She can't issue an order every time she sees someone with twenty items standing in the express lane at the supermarket, or hold people who talk at the theater in contempt, no matter how much she may wish to. So to have a regular customer, a complainant who approaches a specific judge instead of the court to redress his or her wrongs, is a remarkable thing.
This week we have seen the resurgence of one of my judge's regulars, Mr. I*****m. A little back story. Fifteen years ago, Mr. I*****m's wife left him. I don't know why. At that time, he petitioned the court to allow him to, and I'm not making this up, live in the basement of the family home during the pendency of and after the divorce. He told the judge that he would work out a schedule with his wife for the common areas like the kitchen and the bathroom and she would never have to see him. This scheme, seemingly hatched from repeated viewings of Brady Bunch reruns, was robustly denied.
He filed an appeal, which brought him for the first time in front of my judge and her panel. He lost that appeal. However, as a measure of judicial efficiency, when a party has appeared before one judge, every time he reappears in court he is assigned to that judge's calendar. This has obvious benefits in terms of preparation.
Additionally, because of the highly personal and delicate matters heard in family court rooms, there is very little to bar rehearing on a matter. In fact, rehearing is often encouraged as circumstances may have changed such that matters of alimony, child support, custody, and the like may need to be adjusted.
Therefore, over the years, Mr. I*****m has dragged his wife back to court for everything and anything he can think to litigate. As each is a slightly different issue and each is a losing argument on his part, Mr. I*****m appeals every time. Which means he finds his way back to my judge time and again.
Annually, Mr. I*****m shows up here on Christmas Eve complaining that his grown children will not see him on Christmas. I'm not exactly sure what he expects Judge Selma to do about this, but I know he would like her to do something.
As part of the divorce decree, the worth of the marital home was divided equally between the parties, but as his children were still living with his wife at the time of separation, she was given residence. About five years ago she petitioned the court for permission to divest herself of her interest in the marital home as she wanted to remarry and move into the house her new husband already owned. Mr. I*****m, of course, opposed this move. The court told Mr. I*****m that it was going to grant the request, but would give Mr. I*****m the right to buy his wife's interest in the property. At the time, the house was valued at approximately $200,000, so he needed to come up with half of that, or equivalent financing. The court gave him sixty days to raise the funds. Mr. I*****m failed to do so.
The court then opened the property for sale on the open market with the stipulation that half of the proceeds of the sale would be received in escrow by the court on Mr. I*****m's behalf. The house was quickly sold, and $100,000 with Mr. I*****m's name on it was put in an account by the court.
Mr. I*****m refused to accept this money. He lives an indigent life in public housing and on food stamps to this day because to accept his half of the proceeds would be in some way acceptance that his marriage is over. Let's not quibble over the fact that it actually ended fifteen years ago.
Now, let me restate a few facts so you don't lose track. The house was sold to a third party five years ago. Mr. I*****m's proceeds from that sale are not earning any interest as the court is holding them in escrow, waiting for him to claim them.
Last month, Mr. I*****m filed a petition with the family division to allow him to purchase his half of the marital home from his wife. He tells the court that he now has the necessary financing. As his wife no longer owns the property he's seeking to purchase, his request was denied.
Today he filed his appeal.
This morning Irene rounded the corner to my judge's chambers and sweetly smiled. "Oh, Brian. Mr. I*****m is here."
I looked at her blankly.
"Brian, he want's to talk to one of Judge Selma's clerks."
I looked at my co-clerk. She threw up her hands and stammered a little.
"Well, what does he want?" I asked.
"To speak to you, darling."
I grabbed a pen and headed for the lobby. On the sofa was an man I would guess to be in his sixties. He had thick glasses and weather worn hands. His overcoat showed signs of age and was buttoned up to the top. He clutched a brief case that had been repaired with copious amounts of duct tape tightly to his chest.
I offered my hand. Irene introduced me and I sat down across from him. "I wish to speak to her worship Judge Selma."
Oh, I forgot to mention. He calls my judge "her worship" and refers to her with other deific terms.
"Yes," I said, "well, the judge doesn't see unannounced guests."
"Her magnificence must be made aware of what is going on here."
"What is going on here?"
"I have to file an appeal before her worship. My wife has stolen my house and I have to file an appeal."
"Well, appeals are filed at the clerk's office. You can't file here."
"Oh," he said. He scratched his head and I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. He tried a different approach. "Brian," he said, "I'm born again."
I nodded at him because I really didn't know what else to do. "I see," I said.
"Do you know what this means? Born again?"
Though I knew what it meant, I was unwilling to concede this to him. "No. Not really."
"But you've heard the term, yes? You've heard 'born again' used in conversation and such like. Your friends they say sometimes, 'I'm born again' in coffee shops and on line at the drug store, yes?"
"I've heard the term used."
"Well, as a born again, I can tell you that it means we follow the Bible. You see?"
"Sure. I see. The Bible. Check. Still, you can't file your appeal here. You have to serve your opponent and file with the clerk of the court."
"If you read my appeal, you will see that I quote the Bible twice in my papers." He held up two fingers for emphasis. "Twice, Brian. Twice."
It is infrequent that I am actually at a loss for words. Still, I couldn't think of anything to say in response. "Naturally," I managed feebly.
He stood up still clutching his brief case. He moved for the door. "I leave these papers in your hands. God bless you, Brian. God bless you and keep you. You are a good boy. Her worship is lucky to have you."
And then he left.
I've spent the afternoon filing Mr. I*****m's appeal with the clerk's office. I wonder if he'll win this time.
Posted at 4:00 p.m.
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