Veterans – My Father In Law

I recoginze that yesterday wasn’t Veteran’s Day, the day that our country has designated as the day to honor our military veterans.  That was Wednesday.  However, yesterday, Friday the 13th, was a day that I spent time visiting with a veteran — my father in law.  George Bove.  I have seen the pictures:  6 ft plus, barrel chest, thick, wavy hair . . . the sort of picture of a man we remember from World War II, America’s greatest generation.   Unfortunately, time and life erode some of those features.  He is still tall but much thinner.  His hair is now white and thick for his age but not the mane that I saw in those old sepia colored photos.  I visited him in the hospital yesterday and spent a good couple of hours with he and my mother-in-law. 

If you ever wondered where the phrase “they just don’t make ‘em like that anymore” came from, you need look no further than my father in law.   No matter how much discomfort he was/is in, whenever a nurse comes by and politely inquires “how are you?”, he answers “ok”, “fine” or “I don’t need anything”.   He never complains . . . ever!   As an example, even when he fell and broke his hip . . . he crawled to the door rather than scream aloud so that he wouldn’t alarm my mother in law.   When I was leaving the hospital yesterday, he was only thinking of me and the time it took to visit — “it’s too far to come visit me . . . don’t waste the time.”

I thought of how he raised my wife and instilled in her the strength that I admire and respect.  How scared he must’ve been as a young man in WWII when he landed in Europe, seeing friends and fellow soldiers die.  How he must’ve gritted his teeth, swallowed his fear and forged ahead.  How he was shot and wounded in WWII.  How he worked 3 jobs to provide for his family and has the fierce undying loyalty of his children, who never complain that he “wasn’t there for them” because he was.  How he sacrificed for my wife, my children, me . . . and you!  They just don’t make ‘em like that anymore.

George.  Thank you for your service to this country, your family and my loved ones.  You’ve done so much and come so far for us.  I can make the drive again to visit you and will soon.

Defense of a “Brother” – A Victory Against All Odds

I don’t blog or write about my cases in great detail in these precious spaces. The experience of going through a criminal case was described by Roy Black, famed attorney, as akin to watching a loved one battle a terminal illness. I have had the good fortune to watch many of my clients survive these battles but it comes with a price. So I reserve these notes not to promote myself but instead to discuss the side of my work that we don’t often see or hear about. Sometimes I write about the accomplishments of my staff. Sometimes the feedback of the public. Sometimes the good feelings I get from a thank you. I hope that my sincerity comes through here . . . if not, I have done a poor job of expressing myself. I write about our firm’s defense of T.J., the brother in law and relative of some of my dearest and most loyal friends, who was charged with plotting to kill someone in 2008. The outcome at trial was against all odds, a victory that will return him to his family and didn’t seem imaginable when we started the case, but the case began much differently.

Over a year ago, I received the call. T.J. was charged with plotting to kill someone. Worse, he had fled the jurisdiction. When I spoke with his family and friends, folks whose weddings I have attended and welcomed into my home, I shuddered. I have always wanted the ball in my ends at game time. But this felt different. The pressure was palpable. When I heard from his family that he was arrested in Arizona . . . I felt the permanent pit of stress lodge itself in my throat. It would travel between there and my stomach for one year without a break. It got worse when I learned that he was arrested while preparing to turn himself in because his family promised that I’d defend him. He had small children. A lovely wife. He faced a life without them. His wife, who had seen so much pain in her life, who always held it together for the rest of the family was having a hard time holding strong. I welled up everytime she shed tears. What must she be thinking? Such loyalty? Such faith . . .

When it seemed bad, it got worse: T.J.’s brother in law was charged as a co conspirator. The family was devastated . . . honestly, I felt guilty answering their kind questions about my family (how’s your family, Neil? enjoy your Sunday, Neil . . . spend time with the kids, okay?). The case was so tough. Both had fled. Both were witnessed by eyewitnesses. The complainant survived. T.J.’s phones were left at the scene. I laid awake at night trying to feel how he felt . . . imagining and feeling what had prompted him to act as he did.

A year of fighting — courtrooms packed with spectators and family. Standing room only, I kid you not. Every gain was followed by a prosecutor’s blitz, to borrow some football terms. District Court. Circuit Court. District Court. Circuit Court. We get the Armed Robbery charged dismissed and the prosecutor amends to Conspiracy – 1st Degree Murder: LIFE.

While we didn’t sign up for that specific fight . . . some fights need fighting. This was one. So we fought. 2 lawyers . . . 2 defendants. We fought the prejudices of the public against people who descend from certain countries and regions. We fought the prejudices about lawyers. We fought to preserve the presumption of innocence. We fought to identify stealth jurors and real jurors. 3 days of jury selection. This was so important that I feared saying “we’re satisfied” but by the end, I looked out at the 14 faces and I knew . . . these folks would decide our fate. They didn’t always answer perfectly but they answered honestly. I’ll take honest over perfect anyday.

And we were off . . . 3 weeks of trial. The jurors saw me laugh, cry, smile, frown, stutter and speak smoothly. In short, they saw a real person fighting a daily fight. Maybe a similar fight to the ones that they fight in their one lives when things are important to them. I am told the my lawyering style is a bit “jazz like” — things are moving along nicely and then something interesting, improvisational and entertaining comes along. Whether true or not, I liked hearing it . . . and then I found myself repeating my final words to the jury, ones that I have uttered so often — nothing corny, nothing silly but honest: “tomorrow, I’ll move on. So will the the prosecutor. We’ll be in some other court, fighting another battle for other people. But this is the only moment and you are the only people who can give justice to T.J. For him and you, there is no tomorrow. And I sat, spent, drained. 3 weeks of sweating and fighting hard will do that …

And we sat . . . for hours, I had to walk the gauntlet — like an emotional Tailhook — of the hallway as I walked past TJ’s children, mother, wife, friends and family. Each wanted encouragement from me . . . each wanted me to say, “it’s all right, it’ll be ok” and boy did I try. Deputies, officers, lawyers, prosecutors, court watchers, etc. would pat me on the back and compliment me — it brought a smile to TJ’s family but a not real smile if you know what I mean — they didn’t care how well I had argued, etc. They understandably cared about the result.

The verdict announcement is terrifying. This one was no different. The walk and wait between the jury reaching a verdict and them actually rendering verdict is a suspense that should not be willingly experienced by the sane. Yet I do it for a living . . . The family prays. I pace. I doodle. I rise. I hold TJ’s hand. I hear it . . . against all odds, TJ prevailed. Despite all the evidence, the flight, the eyewitnesses, the compelling testimony of the complainant, etc. ad infinitum, the jury finds him not guilty of Conspiracy to Commit 1st Degree Murder and instead only on a much, much, much less serious charge. Rather than facing straight life in prison, he will be out in only a few months. INCREDIBLE!

We had made so much of the prosecution’s evidence into our own. Using their witnesses to advance our theories and to tell our story. So valiant this family was . . . I still shake my head thinking about it. This was a trial victory against all odds — when it really mattered. When a man looked me in the eye and opened my hands with his and then closed them within mine saying, “I am in your hands”.

TJ, I felt your trust. The letter that he sent me after the trial, promising to rename his children after me (just kidding) was nice but not necessary. I know. I know how you feel . . . They tried to take you from your family and we said, “No”, “not this man”, “not this family”, “not this lawyer.” You won. You prevailed. Against all odds!!

Selected as a Super Lawyer

 

I haven’t blogged in quite awhile and I miss it.  In that time, much has happened and I miss sharing it. I’ll write more in a bit but I wanted to share an honor that was bestowed on me recently.  I was recently selected and named a Michigan Super Lawyer.  This honor is one that I share with only 5% of the lawyers in this state.  The other lawyers selected include some lawyers that I have admired and watched for years.  I am humbled and honored to be included and selected.  Thank you.

The Missing Blogger – Noise

I’m a little rusty, not having shared with my thoughts and observations of late.  I haven’t posted anything in some time.  Not that I haven’t had things to share, been busy or that I didn’t have thoughts about the goings on in the world that I wanted to get off my chest.  I think just the opposite . . . there’s been so much going on.  From the scandals in Detroit politics to the national economy to the apparent or seemingly apparent increased frequency of airplane crashes, ad nauseam, ad infinitum . . . we live in a busy, hectic world.  There are many events.  Many people talking about those events.  Millions of voices.  Tweets, Facebook updates, wall posts, TV, Radio, Satellite Radio, Email, blogs, etc . . . I’ve been around.  While I hadn’t blogged or posted in awhile, I was listening and I have to tell you . . . we, all of us, do make a lot of noise. 

The Noise is not what our forefathers would refer to as noise.  To them, noise was something that you/they could hear.  My mother and Bubbie (of blessed memory we Jews say) would agree…”stop making so much noise”. they’d yell or “turn that thing down, I can’t hear myself think”, they’d complain.  Not today.  Noise today is different…now we have created a world in which the silence that our mothers craved is now still “noisy”.  Our minds are polluted and inundated with “tweets”, “updates”, “blogs”, “opinions”, “lyrics” . . . even when silent, its difficult to hear ourselves think.  It seems like when you try to take a break for a period of time and truly tune out that when you return, the world is a mile ahead — like a runner or cyclist who fell down and is now desperately trying to catch the pack.  Even when you catch up, you’re still peddling like mad.  There is no break!

My “break” was filled with preparing for and then being in an extremely complex jury trial.  It took all of my thoughts, wits, intellect, understanding.  I had to learn a new science…I did so without the assistance of an expert witness or consultant.  I will share more about the trial in a few days.  However, I must confess, I did enjoy the lack of noise.

Father’s Day – A Message For My Dad

I wasn’t the easiest child to raise. I know that much. I don’t think that I was the most difficult either but I am sure that I had my moments where my parents thought so. My mom was the nurturer . . . tiptoeing downstairs in the evening after a big blowup in our house to reassure me that all was ok. For my father, a big-hearted emotional and sentimental guy, I know it was much harder to get over those fights. I know this because I am him . . . he is me. I understand more about him and I today than I ever could back then. Today is my day (Father’s Day), but it’s really his . . .

While I know that I’ve given him many days of stress and anxiety, I hope in the balance of things that I have given him more reasons to be proud than shame or nervous. I haven’t always been perfect or behaved right but I hope that in the end he is proud of the person that I’ve become. These are tough words to write because only he knows whether I’ve become that man/person that he wanted when he raised me. So tough to know . . .

Growing up, we weren’t rich but we lacked for nothing. My father made sure that we travelled — if not by plane, than by car. We didn’t stay in suites, or have multiple rooms . . . we shared one. He wanted to make sure that we saw the country and he did.

He wanted me to have pride in being Jewish, to know my faith. While not as religious as he probably had hoped, a more proud Jew than I is hard to find.

He wanted me to marry a good woman, one who would love and protect me. I married my wife, Karen. My rock.

He wanted me to be a good father and to give my children, a good home and a good life. I’m working on those things, trying to learn from his lessons and his ways. I’m doing the best that I can.

In the end, that is my testament to my father. He always strived to do the best he could! I believe that he did the best he could with me, a tough to train, rebellious son.

Today is his day. His day to remember his father, Leo Rockhind. His day to be respected and honored. And the best way that I can think of to honor and respect him is so share with them these thoughts and feelings and words:

Dad, I am proud to call you my father. I will always be here for you as you were there for your father. You did the very best that you could with me. I will continue to try to make you proud. Happy Father’s Day! I love you!

My Daughter

My 10 year old daughter, Aliya. My first born. My only girl. As she enters her “teens”, I wonder what will become of my relationship with her. My friends, with teenage daughters, warn me repeatedly that it will change . . . dramatically. I hope not. The thought of her not smiling that whole face smile of joy when I walk in the room is something that makes my lower lip quiver and a frog magically appear in my throat. I hope that if she ever starts to change, she remembers the good times, those feelings and if all else fails, the lyrics of this song by Loudon Wainwright, III — they say it all:

Everything she sees
she says she wants.
Everything she wants
I see she gets.

That’s my daughter in the water
everything she owns I bought her
Everything she owns.
That’s my daughter in the water,
everything she knows I taught her.
Everything she knows.

Everything I say
she takes to heart.
Everything she takes
she takes apart.

That’s my daughter in the water
every time she fell I caught her.
Every time she fell.
That’s my daughter in the water,
I lost every time I fought her.
Find More lyrics at www.sweetslyrics.com
I lost every time.

Every time she blinks
she strikes somebody blind.
Everything she thinks
blows her tiny mind.
That’s my daughter in the water,
who’d have ever thought her?
Who’d have ever thought?
That’s my daughter in the water,
I lost everytime I fought her
Yea, I lost every time.

Doctor’s Note – Enough To Grow Pot!

In a remarkable decision, the Hon. Robert Turner of the 43rd District Court, the district court the city of Madison Heights, dismissed the manufacturing charges that the State of Michigan brought against a couple of were growing marihuana.  The couple defended the case by citing Michigan’s Medical Marihuana Act.  This was a law passed by the People of the State of Michigan yet their representatives were arguing that the law didn’t protect this couple.  People 1 | People’s Representative 0.   Judge Turner heard testimony from a physician who prescribed marihuana for the couple.   After hearing it, he dismissed the charges!  He cited Michigan’s Medical Marihuana Act as the basis and concluded that the couple’s “doctor’s note” was sufficient to afford them protection under the statute.  

Judge Dismisses Charges

Judge Turner acted courageously and intelligently.  I applaud him and his decision.  The People of the State spoke when the law as passed.  Today, Judge Turner held that a law that was passed by the People would protect 2 of its own, i.e., the couple.  Isn’t this supposed to be how it works??

In Memoriam

Today is a day to honor those who have passed who served our country . . . those that fought for the United States, in uniform, risking their lives. We mourn those who tragically died in battle. We mourn those who miraculously survived and were able to live out their lives. I am honored to count my grandfathers, Leo Rochkind and Norbert Reinstein, amongst the latter group: both served our country in uniform as a part of America’s Greatest Generation. Both survived the war. Both lived long lives. Into their nineties. Both have now passed away.

When I was growing up, we Jewish boys were given “Bar Mitzvah” rings upon completing our Bar Mitzvah. Usually the rings bore our initials. Many think that the ring on my finger that bears my initials, “NR”, is from my Bar Mitzvah. When asked if it is, I politely smile and proudly explain that its my grandfather’s ring . . . “NR” — Norbert Reinstein. I wear it proudly. On this day, Memorial Day, it takes on added meaning. He wasn’t just my grandfather, he was a hero in uniform. I am remembering him with both sadness and pride.

My other grandfather, Leo Rochkind, was in the Navy. The oldest man on his ship. Old man, they used to call him. Old Man . . . hmmm. He was so young then. He was a hero in a different way in my life . . . in many ways, he and my Bubie (yiddish for grandmother) saved my life when I was growing up. He was my friend, my Grandpa Leo . . . he took pride in me when it didn’t seem like anyone did. After he passed away, our family had to clean out his apartment. Mementos, etc., were taken. I only wanted one thing — I wear it around my neck everyday. His dogtag. Close to my heart . . .

I mourn both of my grandfathers today. I wear reminders of not just their service to their country but their impact on my life. A ring. A dogtag. A grandson remembering his grandfathers.

In Memoriam. Leo Rochkind. Norbert Reinstein. May they rest in peace. Baruch Hashem.

Shhhh!

I remember a great story from law school.  My constitutional professor told us a story about his mother and Miranda, the accused on whose behalf the Arizona v Miranda and Miranda rights case was argued.  My professor’s mother lived in Texas.  She always wanted to appear “hip” and “in touch” with his career.  So when an article in the paper detailing Miranda’s death appeared, she read it and sent it to him.  But not without comment.  Apparently, the article detailed Miranda’s life.  The picture painted was not a pretty one.  Rather it was about a career criminal and was written in unflattering terms.  She attached a note to the article questioning the harshness of the article about “this great man”: 

“After all he’s done for the country!”, she wrote.

His mother believed that Miranda had done something good for the country by “creating the Miranda rights.”  He hadn’t.  His lawyers did however but I don’t understand why more people don’t take advantage of their Miranda rights?  As a criminal lawyer, it is still a great mystery.  You’re under arrest by the police.  The police give you the Miranda rights.   But you’re scared . . . nervous . . . worried.  Moreover.  The police are being aggressive or threatening or trying to sound “understanding”.  So when you hear the warnings and the fact that you’re arrested, being given them by the people who arrested you isn’t enough to get you to Shhh . . . think of what they’re really saying:

“you have the right to remain silent.”  (Shhh!!  Don’t talk.)

“anything you say will be used against you.”  (They’re going to use this stuff to hang you in court)

“you have the right to an attorney.” (This can be so bad for you that you can actually have someone in here with you to help you)

“we’ll get you a court appointed lawyer if you cannot afford your own.” (Listen up . . . if you’re poor or indigent, don’t worry.  This could be so bad for you that we’ll give you a lawyer)

“you can stop the questioning at any time.” (We really mean it . . . this could be so bad for you that if you change your mind, that’s ok . . . you can stop it.  You get a do-over.)

I know that good-minded people must be trembling and scared when talking to the police.  Too much so to be able to make good decisions and judgments.  Way too much so to comprehend the scope of the rights involved.  I tried to paraphrase after each one to break it down into a more digestable form.  But if you’re nervous, scared and the police are about to interrogate you just think back to ol Miranda and my law professor’s mom, “after all he’s done for us” and remember to be quiet!  You’re not gonna talk them out of charging you.  You’re only making it worse.  SHHHHH!!

Mother’s Day

I always wondered if I’d have the courage to write without limitations here.  I too have spent a lifetime building walls to protect myself from the things that endanger or hurt me.  Walls protect us from invaders and intruders and my walls have protected me.   I am trying, as I write here, to lower my walls althought I confess that is not easy for me.

This was a painful mother’s day in the Rockind family.  My father in law is true hero, a representative of America’s Greatest Generation — the men who fought the Nazi’s and Japanese in World War II.  I would be impressed with him were there nothing else to his service record.  Yet there is more.  He was a Normandy . . . on D-Day.  One of those scared boys that we saw in the movie, Saving Private Ryan, wading through the bloodstained waters and sand to begin the fight against the Nazi’s.  He was wounded as well . . . shot by a German soldier.  He even returned to duty, eschewing the chance to go home.  A hero.  Before my wife was a glint in his eye, he was a hero to my family made up of Jews of Europe.  Barrell-chested with thick wavy hair, he seemed to embody that generation . . . confident, handsome, courageous and full of vigor.  He is much older now, I am sad to report and while he could fight through the Great Depression (as a child), the war and the Nazi’s, he is fighting a too-tough opponent — Father Time.  He is losing.  This was a painful Mother’s Day in our home.  My father in law, once so strong and capable, is quite sick.  I am choking back tears as I write this . . . it was painful to watch him on Mother’s Day.  It was even more painful to watch my beautiful wife and her mother.  I could feel and see their pain.

1000 miles away, my mother was in Florida.  She was having no easier a time.  This was her first Mother’s Day without her mother — my grandmother, of blessed memory.   She passed away recently.  Shortly after her husband, my grandfather.  Married for nearly 3/4 of a century, both Holocaust survivors, it turns out that she could not survive without her husband.  I guess when you live together so long you share so much . . . in this case, they shared a heart and when his stopped beating hers did too.  I knew my mother was suffering and I sent her a short message that I hoped would cheer her up . . . I talked to her later that day.  I was right.  She was hurting.  And it did make her feel better but she spent Mother’s Day in pain too.

I reminded her in my note that when we were young, she’d sneak downstairs after a fight and comfort us — a reminder that we were still loved and that tomorrow w0uld be a new day.  My dad gave me my gift of gab.  She taught me love and compassion.  I love her.  I feel for her, this unique Mother’s Day — without her mother.  I have compassion for my ailing heroic father-in-law.  I spent Mother’s Day using that which my mother taught me.  It was a painful Mother’s Day but an important one. 

Please … look around.  Give someone in your life a hug.  Tomorrow could a day too late.