✏️ Legal Pad
Every lawyer has a moment in their career when they hear something in a courtroom so astonishing that the air changes. Mine came during what should have been a routine guilty plea when I was an assistant solicitor. The defendant, standing before the judge, was visibly shaky. When the judge asked whether he was under the influence of anything (which must be asked in every plea), he nodded and, with the earnestness of a man confessing to oversleeping, “Yes, Your Honor. I’m nervous, so I smoked a little meth before I came in.” Notwithstanding the fact that I can’t think of a worse drug to calm the nerves, at least he took the line of questioning seriously.
There are times when the law calls for nuance. This was not one of those times.
The judge looked up from his notes and blinked. He looked at defense counsel. He looked at me. He looked back at the defendant. Then he calmly informed the man he could not accept a guilty plea from someone currently on methamphetamine. Court paused, deputies approached, and in line with hitting the bad day lottery, the defendant was rearrested because he may have been the only meth addict in the world who didn’t smoke it all. I guess he was saving some to celebrate what would have been a time-served plea deal.
It was absurd. It was tragic. It was also a reminder that the courtroom is a place where reality doesn’t always behave. We deal in rules, reason, and structure, but we practice in a world where human behavior often refuses to cooperate. And beneath the comedy of the moment is a sobering truth: the justice system is only as orderly as the people who walk into it. Some days, it’s precedent and principle. Other days, it’s someone smoking meth “to calm down.”
I ended up prosecuting the possession of methamphetamine charges some months later, and he received a two-year prison term. Don’t smoke meth.
💡 Sidebar
If you drive around Greenville long enough, you’ll see something that feels straight out of 18th century Ireland: a herd of goats quietly munching their way through an overgrown hillside, doing the job that machines can’t quite manage.
I love seeing this- not just the goats themselves, but the reminder they carry. For all our technological advances, algorithms, apps, and “smart” solutions, sometimes the best fix is the oldest one. Goats don’t need charging. They don’t have error codes. They don’t require software updates. They just show up, put their heads down, and solve the problem the simplest way possible: one mouthful at a time.
There’s a lesson in that, especially for people in professions built on complexity. We love elaborate systems: workflows, programs, strategy plans with color-coded tabs. But every so often, the right answer is embarrassingly low-tech: slow down, simplify, and let the fundamentals do the work.
The goats of Greenville are a quiet rebuke to the idea that newer is always better. Sometimes the most efficient solution is the one nature invented long before engineers tried to improve upon it.
⚖️ Closing Arguments
Thanksgiving has quietly become one of my favorite holidays as I’ve gotten older. An automatic four-day weekend, football, and no expectations besides good food and good company. Just a table, a blessing, and a reminder of what matters.
But this year, most of my holiday will be spent in trial prep - binders, outlines, witness lists, exhibits, strategy sessions- because I’m number one of the December 1 docket. And honestly, I’m grateful for that too. There’s something profoundly grounding about doing work that matters, especially on a weekend built around reflecting on what we have and how we’ve been blessed.
The older I get, the more I realize Thanksgiving isn’t about sitting still, it’s about taking stock. And even though I won’t spend as many hours at the table this year, I’m thankful for the opportunity to stand up for clients, to step into a courtroom, and do something that not many people get to do.
Here’s to gratitude in all its forms- at the table, at the desk, and in the courtroom.
Court is in recess- see you next Friday
