✏️ Legal Pad
The Fourth Circuit recently issued an opinion that reminds us how fragile justice can be when small steps are missed, and our “gatekeepers” are complacent and careless. In Landholt v. McBride, a Richland County man was arrested and jailed because the Clerk of Court’s office failed to recall a bench warrant that had already been satisfied. This wasn’t some innocuous oversight- it’s one that ended up costing a man his freedom which, even temporarily, is fundamentally anti-American.
How did Richland County respond? Surely it stepped up, admitted the mistake, and promised transparency and diligence moving forward, right? Fat chance. It tried to claim it was immune from suit since the “act” of not rescinding the stale bench warrant was “quasi-judicial” and, therefore, covered under the immunity provisions that the government created to try to shield itself from liability. Remember, the government is the only entity that can pass laws protecting itself from its own screw ups- the rules are for thee, not for me…
The Court’s message, however, was clear: when a duty is ministerial, meaning mandatory, not discretionary, the cloak of governmental immunity doesn’t apply. Clerks can’t hide behind “policy” when the task is purely mechanical, like logging a dismissal or pulling a warrant. Immunity protects judgment, not gross negligence.
The broader point runs deeper than bureaucracy. Our legal system depends on thousands of small, unseen acts of diligence. A missed entry, a delayed email, a warrant not recalled — each can unravel someone’s liberty in ways the Constitution was meant to guard against. Mr. Landholt was in jail for three days, and that may not seem like very long, but these are the cases that serve as a bulwark against all our independent liberties.
💡 Sidebar
The Landholt case also offers a sobering reminder for a world that, at times, seems to move too fast. We live surrounded by alerts, pings, and constant stimulation, in an age where our attention has been sliced into seconds. In that blur, the smallest tasks can start to feel meaningless. A signature. A line in a database. A name double-checked or forgotten.
But in law, those small acts are the system. They’re the hinges that hold liberty and fairness together. A missed keystroke can cost a man his freedom; a misfiled order can alter a life. The temptation to multitask, to rush, to move on to the “big” work is real. But the truth is, the big work only stands if the small work holds up.
So the next time you’re faced with a task that feels trivial, take an extra beat. Proofread the line. Double-check the date. Call instead of email. In the grand machinery of justice, and life, the smallest gears still make the biggest difference.
⚖️ Closing Arguments
This weekend I’m heading out of town for one of my best friend’s wedding. I’m consistently amazed by the time, effort and energy that it takes to pull off these momentous life events, particularly by the bride’s family. It’s been months of planning, lists, speeches, schedules, and dance lessons (yes, dance lessons) all so that, when the moment finally comes, it looks effortless.
That’s not unlike trial work. The jurors see the questions, the argument, the flow — but not the hundreds of hours behind it: the outlines rewritten, exhibits rearranged, the pacing practiced until it looks natural. Like a wedding, a trial is a production where the point of preparation is to make the performance feel genuine, spontaneous, and smooth. It’s the duck cruising serenely across the pond while its feet kick furiously beneath the surface.
Weddings and trials require a particular type of presence and poise: a steady calm in the middle of chaos. And when it’s all over, no one remembers the checklist; they remember how it felt. The vows. The verdict. The connection between effort and meaning.
So here’s to a weekend of good planning, good friends, and good timing — in the courtroom and in life. Congratulations and best wishes to Sam and Genie.
Court is in recess- see you next Friday.
