Story time!

I was thinking over the weekend - 'cause, you know, I do that.

I was thinking about all the "stories" I've spun over the years - to the amusement and hilarity of many, and how, as I've moved along life's path, many of these stories have come to be lost - and most, if not all, of my current friends are without connection to my amusement and tumultuous past.

So, now that I've participated in the brothers Koch lid-blowing party, I'm going to spend a few days regaling my readers with some "stories".

We'll start with one of the best - how I became known as "The Bird Lawyer."

There were three bird cases in all.  Each was sillier and worse than the previous.  There is something to be said for the value of the moniker "Bird Brain".

If you know me at all, you know that my best stories all begin in the same way .. "There I was, minding my OWN business, when.."

I was, quite contentedly, wallpapering my very first solo office one afternoon - a lovely and gentle pink cloth paper with vertical stripes.  Wearing my only suit, I was happily and quietly applying paste to the back of the paper.  The phone rang. 

Don't most dramatic or horrifying stories start with the phone ringing?

It was Mary, she with whom I had attended law school and who was now a successful defense attorney.

Mary, you see, had become fond of birds.  BIG birds.  She started out with a big gray evil fucker, who screamed bloody murder and crapped all over the kitchen floor.  I couldn't, for the life of me, understand it.

She had had a panicked call from the woman from whom she was buying birds.  This lady owned one of the larger bird retail shops in Houston - one that continues to this day. 

The bird shop owner had been served with a court order to release property characterized as stolen - one very large, one-eyed macaw.  She wanted representation, and Mary, citing her relationship with the bird shop owner, said she couldn't handle it.  Or I owed her a favor.  Or something.

It being a stolen property recovery hearing, the event was to be the very next day.  The issuing agency was the City of Bellaire PD, so this shindig would be hosted in the City's municipal courtroom, which was mere blocks from my (now unpapered) office.

I listened to my new client regale me with the horrors of her experience, and her lusciously detailed description of how this horribly unfair state was pressed upon her.  For two hours.  On a phone. 

Basically, it went like this:

My new client had this bird, which she had acquired personally in Central America somewhere, brought in through the Brownsville Ag station years earlier, and had cared for for many years.  His name was .. heck, I can't remember - the damned bird must still be alive, though, as they live forever.  We'll just call him "Buster". 

Buster was a fairly typical macaw, who bore a heavy metal staple around one leg that indicated at which Ag station he'd spent his quarantine and been cleared for lawful entry into the US.  He had one eye that was gone - not just blind, but gone - apparently, he'd had some infection years earlier.

He was an ill-tempered bastard, and he was a good three feet tall.  Warnings were issued to refrain from approaching him or his beak.

Buster lived in the aviary of my client's bird store, free of any tether, and without many other of God's creatures getting in his way.

One day, a new customer to the shop entered. 

Lured, no doubt, by my client's regional reputation for high quality birds and a broad selection of bird support products, this new customer, we'll call "Ginger".  There's actually a nifty word play in there that will suggest her real name to you, but we'll leave it at "Ginger".

Ginger was a member of a certain group of "professionals" who have as their primary business qualification "chutzpah". 

Really, I can't and won't reveal her "profession", but you could have pinned this occupation on her from twenty paces.  These days, she's driving a Lexus.  I feel certain that's true.  An RX400h, if I'm not mistaken.

Anyway, Ginger flounces into my client's bird shop and wanders back into the aviary, whereupon she espies "Buster" minding his own damned business up in the aviary tops.

"That's MY bird!  That's my "Flouncy!"  He was STOLEN from my backyard, and I WANT HIM BACK!"

I don't know how the ensuing conversation went, but my client is somewhat outspoken.  I imagine that it did not go well.

So, Ginger returned to her normal range (Bellaire, Texas) and filed a complaint with the Bellaire PD that her "stolen property" (as I recall, not previously reported as stolen) had been located.

And, shortly thereafter, Bellaire PD deposited the warrant/subpoena for my client to appear with the merchandise.

And then, the phone in my office rang.

Now, we're forward to the next afternoon, and I meet (for the first time) my client outside the Bellaire Municipal Building (quite modest, back in 1990, with their tax base now they probably have their own Supreme Court).  She, and her companion/partner/helper/manservant have "Buster" in a very large cage that is well covered.  She's smoking about twelve cigarettes an hour.  She's wound up to the hilt, and is ready for war.

She has another, similar bird with her, and her plan is to take the other bird into the court and deceive everyone that she can then pounce and alert the world that Ginger knows not her ass from a hole in the ground.

I personally know legions of title officers, mortgage officers, insurance agents and other folk who would, based solely on Ginger's professed profession, would agree wholeheartedly, but ..

I calmed and cautioned my client (who exhaled into my thirty year old face ignorant to my personal wishes) that such a choice would constitute criminal perjury, and .. she relented.

We entered the courthouse at the appointed time.

The Bellaire municipal courthouse was a lovely place (as compared to most comparable courtrooms), with theater styled seating in two sections, a nice light wood dais and bench for the Judge, who was a local attorney that heard speeding tickets and dog poo violations for one half day every so often.  We, the Respondents, were four in number, my client, said manservant, me, and one very dazed young man who I had subpoenaed from Texas A&M.

Oh, and Buster.  Buster in his massive cage, still covered, was brought into the courtroom (as we were ordered to do) but, he didn't like it so much.

Heedless of the vital nature that must be accorded those felonious non-residents of Bellaire who were nabbed exceeding their Very Special Speed limits, Buster announced his displeasure.

Did you know that a Macaw can drown out the noise of a crowded airport terminal?

Yeah.

LOUD.

The Judge Was Not Amused.

My client attempted to reduce the fussing level from within the covered cage.  Order was restored.  Dignity prevailed, but only until the Complainant (Ginger) entered the courtroom.

With her attorney, some standard issue suit, she entered leading a flying wedge of scrubbed white people.  Good citizens all.  There were a good twenty of them, total.  Twenty.  Leading citizens.  Taxpayers all.

My side looked like relics from the shelter, with a baffled nubbin, me in a cheap suit, and this enormous box that squawked.

The docket for the next hour was called - the time for our denouement before Lady Justice was at hand.

Well, after the traffic tickets, and those who had left gum on the sidewalk.

Bellaire, you see, is like Houston's own little piece of Singapore.  Sanitized.  Modernized.  An Oasis of Pretty (White) Affluent in the midst of the effluent.

Justice was meted out to those who were not well bred enough to be residents of Bellaire.  Money flowed into the city's coffers.

And, then, it was Ginger's turn.

Bellaire PD, you see, was NOT going to introduce this matter before the (unsuspecting) municipal judge.  Bellaire PD was not convinced that a.) this was the bird that was previously Ginger's, nor b.) that it was stolen from Ginger.

They demurred.  Ginger's standard issue suit with a bar card took over.

Ginger was, of course, her own star witness.  She was immaculately turned out in a lovely suit, probably from Neiman's or Tootsie's.  Her size one body hoisted those shoulder pads up off of the chair and she strode up to the bench, the picture of confidence and poise.

Her nineteen white friends and relatives sat up in their chairs, eager to hear about her wrongs and suffering.

She began.

I objected.

You see, just as you've learned from the 6,198,278,109.8 courtroom drama shows that have peppered our lives since the 1970's, the side INTRODUCING testimony has to give ANSWERS to QUESTIONS that that side's attorney ASKS.

Apparently, the standard issue suit skipped that day in law school, or something.

The judge, however, did not skip that day, and agreed with me.  This process consumed a goodly amount of time, in fact, the half hour traffic docket was nudging us with its chromed bumper.  Ginger would narrate, I'd object, the judge would agree, the suit would ask something like "So, Ginger, WHAT HAPPENED?" and Ginger would pick up her narration again.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

We paused while the City of Bellaire hauled in some more cash from non-residents.

After that break, I just gave up with trying to have the Rules of Procedure control the so-called proceedings.

Ginger regaled the rapt audience with her tale -

"Flouncy", you see, had been HER bird, that she acquired from some trip she had taken with her (thoroughly bleached) husband to An Exotic Port of Call.  They returned via Miami (MIA = the Miami Permanent Construction Zone and Drug Bazaar - courtesy of Dave Barry) where Flouncy had stayed his quarantine.

She LOVED Flouncy, and Flouncy LOVED her.  She petted him, and loved him, and petted him and took care of his needs and ..

"Objection, relevance."

"Sustained."

And she LOVED him, and cared for him...


"Objection, relevance."


"Sustained."

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Flouncy, being the beloved, privileged Bellaire bird, was allowed to roam freely in the BACKYARD.

Bird.  Backyard.  Trees.  Untethered.

Remember, chutzpah - not smarts. 

The bird FLEW out of the backyard.  By itself.  Without a masked Bellaire bandit's assistance.

Whence the Bellaire PD had found it unlikely that Flouncy had been hijacked.

Ginger described Flouncy in minute and pointless detail.  "Flouncy" aka Buster, was in his enormous, shrouded cage, finally silent.

The suit, sensing opportunity to shine, began to vilify my client, calling her inappropriate names (for any white woman a resident of Bellaire, anyway).

Objection.  Sustained.

I declined to cross examine her utter lack of testimonial largess.

Following was an endless parade of thronging Whiteness - witness after witness praising Ginger's love for Flouncy.

"Objection.  Relevance."

"Sustained." (a groan indicated long-suffering began to creep into the Judge's tone).

"Cross-examination?"  "Sure.  Ma'am, are you personally familiar with any fact that would suggest that Flouncy was stolen, rather than took a wrong turn at the tall tree in Bellaire?"  "No."

"No further questions."

Lather, rinse, repeat.

I have always called this the Great White Case.  You don't really HAVE a case, but you're very white and very upstanding, so you invite each and every upstanding white person that you know to come testify that you're both very white and very upstanding.

Frequently, this turns out swimmingly for the White Seekers of True Justice.

The did not count on the presence of He Who Wields Wit as a Weapon.

Finally, the parade of white people was halted, when the Judge (now well past his noontime relief) asked those yet unspoken whether any one of them had anything to offer OTHER than that Ginger LOVED Flouncy.

There was a murmur in the negative.

I was "on".

I lead with my client, whom I had hoped had been nosing around in the Ketamine back of her store.  I was able to confine her to the limits of the matter at hand - where she had acquired Buster, when, how he arrived here in These United States, how he had lost his eye (Flouncy, you see, had lost HIS eye in an unfortunate contact injury, whereas Buster had lost his eye from a viral infection common to birds). 

Now, it was time for the coup d'grace - my witness from Texas A&M. 

On direct, I had him testify that each Ag quarantine station had their own unique code which was stamped permanently into the heavy metal staple that was applied to each bird at that station.  The staple applied in Miami could NEVER be confused with the staple applied in Brownsville.  Had he personally inspected Buster before the courtroom drama?

Yes.

Could he identify the staple on Buster's leg?

Yes.

Please share your identification of the Ag station through which Buster entered the US from your personal examination.

"Brownsille, Texas"

And Buster could not have come through Miami?

No.  These staples are only applied by the US Dept. of Ag, only at the quarantine stations, and they cannot be removed without irreparable damage.

So, Ginger's bird, whom she has testified she personally brought in through Miami could not be the bird that you inspected today?

No.

Let's pass the witness with a heavy gravy of smug, please.

The suit winds up his opening pitch -

Couldn't the staple have been removed from Flouncy and replaced with a repaired staple from Brownsville?
No.
But, the staple could have been bought illegally from someone who worked at the Brownsville Ag station and then later put onto Flouncy's leg?
No.  The stapler is only at the Ag stations, and couldn't be applied off site.
Maybe you're just confused.
No.
Maybe Flouncy's staple was improperly applied with a Brownsville mark at the Miami station.

"Objection."

"Sustained"

"This man (says the suit) is refusing to produce the stolen property, and he is delaying justice for my client.  This man.."

"Your honor, I have a name.  It's Douglas Hord.  I gave opposing counsel my business card when we first met.  I object to him referring to me as 'this man'."

Judge (with head down on bench, groans) "sustained".

The Judge, now three hours into sudden death overtime, grumbles "I wish it were Judge Wapner hearing this case instead of me."

Now, the suit pronounces (out of turn, again) that IT IS NOW TIME THAT THIS STOLEN BIRD BE PRODUCED!

"Objection, your honor.  To prevail, the Claimant must first demonstrate that there was a theft, and then that my client is in possession of the property stolen.  The Claimant has introduced anecdotal evidence that the property was lost, but none regarding a theft."

Judge: "After listening to this for five hours, I want to see the damned bird."

Client, now VERY unhappy, allows her manservant to reveal Buster in his cage.

Ginger: "FLOUNCY!  FLOUNCY!"

Suit:  "I believe that the Court should observe my client interact with her bird".

Fine.  Whatever.

My client conveys the bird over to Ginger, who leans over (again with the chutzpah, but not smart - you couldn't have gotten me within five feet of that thing's hammerlock snout) and coos at the bird.  "Flouncy, how I've missed you."

The bird spins his head around 180 degrees and looks at my client as if to ask "who IS this bitch?".

My client points out to the judge that Buster's LEFT eye is the one missing.  Ginger had testified repeatedly that Flouncy's RIGHT eye was the one missing.

Ginger:  "YOU SWITCHED THE BIRDS!"

Suit:  "Your Honor, I believe that the Bellaire PD should now examine ALL of that woman's birds to find where she's put my client's bird!"

Me:  " Perhaps counsel may next suggest that Flouncy was transported away by the Starship Enterprise, but I doubt that this is other than wild speculation, and there is nothing before this Court to suggest that my client has done anything but observe the orders of this Court."

"Sustained.  Okay, look... is there anything else?"

No.  No.

"Okay, in order to prevail, the Claimant must first prove that she was deprived of her property by theft, and then that Respondent possesses or controls that property.  There has been no evidence introduced that a theft took place.."

The Great White Case stand up, en masse, and file out of the courtroom .. including the suit, and without waiting for the Judge to finish.

Just rude.

I don't remember how much I got paid for that one.  We finished at 5pm.  We'd been there since 9am.

Oh, but there's more.  A lot more.  And, you'll get to read all about it (or part two thereof) tomorrow...