Miles's blog

On October, 21, 1981 I walked into the Colorado Supreme Court clerk’s office, sat at a desk, raised my right hand and was sworn in as an attorney at law. Ronald Reagan was in his first year in the White House; Sandra Day O’Connor was in her first month on the Supreme Court; and Britney Spears was still in the womb. The theme from Arthur topped the music charts (although I am sure I didn’t listen to it much; I was probably listening to Start Me Up from the Rolling Stones at number 3); and I went afterwards to see the hit movie Body Heat.

I was given registration number 11373 (which I immediately memorized and never had to look up even once). Old timers marveled at how high the numbers had gotten. Although it was a Wednesday, traffic was light when I drove down 16^th street downtown (the mall was a year away), past The Denver Dry Goods and May D&F. Congressional Republicans were resisting tax increases (some things never change I guess). The Yankees, behind Ron Guidry, had just won game one of the World Series (which they would ultimately lose to the Dodgers), and Craig Morton was preparing to lead the Broncos into Buffalo in Dan Reeves’s first season as head coach. (The Broncos lost that game, costing them a playoff berth when the teams tied at 10-6 at the end of the season.) The Colorado Rockies were a hockey team (for about seven more months) which shared McNichols arena with the Denver Nuggets, a team featuring David Thompson.

I had driven down from Breckenridge where I had landed a job at a small firm. I quit shortly thereafter, the first, of course, of many similar decisions which more than anything else have defined my legal career. This time, though, I was justified—I didn’t get paid. Or as much as they had promised.

But this firm had one responsibility that influenced the rest of my life. They had a contract to be the town attorneys for the tiny town of Fairplay. So, once a month, one of us drove over Hoosier Pass to the venerable old A-frame county courthouse. The clerk’s office was on the first floor, the courtroom and a tiny conference room on the second. The county allowed the town to share the building as there was no municipal courtroom.

Walking in the building truly was like a time machine. The desks in the courtroom were huge oak antiques with claw feet and massive drawers. The courtroom had no jury deliberation room. When it came time to deliberate everyone just left the courtroom to the jurors. As soon as I was formally admitted to practice law I was made the town attorney responsible for prosecuting municipal tickets.

Fairplay was one of those towns whose main street intersected a state highway, resulting in a dramatic decrease in the speed limit. As to be expected, many people failed to follow the law, and speeding tickets were my primary responsibility. Just like now, we offered dispositions based upon reductions in points, and everyone took what we offered, not the least because if they didn’t they would have to come back for trial. No one did. Or at least no one had within anyone’s memory until a little old lady from the eastern plains decided to fight her ticket. She scheduled a jury trial.

No one in Fairplay municipal court had ever done a jury trial before. I don’t remember the name of the judge, but I don’t think he practiced criminal law. We were all in the dark together. We managed to assemble a jury and I faced off against a pro se septuagenarian in a battle to see if she was, in fact, guilty of driving 40 in a 25 (or something like that, I don’t remember the exact speed).

Later, when I learned how to try speeding cases, a trial like this would last maybe an hour and a half or two. But with so much ignorance of what to do, this trial took six. I am pretty sure I have done felonies in shorter time. I called the cop who worked the radar gun (no jokes about “they had those back then?”); the cop who tested the radar gun; the cop who bought the tuning fork which tested the radar gun—in other words the entire Fairplay Police Department.

The defendant testified. I can’t recall much of what she said, but I do remember she testified to something which allowed me to impeach her with one of her traffic convictions. I had no idea how to do that; I didn’t even know Colorado geography. I remember the driving record said she was convicted in “Kiowa.” I figured this was county court so I asked her if she had even been convicted of whatever the offense was in “Kiowa County?” She admitted she had. It wasn’t until much later I found out Kiowa is the county seat of Elbert County. Nobody corrected me.

After the laborious trial we left the courtroom to await the verdict. I remember distinctly walking downstairs, getting a drink of water, and sitting down on the stairs to wait (there were no available chairs.) Just as I hit the stair the bailiff told me we had a verdict. Three minutes. I guess no juror had to use the bathroom. Sure enough, my impressive legal skills scored a conviction in my first jury trial. I was exultant. I had whipped up on a little old pro se lady in a trial for radar speeding in a town whose main source of income was fines from speeding tickets. I felt like Vincent Bugliosi (look it up). (I should have quit while I was ahead. About six months later I lost a speeding case to a pro se little old lady in Aurora municipal court.)

Since that time I have made virtually my entire living as a prosecutor (with small amounts as a judge and a teacher); a meandering journey through big cities and small towns, working on trials and appeals, appearing in tiny municipal courts and the Colorado Supreme Court. I plan to write more about my career in these blogs: stories of murders, rapes, assaults on cops, and speeding tickets.

# posted by Miles Madorin : 5:10 PM