds. When it happens to me, as it did recently during the early days of a lengthy federal trial in March of this year, the first thing I told myself as the government's witness started talking about the application of an unexpected and seemingly devastating law, was to breathe. "Slow down. Remember to breathe. Remember the yoga...." I said to myself. Then I thought of the motto of Mission Control at NASA during the Moon shots: "Work the problem." I remained calm, opened my laptop, logged on to Westlaw, and saw that the statute the witness was referring to was wholly inapplicable to the charges against my client. While the direct testimony was seemingly very damaging, my cross not only remedied the problem, but seriously damaged the government's case because their expert witness was forced to admit his entire theory of my client's culpability was based on a law wholly inapplicable to the charges in the case.
A Bikram Yoga class is 90 minutes. I describe it as 90 minutes of hell. And before I proceed further, here's a plug for my great Bikram Studio: Bikram Hot Yoga Miami right off of SW 27th Avenue and US 1. Here is their Facebook. They make everyone feel right at home, beginner, or expert, and I've yet to have a teacher I didn't learn something from.
I often chuckle to myself as I hear the instructor at the front desk before class tell a new student "you're going to feel wonderful...after the class." And that is true, because the class is hard, hot, and at times frustrating as the poses are challenging. But Birkam has a saying: "one percent of the posture and one hundred percent of the benefits" which means that the beginning student gets just as must benefit from correctly starting the pose, as the advanced student bending over from the waist and putting her head on the floor and grabbing her heels - known as "standing separate head stretching pose"( which, since I am blind without my glasses and don't wear them in class, I can only imagine what it looks like.)
But during my day, as I go from court to court, or if I am in trial and something goes wrong, I will often slow myself down and think about the last class I did. How hard was is to get into Spine Twisting Pose- the last of the 26 poses, which was about 85 minutes into the 90 minute class, about which time I am so exhausted, tired, hot, and possibly frustrated, that the desire to quit is almost overwhelming. Yet when I completed both sets of the pose, and then finished class, I will often remind myself that nothing I will do tomorrow will be as hard as this. And then when something goes wrong during the day, I will remember the last pose, remember the feeling of relief of being able to complete the class and the 26 Asanas, and that will give me re-newed confidence to "work the problem" my client and I are facing.
There's nothing mystic about Yoga. No far-out zen experiences, or weird chanting. It is about breathing, remaining calm, and pushing your body into poses that are exceptionally beneficial for your mental and physical health. It's no surprise that you're pushing your body into a place it initially doesn't want to go. But once you get there, there is this unexpected desire to go there again that keeps resurfacing, day after day.
There's no secret to being a great trial lawyer. It takes time, discipline, experience, a willingness to brutally rip apart your performance in every case you lost, and remaining humble and thankful in every case you win. It's knowing, as Vince Lombardi said, that "luck is the residue of design" and being willing to get up earlier than your opponent every day, and work longer and harder in learning the file, knowing the case, and being prepared for every eventuality. To the extent that Yoga helps with the discipline of hard work, and helps me remain calm during stressful events during a trial, Yoga helps me be a better lawyer for my clients.
And those skimpy spandex outfits having nothing to do with it. I promise.
But there are valuable lessons I learn from spending 90 minutes in a 105 degree studio surrounded mostly by women half my age wearing impossibly small pieces of spandex as they maneuver their bodies into seemingly impossible positions.
Breathe. When starting an asana, a beginning yogi will hold their breath trying to put themselves into a difficult pose. Remembering to breathe is important.
During a trial or hearing, I will often will look across the aisle at my counterpart in court when something unexpected occurs during their case- hopefully because of me- and notice that they are holding their breath as the unexpected unfolds. When it happens to me, as it did recently during the early days of a lengthy federal trial in March of this year, the first thing I told myself as the government's witness started talking about the application of an unexpected and seemingly devastating law, was to breathe. "Slow down. Remember to breathe. Remember the yoga...." I said to myself. Then I thought of the motto of Mission Control at NASA during the Moon shots: "Work the problem." I remained calm, opened my laptop, logged on to Westlaw, and saw that the statute the witness was referring to was wholly inapplicable to the charges against my client. While the direct testimony was seemingly very damaging, my cross not only remedied the problem, but seriously damaged the government's case because their expert witness was forced to admit his entire theory of my client's culpability was based on a law wholly inapplicable to the charges in the case.
A Bikram Yoga class is 90 minutes. I describe it as 90 minutes of hell. And before I proceed further, here's a plug for my great Bikram Studio: Bikram Hot Yoga Miami right off of SW 27th Avenue and US 1. Here is their Facebook. They make everyone feel right at home, beginner, or expert, and I've yet to have a teacher I didn't learn something from.
I often chuckle to myself as I hear the instructor at the front desk before class tell a new student "you're going to feel wonderful...after the class." And that is true, because the class is hard, hot, and at times frustrating as the poses are challenging. But Birkam has a saying: "one percent of the posture and one hundred percent of the benefits" which means that the beginning student gets just as must benefit from correctly starting the pose, as the advanced student bending over from the waist and putting her head on the floor and grabbing her heels - known as "standing separate head stretching pose"( which, since I am blind without my glasses and don't wear them in class, I can only imagine what it looks like.)
But during my day, as I go from court to court, or if I am in trial and something goes wrong, I will often slow myself down and think about the last class I did. How hard was is to get into Spine Twisting Pose- the last of the 26 poses, which was about 85 minutes into the 90 minute class, about which time I am so exhausted, tired, hot, and possibly frustrated, that the desire to quit is almost overwhelming. Yet when I completed both sets of the pose, and then finished class, I will often remind myself that nothing I will do tomorrow will be as hard as this. And then when something goes wrong during the day, I will remember the last pose, remember the feeling of relief of being able to complete the class and the 26 Asanas, and that will give me re-newed confidence to "work the problem" my client and I are facing.
There's nothing mystic about Yoga. No far-out zen experiences, or weird chanting. It is about breathing, remaining calm, and pushing your body into poses that are exceptionally beneficial for your mental and physical health. It's no surprise that you're pushing your body into a place it initially doesn't want to go. But once you get there, there is this unexpected desire to go there again that keeps resurfacing, day after day.
There's no secret to being a great trial lawyer. It takes time, discipline, experience, a willingness to brutally rip apart your performance in every case you lost, and remaining humble and thankful in every case you win. It's knowing, as Vince Lombardi said, that "luck is the residue of design" and being willing to get up earlier than your opponent every day, and work longer and harder in learning the file, knowing the case, and being prepared for every eventuality. To the extent that Yoga helps with the discipline of hard work, and helps me remain calm during stressful events during a trial, Yoga helps me be a better lawyer for my clients.
And those skimpy spandex outfits having nothing to do with it. I promise.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
THE WHO AND THE WHY
In his wonderful and sui generis (legalese for unlike anything else) blog Hercules and the Umpire, Judge Richard Kopf, who is a Federal District Judge for the District of Nebraska wrote about an exchange he had with a law student that led to him starting his blog:
"If I were to write my own blog, it would have something to do with what it means to be a federal trial judge on a day to day basis. I am not sure however, that I want to reveal that much about myself."
So, after contemplating writing my own blog on "what it means to be a criminal defense trial lawyer on a day to day basis in South Florida", I had to also decide whether I wanted to reveal that much about myself, my life, and my practice. After a wonderful vacation week in North Carolina, this blog is the answer to that question.
I admit that the social media-SEO experts and the like who have helped us design and implement our law firm's new website: Woodward and Reizenstein PA had some influence about creating this separate blog. Some mumbo-jumbo about Google Web-crawlers and the establishment of an authentic presence on the web. So be it.
But I plan for this blog to be more.
The number one question criminal defense attorneys get at parties, from friends and family members, really anywhere we go is: "How can you represent those people."
One goal of this blog will be, while maintaining strict client confidentiality, to answer that question.
Shameless plug: For now, the tantalizing answer (I hope) to that question can be found in our firm's motto on our website (another plug):
"When Bad Things Happen To Good People....We Can Help."
"If I were to write my own blog, it would have something to do with what it means to be a federal trial judge on a day to day basis. I am not sure however, that I want to reveal that much about myself."
So, after contemplating writing my own blog on "what it means to be a criminal defense trial lawyer on a day to day basis in South Florida", I had to also decide whether I wanted to reveal that much about myself, my life, and my practice. After a wonderful vacation week in North Carolina, this blog is the answer to that question.
I admit that the social media-SEO experts and the like who have helped us design and implement our law firm's new website: Woodward and Reizenstein PA had some influence about creating this separate blog. Some mumbo-jumbo about Google Web-crawlers and the establishment of an authentic presence on the web. So be it.
But I plan for this blog to be more.
The number one question criminal defense attorneys get at parties, from friends and family members, really anywhere we go is: "How can you represent those people."
One goal of this blog will be, while maintaining strict client confidentiality, to answer that question.
Shameless plug: For now, the tantalizing answer (I hope) to that question can be found in our firm's motto on our website (another plug):
"When Bad Things Happen To Good People....We Can Help."
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