By Keegan Hamilton
By Albert Samaha
By Village Voice staff
By Tessa Stuart
By Albert Samaha
By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
I was warned against writing this column.
"You might think twice about doing that judges story," were the exact, ominous words.
OK, the threat came from my editor, who added: "Nobody cares how judges get picked. Where is that S&M piece you promised?" I did not knuckle under. As you may know, this paper is currently owned and operated by out-of-towners and recent transplants, so I was able to convincingly argue that, aside from rent hikes and Alex Rodriguez, there is no subject New Yorkers get more passionate about than the selection of appellate judges. Please do not cross me up on this.
Here, then, is the unvarnished truthwhich only the Voice will tell youabout how New York came to select a rookie judge with a powerful ally as the presiding justice for the busiest and most powerful appeals court in the state.
Already you're thinking, "Appellate court? Presiding justice? Alex Rodriguez?" Bear with me. Part of the problem here is the purposely obscure nomenclature employed by lawyers, who are the only ones who really do care about judges. They care so much that they see the judges' faces in their Grape-Nuts every morning. They address their cereal, practicing small, obsequious remarks like: "Heard Your Honor hit a par four last week. Nice."
Many people erroneously assume that the state's most important court is the Court of Appeals in Albany, which supposedly settles all the big cases. See? You're already the victim of legal obscurantism. Albany? Are you kidding? The state's most important court is right here where it belongs, in Manhattan, at the corner of Madison Avenue and East 25th Street, where is found the magnificent marble headquarters of the Appellate Division, First Judicial Department.
The few non-lawyers who stumble across this structure are immediately struck dumb by the big Greek columns and the statues of half-naked men and women on the roof. This is a building for judges and lawyers only; jurors are not allowed, not only because no jury trials are held here, but because they would befoul the building with dark splotches of chewing gum and half-completed Sudoku puzzles. Oh, yes, there is a also a cadre of heavily armed court officers who are charged with keeping jurors out and making sure there are parking spots for the 16 appellate judges who work here.
You are wondering: Why do they need to drive? What are they, firefighters? This is another sad example of reader ignorance. The former governor, George Pataki, a Republican from Putnam County (I can only tell you it is near the Taconic Parkway), recognized after taking office that New York City's appellate courts were severely segregated. Local judges, overwhelmingly Democrats, held most positions. To remedy this outrage, Pataki commenced a bold integration scheme in which he bussed in judges from upstate to sit on the city's appeals courts. Surprisingly, most of his choices were white Republicans like himself. Opponents of this measure complained (quietly, so as not to be seen as bigots) that the imports were generally of a lower IQ than the locals. Plus, they took up all the parking spots because, of course, they didn't really take a bus to work.
This was the situation that greeted newly elected governor Eliot Spitzer (a Democrat from Manhattan, though he also has a residence in Columbia County, apparently farther up the Taconic). It was day one and everything had to change, so he got right to work on the appellate courts, starting with the First Department in Manhattan, because it handles all the most important cases. Would you want some hick court in Elmira ruling on the likes of High Risk Opportunities Hub Fund Ltd. v. Credit Lyonnais? Of course not.
Spitzer's first task was to appoint a new presiding justice, an opportunity that made the governor's people ecstatic. This plum had fallen into their laps thanks to a display of stunning ingratitude by one of Pataki's own picks. Everyone knew that Pataki had intended, on his way out of office, to name his pal and former counsel, Justice James McGuire, to this top job. McGuire had been especially helpful to Pataki when a federal grand jury in Brooklyn began asking why his administration had granted parole to felons whose parents gave a lot of money to his campaign. McGuire did well: Only a couple of Koreans and some low-level parole aides were convicted.
If he'd been appointed, McGuire would have held this post until 2018, making him Pataki's proudest legacy. (OK, his only legacy.) Sadly, this plan fell apart when the then-presiding justice, one John Buckley, an import from Oneida County (no idea, look it up), refused to step down. Buckley was reluctant to do so because he would've had to go back to wherever Oneida County is. December 31, 2006, came and went. Buckley was still there. This gave Spitzer the right to choose the new presiding justice when Buckley turned 70, which he soon did.
(To quickly recap: The presiding justice runs a big building with Greek columns where many important legal cases are heard and where you, in all likelihood, will never enter.)