Introduction

I suppose, when I have time to think about it, which is not often during the long day’s trudge around the verdict factory, that the law represents some attempt, however fumbling, to impose order on a chaotic universe. Chaos, in the form of human waywardness and uncontrollable passion, is ever bubbling away just beneath the surface and its sporadic outbreaks are what provide me with my daily crust, and even a glass or two of Pommeroy’s Plonk to go with it.

These are, by and large, the words of Horace Rumpole, the fictional barrister created by John Mortimer. Rumpole has helped to shape my view of the law, the courts, and justice. In the writings that follow, you will hear my voice, but sometimes, you will notice it to be flavored by Rumpole’s. Those of you who know me well realize that I prefer good single malt scotch to the cheap wine that fueled Rumpole.

Occasionally, you might detect here a bit of Vincent LaGuardia Gambini and Denny Crane. Maybe even Billy Flynn. I would like to think that a little of Atticus Finch might show through. Perry Mason, however, will not be heard here.

As Cynthia Rosenberry of Georgia has written,

“We, as criminal defense lawyers, are forced to deal with some of the lowest people on earth, people who have no sense of right and wrong, people who will lie in court to get what they want, people who do not care who gets hurt in the process. It is our job our sworn duty as criminal defense lawyers, to protect our clients from those people.”

It is my hope that this blog will become a conversation between us, and not a lecture. I am not a law professor. I am a criminal defense lawyer. In the words of Rumpole, I am an American version of the Old Bailey Hack.