That afternoon, the judges gathered in one of the many nooks within the Chapel of the Chimes. All of us wore our black robes. Most were gathered in groups of two or three, like crows on a rooftop, waiting.
An attendant informed us that the funeral was about to start, so we lined up in order of status and seniority. Members of the federal judiciary were first, then the California Supreme Court, then the California Court of Appeals, and then the Superior Courts.
As a member of the lowest court as well as the judge with the least seniority, I was last in line. I waited as the others filed into the chapel, and then it was my turn.
I entered the chapel with a knot in my stomach. I knew it was my imagination, but I felt like every person in the chapel was staring at me. I took deep breaths as we made our way down the aisle. I allowed my eyes to drift to the ceiling and take in the aspirational space. I told myself that this was Harry’s day. I needed to focus on Harry.
Three rows were roped off near the front, and the first judges to enter had already sat down. I followed the line forward and settled at the end of the row. I looked to my left and saw Nikki sitting next to Mary Pat. Next to them were two large nurses from the memory unit. They were ready to assist if Mary Pat acted out. I hoped that wouldn’t be necessary, but nobody knew what Mary Pat would do when people began to talk about her husband’s life and death.
Two rows behind Mary Pat was Helen Vox, dressed in black. Her white hair and sharp jawbone were striking. She sat perfectly erect and proud. Her presence was a declaration. She wasn’t going to be shamed.
Music began to play. Even without amplification, the notes drawn by the string quartet were crisp, the acoustics in the chapel perfect. From the back, an urn containing Judge Harry Meyer’s ashes was carried down the center aisle. The urn was a large hand-thrown clay pot in muted blue, green, and dark purple, beautiful and humble at the same time. It was encased in glass atop an ornate wooden carrier.
Four men served as pallbearers, two on each side. Members of Judge Meyer’s extended family followed.
Harry’s pastor from First United Methodist of Berkeley welcomed those in attendance. He told a few stories about Harry’s love of fishing, and then he introduced Marshall Terry.
If a movie director sought somebody to portray a US senator or the president of the United States, it would be Marshall. He was tall and thin, with a square jaw and a full head of silver hair. Pursuant to Harry’s instructions, he provided the first eulogy.
“Good afternoon. My name is Marshall Terry, but my friends call me Marsh, and I had no better friend in this world than Judge Harry Meyer.” He spoke with total confidence, telling stories about Judge Meyer as a young man. “We met in Vietnam, both of us too stupid to dodge the draft. And it was in a rice paddy somewhere in Quang Ngai that we promised each other that if—and it was a big if at that point—we got out alive, we’d be brothers forever. He promised that if I came with him to college that he’d help me through it, and he did.”
Marsh smiled. “Now keep in mind that Harry and I weren’t exactly the same. Let’s just say we have different temperaments, but Harry was always good to me. He saved my life on multiple occasions. The first few were in Vietnam, and then the last time was twenty-five years ago. That’s when he picked me up, and I asked him, ‘Where’s the party?’ And he said, ‘AA.’ It wasn’t easy, but I have sobriety and my life because of Judge Meyer.”
Marsh looked at Harry’s urn. “I love you, buddy.”
Then he stepped down as the minister returned to the pulpit and introduced the chief justice of the California Supreme Court. Unlike Marsh Terry, she wasn’t personally picked by Harry to give a eulogy. Harry would’ve been embarrassed, thinking such a show would be pretentious. It was, however, a request to me by Chief Karls, and, after some hesitation, I decided that Harry deserved to be honored in such a manner.
Even though she didn’t have a significant personal connection to Harry, she was there as a spokesperson for the judiciary, and it was important for Harry to be recognized. I wanted people to hear about the various committees that Harry had served on as well as the many awards that he had received. Rumors had swirled since his murder, and this was my little way of rehabilitating the man I loved.
When the chief justice finished her remarks, the string quartet began to play again—“Amazing Grace.” Harry loved that song, and it didn’t surprise me that he had chosen it to be played during his funeral. It was a song of redemption, the blind having recovered their sight.
We all could use a little redemption.
Once “Amazing Grace” concluded, it was my turn. I stood and walked to the podium, then removed my typed remarks from my pocket. I felt that knot in my stomach again. When I looked down at the words, my vision blurred with tears. I wiped them away and looked out at the audience. Their faces were long and somber.
Judge Harry Meyer had impacted countless lives. He was a generous soul. Of course, I wasn’t alone in experiencing his kindness.
I looked at Mary Pat and forced a smile, wondering what she was thinking. Did she know why she was present? Who I was? What was happening? Behind her, Helen Vox clutched a handkerchief in her hand. She knew that I was looking at her. Helen held my stare and nodded, giving me some of her strength.
I looked again at my typed remarks. I told myself to just start reading, and that’s what I did. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, Harry Meyer was more than a colleague to me. He was a mentor, he was a friend, and he was the father I needed so badly. I feel lucky that he opened his heart to me.” The tune of “Amazing Grace” floated through my mind. “Many times I was lost, and Harry Meyer was the one who ensured that I was found. I will forever be thankful for his strength and guidance.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After the funeral, I dropped Nikki off at home and went to pick up a pizza. The sun had set by the time I got back. Augustus was in the front yard rolling in a pile of dirt, and Nikki sat on the front step drinking a glass of wine.
I started to relax, but the feeling didn’t last. My cell phone rang as I got out of the Range Rover. With the box of pizza in one hand, I answered with the other. “This is Jim.”
There was a crackle on the other end of the line. “This is Chief Judge Karls.” He cleared his throat. “I looked for you after the funeral today, but we didn’t connect. The words you spoke were lovely, very nicely done. The whole service was nicely done. I can only hope that people remember me half as fondly as Harry when I pass.”
As I unlocked the gate, Nikki got up from the front step. “Thank you, Chief, I appreciate that.” I handed the pizza to Nikki, and she pecked me on the cheek before turning and walking back up the sidewalk and into the house. Augustus smelled the food and followed closely behind her.
I stayed outside. “I’m about ready to eat.” I wanted to move the conversation along. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes,” said Chief Karls. “I’m calling for some other reasons.”
I knew that, but waited for him to lead.
“We need to meet tomorrow morning,” he said. “My apologies.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” I said, stating the obvious.
“I know, but I’ve been told that the newspaper is running that article tomorrow. We need to discuss it before Monday.”
Chief Karls assured me that the meeting would be relatively quick. He even gave me permission to dress casually. Not that I was planning on wearing a suit and tie to a 10:00 a.m. weekend meeting, but now the chief had blessed something that I would’ve done anyway. He was a benevolent leader like that.
“You have to take this seriously, Jim,” he went on. “I heard that Benji Metina will not be kind. There are going to be a lot of eyes on you now.” He paused. “I’m sorry this is happening so close to losing Harry, but it is what it is.”
It is what it is, I thought. What a stupid phrase. “If you want to meet, I can meet.”
“We’ll go over some options. Nancy Johns wil
l be there, of course.”
“To do what?”
“To help you.” Chief Karls was losing his patience. “When you look bad, Jim, we all look bad. This is bigger than you. We need to protect the district.” He hung up, not waiting for my response. Chief Karls was done talking.
When I got inside, I found Nikki sitting at our kitchen table, a 1950s chrome-and-Formica dinette set she had bought at a consignment shop shortly after we moved in. It was the only table that would work in our tiny kitchen.
Nikki picked up a piece of pizza and put it on her plate. “Who was that?”
“The chief.” I grabbed a ginger beer and a plate and sat down at the table across from her. “He wants to meet first thing in the morning. That newspaper article is coming out.” I wanted to scream, but I held steady, checking my emotions as I grabbed a slice of pizza. “I’m sure it’s going to be the first of many meetings.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “What time?”
“Ten.” I picked a small piece of sausage from my slice and tossed it to Augustus. The dog had somehow anticipated the treat, catching it in midair and gobbling it down. “I’m thinking we can go over to Harry’s house after. Start cleaning it out. It’s gonna take a while.”
“I can do that,” Nikki said. “I don’t work tomorrow, but Sunday is going to be a long day, double shift.” She told me about a guy who came into the emergency room the night before with four plastic Coke bottles stuck to his toes. After inserting his toes into the top of each bottle, he couldn’t get them out. “I didn’t understand it,” she said, “and then a nurse told me it was a sex thing.” She smiled. “Like, he was a dude who likes his toes to get sucked, but he couldn’t find somebody to do it.” She was trying hard to improve my mood, and it was almost working.
“That’s absurd.”
Nikki got up, took her plate to the sink, and came back over to me. “I did some Internet research and it’s true—it’s an actual kink.” She kissed the back of my neck, then put her hand on my cheek and made me look up at her. “Do you want me to suck your toes?”
I laughed. “I think I’ll pass on that one.”
With my mind elsewhere, she forced me to be present. She kissed my lips and took my hand. She took me back to the bedroom and turned off the lights. In bed she kissed me again, gentle at first and then harder. “It’ll be OK,” she said as she straddled me. “It’ll be just fine.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was the second day in a row that I’d gotten up before the sun. Even Augustus wasn’t ready, and he was usually ready for anything. The dog lay still on his blanket in the corner. His head rested on his front paws. With one eye slightly open, Augustus watched me crawl out of bed and leave the room.
Even he didn’t want to get up.
In the living room, our old rolltop desk sat piled high with junk mail, bills, and random things that didn’t have another home. In the middle of this stuff was a cheap computer. I wondered whether I should get a cup of coffee first, but I knew I couldn’t wait that long. I needed to see it. Delay wouldn’t make things better.
I also didn’t want Nikki standing over my shoulder. I didn’t want her studying my reactions, worrying about me.
I typed in my password, then clicked onto the Internet. A few seconds later, the website for the San Francisco Chronicle appeared. A narrow black bar across the top provided the temperature. Below it was the newspaper’s iconic banner, and then the headline:
THE BOY WHO SHOULD HAVE LIVED:
Dangerous Policies, Lack of Funding, and Inexperience Blamed in Tragedy
I scrolled down. A picture of Gregory Ports filled the screen. The little boy smiled at the camera, his eyes bright as he played with a plastic truck at his foster home. Next to Gregory was a picture of me, the official head shot from my profile on the court’s website. I was wearing my black robe in front of a mottled blue background. To the extent I had wrinkles, all were digitally erased, resulting in a picture that made me look more like a kid on the eve of his high school graduation than a Superior Court judge.
I scanned the article, and it didn’t take long for me to find my name:
Although everyone agrees that there are few legal matters more important than a case related to the abuse and neglect of a child, Judge James Thompson was assigned to handle child protection cases despite having no formal training, no experience as an attorney with child protection laws, less than ten years after graduating law school, and being just thirty-three years old. “When there’s an opening in child protection, you go down the list of the willing and able,” said Frank Bell, a former guardian ad litem who is now retired. “It’s a tough assignment, and most judges are either unwilling to do it or don’t have the skills to understand poor families that are in total crisis. Sometimes you don’t get the rock stars.”
An attorney who would only speak anonymously for fear of retribution stated, “I’m not saying Judge Thompson is a bad guy. He seems nice enough, but when the governor appointed him, it raised eyebrows. The governor bypassed some very qualified individuals that were recommended by the merit selection committee. Occasionally things like this work out OK. In this instance, it was an obvious mistake.” Many in the courthouse have nicknamed Judge Thompson “The Kitten.”
“The guy is just in over his head. He comes into the courthouse or you see him walking down the halls, and he looks like a lost kitten. That’s how he got the nickname. Somebody says they saw him walk into a closet by accident, thinking that it was a conference room.” The attorney laughed. “Don’t know if that story is true, but it sure sounds about right.”
Another attorney who regularly appears in front of Judge Thompson also agreed to speak on the condition of anonymity. He stated, “I don’t think the governor really understood what he was doing and who he was getting. The governor must have owed Judge Harry Meyer a huge debt or something, because his appointment was pretty crazy. And now we’re all stuck with him.”
I stopped, unable to read any more. I had suspected courthouse gossip. It came with the job, but it was another thing to see it made public. Every time somebody googled my name, that story would appear. A story about a young, unqualified judge whose incompetence resulted in a child’s death. I was “The Kitten.”
I scrolled down the page. It was another article about Harry’s murder. After repeating the basic details and ongoing police investigation, the article pivoted to the memorial service. Although it contained many nice quotes about Harry, it also suggested that both the Court and Alameda County Social Services were under scrutiny and under renewed public pressure.
I pushed back my chair and closed my eyes, and I thought about what I would say to Chief Karls and Nancy Johns.
All the judges’ chambers in the courthouse were the same, except for the chief judge’s office. His was twice the size. Nancy Johns and Chief Karls both sat near a window overlooking Lake Merritt. Even though it was Saturday, Chief Karls was, as always, dressed in a fitted suit, a crisp white dress shirt, and an expensive gold-and-blue tie.
In contrast, I was wearing jeans and a vintage White Stripes T-shirt.
“Please shut the door behind you and have a seat.” Chief Karls pointed to the empty chair across from him. He thanked me for meeting on such short notice and on the weekend, as if I had a choice, and began with a poor attempt at empathy as I sat down. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine.” My posture stiffened, and my teeth clenched. I wasn’t going to bare my soul to them or anybody else in the courthouse. “Like you said yesterday, it is what it is.”
“Right.” Chief Karls appreciated the fact that I was quoting him back to him. “Only so much you can control.” He tried to be reassuring, but the man operated within a very narrow band of emotions. I pitied his children.
After checking his watch, the chief decided that his brief talk from the heart should conclude. “Well, if you need anything, you know you can come to me.” He was now ready to move on.
“I apprecia
te your concern, Chief,” I said. “What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”
Chief Karls glanced at Nancy Johns, then back at me. “Couple things.” He looked down at a roster of the district’s judges and their current assignments. “We need to discuss your rotation.”
“What about it?”
“I’ve asked Nancy to explore other options.”
“You want to take me off child dependency?”
“It may be best.” He kept it vague. “I’m not trying to say that you did anything wrong, Jim. Please don’t think that . . . but we need to be thoughtful. What are the needs of the bench at this moment? What is best for you?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. Instead he posed a more direct question: “Have you ever thought about whether you actually want to continue handling these types of cases?”
“It’s what Harry wanted,” I said, which was true. “I made a commitment to him.”
“Well, I know that Judge Meyer had many plans and ideas, but that doesn’t mean he was right. There are plenty of different assignments: criminal, civil, family, probate, commitments.” He looked at Johns, as if seeking confirmation that he was going in the right direction. “It’s true that you were assigned to child protection, because that was what Judge Meyer wanted, but now we have more flexibility.”
“Meaning he was murdered.”
He held out his hands, resigned. “I’m trying to be respectful, Jim. I’m not looking for a fight. But the truth is that you didn’t sign a contract. You’re not bound to what Judge Meyer wanted you to do. You can be whomever you want.” His expression turned to sympathy. “With the article and the coming fallout, it’s every judge’s nightmare. I’m just putting this out there and seeking your thoughts.”
“It’d look bad,” I said. All the reasons why I didn’t want to quit were the same as the reasons why I didn’t want to be reassigned. “Seems like an admission that I did something wrong, like I’m being punished.”
Chief Karls brushed away the obvious. “Like I said, that’s not my intent.”
Good Intentions Page 6