Tales from the Shark Tank

You’ve not heard much from the legal eagle because she was preparing to do a hearing in Jeffersonville, Indiana, a good 250 miles from home. It happened Wednesday, and the run up to it was – um – interesting. “Interesting” is, of course, one of those words.

I had thought myself well prepared long since. I knew what scant case law is out there on what is considered “support” for purposes of preventing application of the statute of limitations. I had (I thought) copies of every motion filed. Hard not to; I’d filed most of them. Then, on Tuesday afternoon, the phone rang. It was the other attorney. She’d gone to ask the judge what the hearing was actually going to be about, since there were a raft of free-floating motions. One of them, it turned out, was hers, a motion to have a DNA test done at the State’s expense. That was the first red flag: since the state has never provided assistance for the kidlet, the state can’t (by statute) pay for the test. I said as much to Ms. V.. “Oh, it’s a small town, we do it all the time” she tells me. “So long as the judge signs it, the Prosecutor’s office doesn’t care.” Umm…ok. But she was going on. “The judge said he’s already signed my order, though I haven’t seen it yet. And I know you didn’t get a copy of my motion, because I wrote your address wrong on the envelope and it came back to us. He says there’s no need of a hearing tomorrow, so he’s taking it off the calendar until he has the test results, and he’s taking your motion to dismiss on the statute under advisement. He doesn’t want to take evidence. You don’t need to drive down here. He’s kind an old-fashioned judge, thinks kids have a right to know who their parents are.” I’m thinking, “Umm…old fashioned? Truly old-fashioned would be to say ‘mother was married, husband is therefore father, and I’m not going to bastardize the kid unless I’m forced into it.’ That would be old-fashioned.” I was stunned. The statute of limitations trumps all. I’ve never seen such a motion put into limbo like that. And Ms. V. should have known better. She herself is a City Court judge. I figured she just thought she could do what she wanted because she’s a local judge. She all but said as much. “This is small-town practice, we do it pretty casually.” Ok, there’s casual, and then there’s beyond the pale. But after some discussion, protest, and phone calls, the hearing got left on the calendar. If nothing else, it would be appealable, but only if I kept the record clean, showed up ready to go and had to be told in person that the hearing was off, etc. I thought it was going to be a train wreck. I called the Kentucky attorney I was helping, told him what was going on and brainstormed with him, asked him to find case law for us since I was on my way to collect my kid from science day camp and wouldn’t get the chance, and prepared for a train wreck for which I was the engineer. That was the state of mind in which I drove south. And when I got there, that was what I prepared my clients for. (I figured out later that they hadn’t understood any of what I’d said, but that’s another story.)

And it’s not what happened. The judge was listening when I called and told his secretary “I want a hearing, and I want a record. Don’t take it off the calendar.” We had our hearing. We had our record without my asking for it. (That’s not automatic.) Clearly, my learned opponent hadn’t expected that, as she wasn’t a bit prepared…or if she was, her client had forgotten what she said. The judge took evidence. He told the other attorney not to go on with the paternity test, as the state couldn’t get reimbursed for the expense by my client (ok, I’m thinking, he’s read his case law), and that a statute of lmitations defense “trumps everything, even a positive test”. The wanna-be father shot himself in the foot with a semi-automatic weapon…which is to say that in response to his own attorney’s question, he made our case for us. The judge asked me if I wanted to file a brief with written arguments, which in translation means “counselor, please write this up and tie it into a neat package with a bow for me”, and gave me a month in which to do so. It came out as well as it possibly could have.

And I learned a few things. I learned that I can have another attorney, one whom I’ve known since I was 17, sitting next to me and not be the least bit nervous about it. I learned that despite nearly a decade out of the courtroom, I have decidedly not lost my chops. I’ve learned that I still know how to nail a point home – and when to stop pounding. I learned that I can still kick butt and take names. And that is very good to know.