The Endurance of the Boudins

 

 

I final got around to reading a book I must have purchased two decades ago, Family Circle: The Boudins and the Aristocracy of the Left (2003). My path crossed that of Leonard Boudin and his family several times. Leonard was a leading left-wing lawyer from the ‘30s through the ‘70s or until his death in 1989. 

 

Leonard, however, was not a hell-raiser. He maintained his image and reputation as a skilled appellate attorney, and represented many clients who were being prosecuted in part for their left-wing views and activities and several who had been accused of spying for the Soviet Union. He won many cases for his clients, relying on his being known as a brilliant advocate who should not be tagged with the politics, views, or alleged crimes of his clients. 

 

I first met him at the home of Richard Gilbert, a Harvard-trained economist who had been heavily involved in the Democratic Party, having served as an adviser to many presidential candidates. Richard was a respected counselor and in his later years, led an economics project for some years in Pakistan. 

 

He lived in Westport, Conn., with his family in a nice house with a pool. This attracted my father, an outstanding competitive swimmer in his youth, to visit Richard now and then. Incidentally, Richard’s older son, Walter, or Wally, subsequently won the Nobel Prize in Physics, and was a founder of Genentech, the genetics company. 

 

One day when we were visiting, Leonard Boudin came by with his son Michael. I was in high school but along with listening to Leonard discuss two recently-decided Supreme Court cases, one of which he had argued and lost, 5-4, Uphaus v. Wyman, I got to ask him a few questions which he delighted in answering in his inimitable fashion. He also handed out dissents by Justices Black and Brennan. At the same time, my dad was swimming a lap or two, demonstrating his marvelous freestyle in the pool. 

 

Years later, I took a course in my third year at Harvard Law taught by Leonard as Visiting Professor from Practice, a seminar in advanced constitutional law. One of the highlights was travelling to Washington, on my own dime, to watch him argue In re Stolar, a case where a client’s previous political associations was causing a state bar, in Ohio, I believe, to refuse to admit him to its bar. 

 

Leonard won that one, and he enjoyed the limelight. He was assisted in the seminar by two young lions—then—of the Harvard  law faculty, Alan Dershowitz and Charles Nesson. They both contributed but like the rest of us were somewhat in awe of Leonard, who peered out at the world through eyeglasses as thick as old green Coke bottles.

 

Leonard’s daughter, Kathy, had already been convicted of felony murder in the Brinks robbery case in Rockland County, New York, and I realized when reading Susan Braudy’s book that he threw himself into defending Kathy as best he could, drawing on all his skills, experiences, and connections. She still ultimately served 22 years before being paroled.

 

I wrote my third-year paper for him as my professor, on disqualification of judges for expression of opinion. Seeing him in his office one day, I noted a drawer in a large, four-drawer, metal file cabinet with the label, “Kathy Boudin” on it, I listened as he related to me with his traditional twinkle that he felt sorry for the ancient civil procedure professor whose chambers Leonard was occupying while the procedure professor was on sabbatical: “He won’t realize that because I was here, his phone will be tapped forever by the F.B.I.”

 

Of the other main characters in the boo, I did get to meet Leonard’s son, Michael, who became, unlike everyone else in his family and clearly in contrast to his sister, became a Republican, Assistant Attorney General for Antitrust in the Reagan Administration, then a judge, and when I met him again, Chief Judge, of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the First Circuit in Boston.

 

He had been generous enough to permit the commission of which I was then Executive Director, the National Prison Rape Elimination Commission, to conduct a public hearing in this court’s building. The commission’s chair, Judge Reggie B. Walton, and I went up to his chambers to thank Chief Judge Boudin.

 

I learned in the Braudy book that Leonard was especially proud of his son although devoted, a much harder task, to his daughter. I mentioned that I had had Leonard as a professor and Michael was wide-eyed and seemed incredibly pleased to hear that I had enjoyed the class and his father as a professor. He died last year and apparently as a traditional Republican, was less than enthralled with the current Administration. 

 

I also met Jean Boudin, a poet and Leonard’s wife. She seemed as a poet to be a bit unused to domesticity: she took the boxes of pizza that had been ordered for this informal supper for Leonard and his class and put them in the oven to warm, boxes and all. She was surprised when they burst into flames, which were extinguished speedily. 

 

It did surprise me that Leonard was a true ladies’ man and had had liaisons with a number of omen over the years, including lawyer who worked for his firm. For some it took some of the sheen off his image, but I always found him a fascinating lawyer and all-around compelling character.

 

 

 

Ernie Friesen, the true founder of modern judicial administration

 

 

Ernest Clare Friesen, Jr., who died in December [2025] at the age of 97, was more responsible than anyone else for the successful start and growth of judicial administration in the U.S. He was an amazing, imaginative, and yes, brilliant leader, teacher, and innovator. He held almost every top job in the field, having been the first director of the Institute for Court Management and the National Judicial College. 

 

He had been Director of the Administrative Office of the U.S. Courts, and Assistant Attorney General for Administration in the U.S. Department of Justice before that. Later on, he was dean of two law schools. He co-wrote the first major text, Managing the Courts, and was a valued and sought-after consultant for decades. Ernie, above all, was a delightful guy to work with, learn from, and just spend time absorbing his knowledge, experience, and energy.

 

He was one of the only stars in the field who could walk into any judge’s chambers or court and be welcomed based on his presence as well as the reputation he had acquired. I experienced that when we worked on a project to reduce criminal case processing time in the major Chicago criminal court. He introduced us as we interviewed a lot of judges: “Between us, Mr. Hoffman and I have been in just about every major metropolitan court in America.” 

 

Ernie was a Kansan and could present that kind of statement with the aplomb of actor Frank Morgan, who played the Wizard in the 1939 movie, The Wizard of Oz. I recall my late colleague, Bob Tobin, remarking that Ernie was the speaker you needed when you wanted to rouse everyone in the audience to go out into the streets and shout for court reform.” 

 

I last saw Ernie in Colorado when I persuaded a friend with whom we were staying in Breckenridge to invite Erne and his wife Corley to dinner with all of us. Ernie was as fascinating as always—he was only in his 80s then—and left everyone there amazed at his command of the role of courts and what needed to be done to make them work right. 

 

His court management principles were short and clear: Always have a definite next date for action on any case. Use "short scheduling," i.e.,  if a lawyer asks for a 30 or 60-day continuance, give him 15 or 20. Set a cutoff date for pleas. In his various positions, he probably directly or indirectly caused more judges and court administrators to aim for significant improvement in how courts processed cases and how long they took to do it. 

 

I also was with him when we both travelled to North Conway, New Hampshire, for Maury Geiger’s funeral. Maury always had brought a splash of humor to the often not so funny field of court and justice system management. He also believed in serving ordinary people—court users—and had worked on many projects with Ernie. Maury told me once that when he was driving Ernie in San Diego—locale of one of the law schools he was dean and got accredited—he asked Ernie what the biggest problem, the greatest obstacle was to getting the courts operating effectively or running right. 

 

Without missing a beat, Ernie replied with a twinkle, “the goddamn fucking judges.”

 

Larry Hart and 'Blue Moon'

Richard Linklater's film about the superb lyricist Lorenz (Larry) Hart stars Ethan Hawke and is a tour de force for theater aficionados. Hart provided lyrics for a host of Broadway musical shows with Richard Rodgers composing the music. These included The Boys From Syracuse, A Connecticut Yankee, Babes in Arms, On Your Toes, and Hallelujah, I'm a Bum. He's probably best remembered, however, for the many songs for which he penned the lyrics, mostly with Rodgers doing the music:   "Blue Moon"; "The Lady Is a Tramp"; "Manhattan"; "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered"; "We'll Take Manhattan"; "Mountain Greenery"; and "My Funny Valentine."

Hart's own story--which is portrayed in the movie--was not all that happy. He and Rodgers met at Columbia where they worked on several college shows and then hit Broadway with The Garrick Gaieties. Hart was short and always had trouble dealing with that: he never married and became an alcoholic, which led to Rodgers dropping him as a partner and then replacing him with Oscar Hammerstein II, who, when paired with Rodgers, produced a series of tremendously successful musicals, beginning with Oklahoma! That opening night in 1943 provides the setting for 'Blue Moon' the movie. Hart has arrived early for the opening night party at Sardi's and takes up his position at the bar, vowing not to drink but eventually having a few.

Hart had become too unreliable to work with Rodgers on Oklahoma! but the book was much too corny and sentimental for his rapier wit and highly sophisticated words. He likely was concealing some jealousy at the party but he had predicted that the show would be a great success and run indefinitely--it ended up capturing the prize of longest-running musical on Broadway, which it held until succeeded by several later blockbusters.

Aside from the book, which suited Hammerstein's somewhat corny and sentimental side--indeed, recent productions of Oklahoma! have returned to the darker theme of the drama which was the musical's source: Lynn Riggs's Green Grow the Lilacs--, the show was the first to advance the plot through the songs as well as dance, choreographed by Agnes DeMille. This kind of show was anathema to Hart--even if he hadn't been drowning in booze. During the movie, Rodgers expresses interest in working on a project with Hart but warns him that he had better be "professional", i.e., come into the office at 9 A.M. like the rest of the working world.

Hart remains a star member of the small group of clever, witty lyricists on Broadway: Cole Porter, Ira Gershwin, E.Y. (Yip) Harburg, but he likely was already feeling that postwar America was more attuned to Hammerstein's comparatively cornball creations. Rodgers was easily able to write his fabulous melodies for either wordsmith; he even produced an instruments-only masterpiece--the background music for the TV series on WWII naval battles, Victory at Sea. 

Cole Porter did come back after the war with a success, Kiss Me, Kate, but he was in a different line because he was, like Irving Berlin, one of the rare Broadway figures who wrote both his own words ad music. He demonstrated with Kate that he could also produce a musical that was more than a string of songs by designing the complicated format of a play within a play, the original of course provided by Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew. Ira Gershwin was devastated by the early death of his brilliant brother and partner, George, in 1938. But Ira did team up some years later with Kurt Weill to give us Lady in the Dark, which took on the rare topic of psychoanalysis but had room for both Danny Kaye's memorable tour de force, "Tchaikovsky" and Ira's clever "Story of Jennie."

Would Hart have similarly adjusted his focus had he come back from his alcoholism? We'll never know, but one of the later Rodgers & Hart shows as the dramatic Pal Joey, drawn from John O'Hara's New Yorker stories about a total heel, until then not considered a fit subject for Broadway musicals. True, some critics wouldn't buy it, including the Times's Brooks Atkinson showed his limitations by being unable to get past opining that sweet water couldn't be drawn from a poisoned well. Whatever, Pal Joey was no mere string of songs, even if the wonderful "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered" gets more than one reprise.

Hart receives his due in Linklater's film, which is fitting in view of the delight his lyrics brought to the Broadway stage. And we might note that the story of a man who passed on 82 years ago is itself a tribute to his continuing presence in the songs he wrote that we still enjoy. 

 

 

 

 

 

'Andy Warhol in Iran'

To the Atlas Theater last Saturday night to catch Mosaic Theater Company's 90-minute, no-intermission play, Andy Warhol in Iran. Not having known anything about any trip by Warhol to Iran--not that I'm that acquainted with most of the details of his life--I figured this would be something new and different. It turned out to present a conflict between morality and mammon. 

Warhol is ensconced in his hotel room, which is neither lavish nor spartan. He's come to Teheran to take photos so he can paint a picture of the Shah's queen. There's also some suggestion that he would be hired to depict the Shah's family in paint as well. He makes no bones about the obviously large remuneration he is receiving for this effort.

So, when he is surprised and made a prisoner in his hotel room by a young man with a gun who could be described as a terrorist since he says he's  part of a group rebelling against the Shah's brutal rule and his vicious secret police (SAVAK) who, with CIA training, maintain his authority and are known to engage in torture and murder to keep him in pwer.

Warhol attempts to talk his way out of being brutalized or killed by this gunman and his cohort. He's just there to take some pictures. The young man recounts how his father was murdered by the Shah's minions and recounts with the assistance of videos flashed on screens the history of U.S. involvement going back to the American and British deposing in the early 1950s of Mohammed Mossadegh, the Iranian prime minister who showed signs of rebelling himself against the Western support of the Shah's authoritarian rule. This murder was carried out, it now is clear, by the CIA.

Warhol's futile attempts to escape are easily frustrated by his captor. There's some development of empathy between the two when their brushes with death are compared--Warhol's major surgery that saved his life after Valerie Solanis shot him, and the gunman's severe injury that also required significant surgery to save him.

While he repeatedly tells Warhol that the details of his life are not germane to the instant situation, he gradually reveals more about his life experience, including time spent in the U.S. The two actors play their characters effectively; Alex Mills as Warhol dons a white-haired wig to re-create Warhol's well-known appearance. He even presents his captor with a similar wig to disguise himself to escape being taken by the police.

There's a surprise that provides a denouement for the play. It is effective in keeping the story believable and suddenly changes the relationship between the two men. All in all, the play was a satisfying dramatic experience that nicely showed how Warhol's status as an artistic rebel was balanced by his commercial focus on maintaining his large art plant, "the Factory", and its employees.

We now know what ultimately happened in Iran, precipitated by the U.S.'s welcoming of the Shah when he abandoned Iran in the face of imminent revolution that generated the Islamic Republic and the taking of the U.S. Embassy and lengthy holding of its personnel as hostages. Iran remains an antagonist to U.S. policy in the Middle East to this day.

The play manages to convey all of this in a well-constructed drama that does not succumb to tedium given we only see two characters for the whole time. Mosaic Theater has a well-deserved reputation in D.C. for creative, edgy theatre; as with the last production we saw there, a bravura tour de force about Louis (Satchmo) Armstrong in which Craig Wallace portrayed Satchmo, his agent, and his wife. 

 

 

 

Revival of 'Gypsy' on Broadway

I've been very fond of the musical Gypsy but somehow never saw the original production. Jule Styne wrote seven songs for the marvelous and unique Broadway singer, Ethel Merman. I did see the movie with Rosalind Russell, who did perform well despite her obviously far less impressive vocal authority. It was fun seeing a tee shirt on sale in the lobby, which listed the actresses who had played Rose, the lead and Gypsy's mother--the most extreme of any stage mother--on Broadway. They were Merman, the original Rose; Angela Lansbury, Tyne Daly, Bernadette Peters, and Patti Lupone. 

Gypsy was the second of only two shows for which Stephen Sondheim wrote the lyrics but not the music. West Side Story was his first. Styne's songs and music overall was marvelous and Sondheim's lyrics superb and clever. Arthur Laurents's book was all right but not in the rarefied realm of the music and lyrics.

Audra Macdonald was Rose in this revival with a totally racially-integrated cast. Macdonald has a fine voice; I heard her as one of the students in Master Class, which portrayed Maria Callas, played by Zoe Caldwell, teaching such a class. Macdonald was good and I would concede that while no one is ever likely to rise to Merman's incredible vocal heights, Macdonald's singing was in a different style but  excellent in its own way. 

The rest of the cast, including Joy Woods as Louise, who of course becomes Gypsy Rose Lee, "the stripper with class" and Danny Burstein as the put-upon Herbie, who is in love with Rose but like everyone else who is close to her --her two daughters--ends up walking out on her. Her daughters--Gypsy and June, who became a successful actress as June Havoc--managed to make it in show business despite their Mom's controlling their early lives up through their teens.

The first act ends with that fabulous act-closing number, "Everything's Coming Up Roses" and the whole show winds up with the always amazing "Rose's Turn" during which she seems to be on the verge of a total breakdown but you know she will persevere. I've always thought that the wretched song that Rose included in every awful act she put together when she was trying to make June a star from her earliest moments in kiddie shows to vaudeville--"Let Me Entertain You"--was perfectly brought back late in the second act to be rendered in a wildly different tempo and style to serve as Gypsy's stripping number.

It should be recalled that although burlesque was on its way to theatrical burial following the demise of the "classier" vaudeville, Gypsy Rose Lee lasted on its stage as long as she did because she really was a different kind of burlesque queen. As Wikipedia notes, she "earned her legendary status as an elegant and witty striptease artist. Initially, her act was propelled forward when a shoulder strap on one of her gowns gave way, causing her dress to fall to her feet despite her efforts to cover herself; encouraged by the audience's response, she went on to make the trick the focus of her performance.

"Her innovations were an almost casual stripping style compared to bump & grind styles of most burlesque strippers (she emphasized the "tease" in "striptease"), and she brought a sharp sense of humor into her act as well. She became as famous for her onstage wit as for her stripping style, and—changing her stage name to Gypsy Rose Lee—she became one of the biggest stars of Minsky's Burlesque, where she performed for four years." In her later life, Gypsy had a long career in live theater, movies, and TV. She developed enough learning despite never attending school when her mother was taking the sisters on the road aiming for vaudeville fame to conduct a talk show successfully and succeed in several fields of entertainment. She also wrote several mystery novels and her own memoirs, on which Styne, Sondheim, and Laurents based their musical. 

This musical was Ethel Merman's final success, lending her powerful pipes to the seven songs written with her as the intended singer. The revival confirmed that the show still attracts and pleases audiences, even with the singing, especially Macdonald's as Rose, much more stylized and satisfying in its own way than Merman's marvelous belting. If you've never seen it, it's worth heading for the Majestic on 44th St. west of Broadway.