Courting Disaster? You Be the Judge

As if it’s not tough enough being a convict, now the poor lugs can’t even act as their own lawyers. The U.S. Supreme Court says so, ruling last week that while you can represent yourself at trial, there’s no constitutional right to defend yourself on appeal.

One could easily picture the convicted person’s argument to the Supreme Court: “C’mon, I was just getting warmed up!”

The case before the high court started in Orange County, where a convicted embezzler refused legal help and wanted to handle his own appeal. The state court and the Supreme Court both balked, saying, in effect, “Hey, pal, get a lawyer.”

But can a lawyer, even a real one, always bring the necessary personality to the courtroom? Can he set the tone you need?

Imagine being a criminal and dealing with the justices on your terms.

For starters, you’d show up for oral arguments wearing a long, dark robe. That’d send a message to the justices that you defer to no one.

I guarantee you, they’ve never seen that before. At least for a moment, you’d have the momentum.

From there, it’s on to your presentation. The key for you, the criminal, is not to let the justices knock you off your pins as you argue in your own style.

Criminal: The trial was a crock. I told them from Day One I was innocent, and all I got back were a bunch of blank stares. When it was over, I wondered if they were watching the same trial I was.

Justice: That’s not exactly a legal argument, sir. Are there cases you can cite that address the matter at hand?

Criminal: Well, obviously, I could if I wanted to. I guess I was under the assumption you already knew them. But if you insist--for starters, how about a little number called Starks v. Hamilton County?

A Case-by-Case Basis

Justice: Starks v. Happy Puppy Shelter involved a citizen suing a dog pound for failure to feed her spaniel on a timely basis. How does that bear on your burglary conviction, sir?

Convict: I’m not here to play games with you. You asked me for a case, I gave you one.

Justice: What about Smedley v. Alaska? Doesn’t that apply here?

Convict: Never heard of it.

Justice: Well, it might have given you a bit of an opening.

Convict: Let’s not be coy. What’s it about?

Justice: It goes to the issue of a key witness having a prior relationship with a defendant that might have affected testimony.

Convict: Why didn’t you say so? That’s exactly what I was trying to tell the judge and jury, but they didn’t buy it. Give me that case name again.

Justice: The court record indicates that you continually referred to the judge as, quote, Your Dishonor, and the jury as, quote, you smug little people over there. Don’t you think that could have hurt your case?

Convict: Never gave it a thought. That’s just the way I talk.

Justice: The transcript indicates you frequently told the jury to, quote, not take things so seriously.

Convict: I only told them that during the prosecution’s case. They looked like they were hanging on every word she said.

Justice: You had adequate opportunity to cross-examine witnesses.

Convict: Look, it’s a little tough when someone is objecting every 30 seconds. It got to me after a while. I’m not a patient guy.

Justice: Maybe she objected because you began most of your questioning with phrases like “What if I were to tell you” and “Let’s pretend for a moment . . .” Do you really think that was effective counsel?

Convict: Well, excuse me for not going to Harvard Law. That’s my courtroom style.

Justice: The jury deliberated less than a minute before finding you guilty. They didn’t even bother to pick a foreman. Doesn’t that tell you something?

Convict: I’m warning you. Don’t go there.

Justice: We’ll take this under advisement.

Convict: Yeah, you do that.

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at the Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com.