CHRISTMAS TALE 2

I had to admit – two girls on the floor of a Taco Bell in East LA trying to kill each other on Christmas Eve?  Arthur knew he had me.

“The young gentlemen accompanying them simply stood around watching the girls fight. When it started getting bloody and it looked like the cops were coming the fellows pulled the girls apart and left.  One of the girls and some of the fellows ended up at a Christmas Even party at the girl's house.  It was at this party hours later in the early morning of Christmas day that two sweet lads with 9mm guns showed up and started shooting at the people standing outside the house. Two members in good standing of the Stanley Park gang were killed. Since the other girl at the Taco Bell brawl was "associated” with the Tatlow gang it was assumed that it was Tatlow that did the deed. Although these are two different gangs, Stanley Park and Tatlow, these people all grew up together in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, they even intermarried even though some were Stanley Park and some Tatlow.  Just like the Cabots and the Lodges.”

It’s beginning to dawn on me that this is going to be a long and complicated story so I ask Arthur where he comes in.

“Boychik I’m getting there. My guy isn’t even involved yet. It’s the retaliation homicide that gets me into this.  That very afternoon on Christmas day it takes place,  can you imagine,  Christmas yet? You know I'm in desperate need for a donut – give me a couple of bucks I don’t seem to have any change on me.”

Arthur is famous for being broke – very broke – as in having the IRS hounding him – due to his apparent longstanding problem with gambling and losing, on the horses. I give him a five dollar bill and off he goes to the snack bar. When he comes back with two donuts and a coffee he settles down and continues.

“A young man by the name of Boxer, a member in good standing of the Tatlow outfit, is gunned down that very afternoon while washing his car in front of his apartment. Not only gunned down but kicked and spat upon by his assailants and I might as well tell you now that I happened to be the lucky attorney to be appointed to represent one of these alleged assailants, allegedly a member of the Stanley Park gang. My client, Angel Beltran, aka Joker, had been identified, through photographs, by the girlfriend of said victim, Boxer. This girlfriend claimed to have seen the entire incident.. My client, Joker, was also identified through photographs, as well, by a Hector Guttierrez, a security guard by trade, who observed the crime from his window.”

I tell Arthur that it looks bad - that's all he was waiting for.

"Looks bad?  It was hopeless.  And on top of that my client was an extremely unpleasant young man with the Mark of Cain on his brow.  I might add he also had several tattoos on the same brow.   Looks bad?   I should say so." 

A CHRISTMAS TALE

I’m sitting in div 30 at the CCB doing my duty the other afternoon.  Extremely slow being just before Christmas (because people are more circumspect about committing crimes or the cops aren’t making the arrests or the DA’s aren’t filing – don’t know) but I’m so bored – looking at my phone waiting for it to ring – then Arthur Famish appears.  Arthur (he’s a guy you never call Artie or Art by the way) is what I call an old timer. A criminal lawyer for over 50 years.  Everybody knows Arthur.  A big man who wears a ratty old vest with a ratty old suit that’s several sizes too small and holes in his pants like they were designer jeans.  Arthur knows the law like nobody I know.  He knows everything.  And Arthur always has a story. “I ever tell you about my Christmas homicide?” 

I don’t know if I want to listen to a long story.  He insists – “this is a real Christmas tale I’m telling you.”  He pulls his chair up close to me.  I remind him that neither one of us celebrates Christmas.  “What are you so busy?  Don’t be such a kvetch – you’ll love this. The police report starts out with this really nasty fight between two Latina girls – they’re trying to kill each other – they’re on the floor they’re biting, kicking, punching, pulling hair.  It’s brutal.  On Christmas Eve can you imagine?  At some Taco Bell in East LA.  Now isn’t that a great start to a Christmas tale?" 

Phil Spector II's losing me

okay I admit it the Spector trial has even kind of lost me. I dragged myself downstairs to the 9th floor yesterday out of a sense of duty? and sat for a dull twenty minutes as the DA Jackson questioned one of his witnesses - (the photographer who later on had a car accident and had to have reconstructive surgery on her face) This is the woman who Phil pulled a gun on (allegedly) at the Carlyle Hotel in NYC after some big music biz function because she wanted to go to sleep and Phil wanted to play which pissed Phil off. Why should he pay for her room? (a few years ago my 85 year old father also got pissed off too when he paid for this lady's trip up to the Catskills for a singles weekend and she wouldn't play - he sued her for his expenses. The People's Court wanted to do the case but Pop didn't want to be on TV Now that would've been a helluva case on TV).

UPCOMING SHOW AT THE MBAR NOV 16, 2008

YouTube - Murray Meyer's Its Criminal
these are excerpts from my show - It's Criminal - getting people off & other legal fantasies, an idiosyncratic travelogue through our criminal justice system
see the entire show - MBAR - Fountain & Vine in Hollywood, 7PM, Sunday, Nov 16, 2008 call the club for reservations - 323 856 0036

phil spector II - talk about a mesheguna

Dorothy Melvin, Joan Rivers manager, testifies about the incident in 1993 when Phillip hit her with a gun and pulled a shotgun on her.  Then Phillip, ever the legal strategist, follows up with a voice message - "call us we'd love to hear from you."   

Phillip wasn't even a boyfriend though she did have a "physical" relationship "on rare occasions" - think the defense lawyer Weinberg once even used the word "sex".  Phillip was "insane" but also a "charmer and "a genious", according to Ms. Melvyn, who seemed very eager to share her experiences as much as she declared loudly how she didn't want to.  

PHIL SPECTOR II - Christmas with Joan Rivers

Phillip and his lawyers wearily stand up when the jury come & go. I can't help but note how hunched over Phillip is - like he's in prayer.  

There's an aura of threadbareness about this trial.  Not well attended - when I get there I thought maybe it had been postponed again.  Phil doesn't even have the same number of bodyguards like at that first trial - now he's down to one skinny guy in a black suit - there were at least four burly guys last year. This is like an off-broadway play that's getting no audience but the producer's have plenty of money so it's going to go on despite the poor box office.  Is there no interest cause Phil's just a famous producer?  That's been theorized by some (actually only Beth Lapides) But I'm not buying it.  What if it was Spielberg?  Or Steve Jobs?  or Warren Buffett? There's something else going on.  This trial is too good for the masses.  Too nuanced.   That's right.  Too nuanced.  I said it and I'll say it again.  

I watched the cross by the defense guy Weinberg (very much with the attitude of "hey we're all adults here) of the ex New York Detective. Tanazzo with a thick New York accent who supposedly heard Phil say something about all women needing a bullet in their head about 10 or was it 20 years ago at a party for Joan Rivers.  A Christmas party yet.   The frustrated Detective when Weinberg presses about the year this happened in -.  "Counselor! (that condescending "counselor" that all cops use everywhere but New York cops do it best)  I worked the Christmas parties okay?"  

Why isn't the Phil Spector II trial a hit?

After I finish off my own case (that is, as a lawyer) I go down to dept 106, the courtroom where the trial's taking place, to sit in on the opening arguments.  But they're not letting anybody into the courtroom because its filled up.  I could wait outside for someone to come out, but what's the point?  It's not like it was when I was waiting outside the WGA on Doheny during Yom Kippur services where I was also forced to wait cause they were all filled up (of course the WGA holds about 1,000 seats compared to the courtroom's 40) Free services on Yom Kippur - now that's a deal!  But at a Yom Kippur service you know people aren't staying for the whole show and they'll be coming and going.  (a theological query - do you get credit for the time standing outside waiting for the doors to open? and if so - as much as being inside?)

But this Spector trial is a situation where nobody's going to come out during the opening statements, I know that. 

A Superior Court worker who was also locked out told me that there's no camera in the courtroom - not because of objections from the lawyers but because nobody - that is nobody in the media - gives a shit - nobody has even asked.  (and now I just learn that there is no longer Court TV? - what is going on with the world?)  I just don't get it.  This trial's got everything.  First the crime itself is fascinating.   Was it murder?  Was it an accident?  Was it suicide?  I know everybody thinks the guy did it but there's evidence to suggest all of the above.  The victim, a beautiful, sexy woman; the defendant, a wealthy, eccentric, music business legend. Ok it's not OJ the Original but what is?  Certainly not Greta's and Nancy's current crop.  Okay I'll submit it on that.   

VISITING THE JAIL UP IN WAYSIDE a tale of woe

It could have been a breeze to visit my client in Wayside which is a part of the County Jail system.  That was the plan.  Leave first thing in the morning from the west side of Los Angeles and zip up the 405 - if I hit it right - there I am - at the Peter Pitchess Honor Rancho aka Wayside, aka, County Jail, in Castaic, maybe 45 minutes later. But it turns out to be not a breeze.  And it's all my fault.  

I figured I'd whizz down south on the 405 to Long Beach court house first just to drop off some paperwork.  And then whizz back up the 405 to hit Wayside.  Things started to slow down when the clogged traffic makes me decide to go look for someplace to eat breakfast and I get off the freeway and go wondering around Manhattan Beach.  The problem is I don't know where to eat breakfast in Manhattan Beach - I'm not going to Denny's no matter what - by the time I get back on the 405 south, I'm hungry and already way behind in my plan. 

Of course by the time I get to Long Beach I've gotta find someplace to eat breakfast there don't I?  And I gotta get the New York Times, don't I?  What am I supposed to read at breakfast.  But Borders doesn't have the NY Times - there's a big problem with NY Times distribution in Long Beach (that's too big an issue to go into right now) so I get the Wall Street Journal which is actually always a good move and well now I might as well get a latte. 

After dropping the paper work off at court (my fee dec if you gotta know) I'm back up on the 405 north.  

Now I'm flying but as I'm getting over the hill and nearing Ventura Boulevard I note that it's 11:30am.  Goddammit! MIGHT AS WELL GO FOR LUNCH.  I was going to wait till after I saw my guy - as a reward - but I'll be honest - I have a problem with this gratification delay thing- always have - AND - for some reason I'm kind of sleepy.  I've got no choice.  

I pull off the freeway and drive east on Ventura Boulevard hoping to spot Art's Deli or something good.  BUT there's alot of construction work on the Boulevard and traffic isn't moving, so I park. I walked and walked and it's hot - this is the Valley - it's over 90.  There's a Borders and yeah baby, I got my NY TIMES.  Across the street there's a place shouting out to me - it's called "HAMLET" - whatamigonnado?  I get a burger.  No fries.
By the time I get to NCCF it's 230pm.  
I wait in front of the glass for 15 solid minutes while the deputy inputs something –and loudly ignores me.  I'm not saying a word.  Who am I to kvetch about waiting.  
The drive back I never stopped once even for a snack - the traffic was too good.

Oh I did visit my guy.  It was nice.  

Here's why I'm not a PEOPLE PERSON

Sometimes you start off with the best of intentions – you’re going to be a people person – you're going to give all the loving you can like everyone is going to die at midnight (the advice that the Rev Earl gave to W when W got born again and saved - according to O Stone). That’s just what I was trying to do yesterday morning at court in Long Beach. As I stood outside of Dept 10, I could sense that someone needed me, needed my love and I was ready. A young black woman – age 18-25, stood in front of me and asked "where's SO 7". Even if she didn’t actually use the word "please" I wasn't going to hold it against her. Because I was there to give all the love I could. I knew what "SO" was – that’s the building we were in - easy. We were right across from SO 10 – I quickly realized that. I knew that SO 6 was down at the other end of the floor. I knew where SO 9 was; I knew where SO 8 was, but 7, SO 7, just rang no bell in my brain. I was mulling it over when she spit it out – “You don’t have to waste my time, just say you don't know.” And she walked away down the hall. Wow. All I wanted was to give the love and a body blow first thing in the morning.
And now I’m remembering I know 7; I’ve been in 7; it’s the misdemeanor court down the hall.
By the time I got to my preliminary hearing, I was already bummed out. The DA is a friendly, collegial tone asks me to waive the preliminary hearing (she didn't say but I knew the reason was it was going to take a couple of days and she had other stuff to do). I was all outa love by then. "Are you kidding? You yell when I’m not ready for the prelim (I'd been in trial a couple of times when the prelim hearing had been scheduled and had to ask for postponements) and now you want me to waive it? No." She's offended. “I never screamed at you." And she was right She never did. But how was she to know that I hear "anger" as a scream – it goes back to my mother. I did realize this but things had gone so far to the toilet already with my one selfless act of love already rejected that it was too late to turn this ship I call "me" around and be a human being. And so yet again I learn a lesson in life.

MEMBERS OF THE JURY

I just make it into the elevator at CCB (that’s the Criminal Courts Building which is now called something else which I refuse to recognize.) The elevator is full of Jurors. I can tell a Juror a mile away. Defendants and their family & friends I know. Lawyers I know. And Jurors I know.
The elevator doors, as usual, is having problems. They aren’t closing. They start to close; they get about halfway and then stop and open up. It does this several times. I’m standing a good foot away from the plane of the doors (which I know would prevent them from closing. I've been coming to this building for 21 years. It's a 60’s building which was a piece of shit when it was new – now it’s 50 years later – what can you expect?)
I hear a voice coming from just behind me - “Stand back from the door!” Is he talking to me? I’m a good foot away. And then the next time the doors refuse to close, his voice becomes louder and more authoritative: “Stand back, you’re not letting the door close!” Who are you talking to? Time slows extravagantly every time the doors start to close and then jar open. By this time, the rest of the population of the elevator – the Jurors - join in. "Would you get away from the door!"
In my comedy act I say about Jurors: “They come to my building and don’t know how to work the elevators and they’re the Deciders?”
I’m trying to maintain my cool. I’m watching my reflection in the door and my face is definitely turning red. Are any of these assholes in my jury? Wait a second - I’m not in trial.
I turn around and face this mob.
“I ride these fucking elevators every fucking day, assholes. They just do that.“ Okay I didn't actually say "fucking". The guy that started it all looks just like a retired plumber or Cop. There’s no response from anybody. It’s like everyone is in a state of shock.
And then, miraculously, the doors close successfully and we all ride up, in total silence. Not another word or look is exchanged. I get off at the 13th floor and go to the attorney’s lounge. Fucking jurors.

THE LINE-UP

Have to go to a line-up at Men’s Central Jail the other night. They got a big room set up for this. It’s actually a theater in the jail. An Equity Waiver house of about 100 seats. Its got an elevated stage and a glass partition running through the stage like a curtain. This separates the “actors” (the six inmates, all black, all short hair, all about 5’8”) from the “audience” (the cops, the attorney [me], and the witness for whom this entire production has been set up.)
I wonder how they get these actors. Do they request volunteers? Somehow I doubt it – who would volunteer for the chance to be identified in a lineup for some crime you may not know anything about? Of course all the actors are in jail for something. Maybe they do volunteer out of boredom. Nah.
The room is all very 40’s. There’s the photographer for the Sheriff’s Dept. with the huge camera to document; there’s a set of Flash Gordon dials, round & circular, on a side wall to manage the lights inside the actors side of the partition. When the lights are turned on inside the partition you can see the actors very clearly but they cannot see into the audience. (at least that’s what the “Emcee”– a plainclothes Deputy Sheriff repeatedly tells the witness, a black man wearing a baseball cap.) “They can’t see you, they can’t hear you.” I believe the sound proofing claim cause the photographer had to shout to the Deputy inside to acknowledge that he was done shooting the scene.
The Emcee comes over to me and asks me if I know which one of the six guys is my client. I said “no”. I’d seen my client twice before, briefly, in court. But I wouldn’t be able to pick him out. The Emcee holds up two fingers. It takes me a second to realize he’s giving me the number my guy’s wearing on the front of his jailhouse blues in the lineup. “Oh” I nod that I understand.
They really put those actors through their paces. They got to stand forward, turn around, walk to each side of the stage, sit down, look sideways, turn themselves completely around, turn to one side and then to the other. It’s a whole production. Its amazing how good they are. They respond to the Emcee’s barked instructions like they had rehearsed this show for weeks.
Finally they ask the wit to pick the guy. He shakes his head and throws his hands up. He doesn’t pick anybody. The actors leave the stage through a back exit. And then the audience goes home.

POWER IN THE COURT

I’m in a rape trial – titanic forces of evil and good crashing against each other.
What’s the Climax of this Cosmic Confrontation for me?
I call a witness and I project a map of southern California onto the big screen for the jury. There’s an issue about the route the alleged victim took to get to Los Angeles where she was allegedly brutally raped by my client. You don’t want to know the details, trust me. I pull out my LASER PEN - I’ve been waiting to do this ever since I got the pen few weeks ago from another lawyer during another trial. But I didn’t have occasion to use it until now, 3 weeks into this trial.
I’m pointing on the map with MY LASER trying to locate Temecula, California and all of a sudden there’s another beam on the map – this beam is coming from the direction of the bench – the Judge.
HIS HONOR has whipped out HIS LASER PEN and he’s pointing it right on Temecula – “thank you your honor”, I say. I’m hoping he’ll back off but no he keeps it right on the map going to all the other cities we’re talking about – San Clemente, San Diego, Riverside, San Bernadino. I’m thinking what am I gonna do? Could I say “Your honor could you just let me use my goddamn LASER?." No, I couldn't.
I diplomatically with reluctance withdraw my LASER. The judge finishes up MY PRESENTATION with HIS LASER.
What can you do?

THE BEST GIG IN THE WORLD

I'm sitting in Long Beach waiting for my case to be called. I've been there since 830am- it's 1030am already. I'm there to set a preliminary hearing for a new case - a little homicide. There are two defendants - it would've been zip zip but the attorney for the other guy hasn't showed up. The DA got tired of waiting and went back to her office. I'm calling this lawyer and calling him - I'm calling and he's not coming. There's nothing I can do until he comes. Then this guy sits down next to me in front of "the bar". I've seen him around for years. Never had a conversation with him. He's got a pony tail and I'm prejudiced. We start talking about this DA dying. "We're dropping like flies" he says. I agree. Then he says how he goes to a court sometimes where's he's been going for 30 years and nobody knows him and he doesn't know anybody. I empathize. And then he said "but you know - this is still the best gig in the world isn't it?" "Yeah it is." I agreed.

Why this guy pisses me off.

Figure in Rosenberg Case Admits to Soviet Spying

By SAM ROBERTS
Published: September 11, 2008

In 1951, Morton Sobell was tried and convicted with Julius and Ethel Rosenberg on espionage charges. He served more than 18 years in Alcatraz and other federal prisons, traveled to Cuba and Vietnam after his release in 1969 and became an advocate for progressive causes.
Through it all, he maintained his innocence.
But on Thursday, Mr. Sobell, 91, dramatically reversed himself, shedding new light on a case that still fans smoldering political passions. In an interview, he admitted for the first time that he had been a Soviet spy.
(NEW YORK TIMES)

What pisses me off about this guy isn't that he was a Soviet spy - it isn't that he's lied for all these years about being a spy - -organized protest groups (I think I may have participated in some demonstrations to "free Sobell") - even when he got out of prison he went on a lecture circuit proclaiming his and Julius Rosenberg's innocence - what gets me is that he writes a book and about 3/4's of it is about how it was his lawyers and the Rosenbergs' lawyers who screwed up. Never mind that he was caught redhanded - never mind the evidence - including his flight to Mexico under a phony name when Julius Rosenberg was arrested, (he has the chutzpah to claim that he skipped out because he felt the political climate was "getting bad"). No, it was his two lawyers and the Rosenbergs' lawyers who fucked up and caused their convictions. That's what Sobell writes. And when you get down into the details of what this guy has to say it's remarkably similar to the complaints I get everyday from many of my clients. Oh if only I had handled their case differently. I know I'm taking this very personally and it's not personal. But what a piece of shit this guy is.

YOU'D THINK I KILLED SOMEONE - THAT'S MY ARM IN THE PHOTO

OMG I’m sent out for trial downtown to begin my 7 count forcible rape re-trial. That’s ok but I have a preliminary hearing set the next day in Long Beach. It’s been postponed a few times. And I’ve got another trial set the next week (14 counts of robbery) also in Long Beach. The Judge wants to see me. The DA wants to see me. There I am surrounded by the Judge, the 2 DA’s – the one on the preliminary hearing and the one on the robbery trials. They’re “frustrated”. They’re “upset”. They’re “pissed off”. At ME! Cause “YOU GOT YOURSELF ENGAGED!” (for you non criminal attorneys “being engaged” has nothing to do with marriage or sex. [well, maybe] It means that you can only do one thing at a time. If you’re in a trial well you’re not going to be able to do a preliminary hearing or another trial. That’s what it means. I’m a trial lawyer – I go to trials when some judge tells me I’m going. That’s it. But there I am in Long Beach being accused of “GETTING MYSELF ENGAGED!” That’s exactly what the DA’s say. “Mr. Meyer continues to get himself engaged!” They’re beside themselves with anger. You’d think I’d done all the rapes, carjackings, and kidnappings. Okay so their schedules had to be changed. They work me over good. By the time I slink out of there I am so relieved that I’m still in one piece and not in jail myself, I’m actually really looking forward to the relaxation of fighting my forcible rape trial.

a win is a win is a win

When a win is a win – oh how I wish I could have that look on a win. It’s got to be someone you know is innocent. What are the chances of that? That’s a lot of pressure on a person. And then you gotta, gotta, get the not guilty verdict. Then you can have the same look of shock, relief, gratitude as Johnny Cochrane. Except I could never get myself to believe that Johnny thought OJ was innocent. Maybe he did? I just got a hung jury on a murder & attempted murder, unfortunately the jury found my client guilty on another murder. So I didn't have the same look as Johnny had after his verdict.
see my video @

ADMONISHED BY THE JUDGE - HOW SWEET IT IS!

Closing argument on a hopeless case - trying for anything that'll possibly stick. So go way out there - the DA objects! The judge comes down hard on me for "inviting the jury to indulge in "speculation" - heaven forbid! I'm thinking: "Good going Murray, you're really doing your job when you get the judge to interrupt the sacrosanct Closing Argument to "admonish" you (read "SCOLD"). Thank you, Your Lordship.

Where's the gun?

For some reason many of my clients and their mothers and their girlfriends firmly believe that if the police don't have the crime weapon - the GUN -"there's no evidence". I've been trying to figure out where this "urban legend" comes from. Is it CSI or Law & Order and the other shows? Don't think so, they don't watch those shows. I think it goes back to the primeval ooze when some guy beat his case because of something to do with a gun the cops didn't have - and ever since then the legend has spread out and taken root so that this is one of the "truths" my clients and their mothers and their girlfriends "know" about the legal system. Doesn't matter that the cops have a taped confession; eye witnesses; casings; et al. "Where's the gun? There's no evidence."  Maybe I'm missing something? 

HOW SWEET IT IS!(schadenfreude but what are you gonna do?)

Roosevelt Dorn, former judge, genuine arrogant asshole as a judge and now he sits like a regular defendant in our own little attorney lounge with his lawyer (one of the Big Guys but a nice guy) – accused of fanegling a loan for himself as the mayor of Inglewood. At least Phil Spector, who last year during his trial, spent every lunch hour in the lounge with his Entourage –brought in some good deli, once, which went a long way making him okay as far as I was concerned.

DAistic - i've just coined it - it means - "Oh I represent the PEOPLE and I'm one step from heaven."

In court to set trial date on a case with over 20 robbery counts. It's a new DA on the case. She asks me for my card. I give it to her. "What's your cell number?" she says. I give it to her. "What's your cell number?" I innocently ask. She looks at me a little surprised. "Oh I can't give you that."
These are the important moments in the CRIMINAL JUSTICE SYSTEM

I’m waiting in court for my jury to come back with its guilty verdict when another case is called. It’s a Motion for New Trial. The lawyer for the convicted defendant is so angry. Amazed to see how he really goes over the edge with the judge. He’s actually being abusive to her. “Well you didn’t even read my brief.” “Yes I did, counsel and I don’t like your tone.” “It’s been sitting in front of you the whole morning and you never took a look at it. I was watching.” I’m very curious – how much shit is she going to take from this guy? His eyes are bulging. He looks like he hadn’t slept in days. Was he high? It ended without him being sent to lockup – which I thought it would. As he walks by I say to him - “I thought you were about to go join your client” and looked towards the lockup. “Well this is a serious case”, he says. I couldn’t believe he said that. Is he kidding? Like my case isn’t “serious”. Asshole.

This is the view from the attorney's lounge at the Foltz Criminal Justice Ctr aka CCB. I've spent alot of time in the lounge - which consists of a couple of tables, chairs and two sofas - looking out at that building I love. It used to be the Hall of Records, then a courthouse where they tried the Charlie Manson murders and then a jail and sheriff's HQ. Now - ever since the Northridge quake 1994 - only the pigeons use it.