'The Charterhouse of Parma'

By any standard we might accept, Stendhal's last and usually described as his second-best novel, The Charterhouse of Parma, which first appeared in 1839, is a classic. In 1999, the Modern Library published a new translation from the French by Richard Howard, which received glowing reviews. Having read his universally admired masterpiece, The Red and the Black, I always wanted to tackle this one, if only to find out what the title referred to.

Stendhal, one of Marie Henri Beyle's many pseudonyms, is not well-known today. He knew some celebrity in mid-19th century France, where he cavorted with Chopin and George Sand. He even figured his work would not be celebrated until long after he passed on. At the start of The Red and the Black, he dedicated that novel "to the happy few" who presumably would enjoy it then.  He also predicted, "I will be famous around 1880" and was correct, although over the years since then, his fame has gradually faded, along, apparently, with reading itself.

Based on the positive response to the 1999 translation, I purchased the novel but never quite got around to opening the cover, until a month or so ago, when our local bookstore, Politics & Prose, scheduled among the many classes it offers, a course on this novel, heralded in the blurb as perhaps the best Italian novel, even if it was written by a Frenchman in French.

The book was worth the wait.  We first meet the leading but far from the only compelling character, Fabrizio, who as a second son of a nobleman, has a title but little else, primogeniture having reserved everything for his older brother who merits little further attention in the novel but persists as a minor villain. Fabrizio sets out to gratify his teenage goal of joining up with the great man of the day, Napoleon, who in 1815 has just landed from Elba for the fabled Hundred Days.

Right at the start of the novel, Stendhal famously imagined Fabrizio happening upon his hero, or rather, some mostly lower-level officers--he does get a glimpse of the famed Field Marshal Ney--at of all places, fields which it turns out form the setting for the Battle of Waterloo. Fabrizio must conceal any glory he may have won from his both brave and ridiculous behavior at the battle.

Stendhal actually had served as an aide-de-camp on some of Napoleon's European campaigns, so he comes honestly by his knowledge of how battlefields in those times often resembled madhouses. Fabrizio does return to Italy--for the rest of the novel--and after getting in and out of challenging situations occasioned by his bravado, stirs the spirits of his aunt, only a few years older than him, Gina, the Duchess of Sanseverina, and Count Mosca, her lover, who also is the prime minister of the Principality of Parma.

He finds Gina in a grand box at La Scala, the glorious Milan opera house, and while there are sojourns to other places in Northern Italy and as far as Switzerland, most of the story occurs in and around Parma. The principality, which existed as independent at that time in a disunited Italy prior to Mazzini, Cavour, and Garibaldi combined the many states in the early 1870s. Stendhal expertly presents the complicated politics of this small hothouse of conspiring and conniving. 

Fabrizio even manages to win the heart--and cooperation--of the gorgeous daughter of the jail captain. I thought of a similar plot element in Beethoven's only opera, Fidelio. The lecturer of the Zoom class I attended on this novel also referred to Verdi's marvelous aria in Rigoletto that leads into a duet,  "Cortigiani, vil razza dannata" ("You vile race of courtiers").

This is "...the novel Machiavelli would write if he were banished from Italy in the nineteenth century," Balzac wrote in enthusiastically endorsing Stendhal's novel. Fabrizio undergoes challenge after challenge: being beset by brigands, condemned to a prison tower, fleeing the city several times. Beneath all the activity, the Duchess's support for him perseveres, and one concludes that she somehow kept herself from ever becoming intimate with this handsome cavalier.

As in The Red and the Black, Stendhal was ahead of his time through the skill with which he penetrated the insides of his characters through psychology.  Both of these two best novels challenge the mind of the reader with the view we are given of the way these characters think as well as act, even if they, especially Fabrizio, may often act without thinking.

In one fascinating scene, Gina aims to convince the Prince, who is the absolute monarch of the principality, to spare Fabrizio's life--it matters little that he's being framed by political enemies of Mosca and the Duchess for committing what was clearly self-defense and justifiable homicide. She seems to succeed, certainly in saving his life through her advocacy, but she isn't focused enough to get all that she wants. And besides, if she had, the novel would have ended midstream.

All in all, it's surely a tour de force and great reading for about 500 pages in total. "We should never be finished with Stendhal," the French poet Paul Valéry remarked in awe. Nor should we.

 

 

 

 

'Somewhere Over the Border'I

 I saw Somewhere Over the Border, the first presentation on this year's schedule of the Mosaic Theater Co.,  at the end of its run at the Atlas Theatre complex. It was an adaptation of the plot of The Wizard of Oz, only here it follows the progress of an unmarried mother from El Salvador trying to make it to the U.S. by various means of transport through Central America and Mexico.

Some of the parallels were clever: the coyote who ultimately gets her over the border appears as a light-up, giant figure reminiscent of the Wizard's reception hall where Frank Morgan's voice booms out his conditions for helping Dorothy and her pick-up pals: the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion. Human renditions of each of these characters accompany Dorothy.

It's a musical, too, as was the 1939 movie, and while there's no "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" (and no sharp E.Y. (Yip) Harburg lyrics, either), this show leaves you with a pleasant feeling of good entertainment rather than merely putting the aged but still serviceable plot to use with different settings, characters, and countries. The lead, Reina, played by Pepin, holds the show together with a mixture of song and personality. She and three of the named cast members are Equity players. 

All in all, this production gave the 26-27 Mosaic season a good start. The Wizard remains sturdy enough  to accommodate all the different aspects of this spinoff. And if the intent was to use the plot to give audiences contemporary situations that deserve their attention, so much the better.

 

The Score at Shakespeare Theatre Company

The Score, a British production directed by the well-regarded director Trevor Nunn, and now playing at D.C.'s Shakespeare Theatre Company, is based on a real-life event from the 18th century. Johann Sebastian Bach journeyed from his home city of Leipzig, where he was chorusmaster, organist, and composer, in response to the invitation to visit the King of Prussia,, Frederick the Great, at his palace in Potsdam.

Bach is aging, doesn't want to make the arduous trip, and disapproves of Frederick because of his war-making and the deaths his battles have caused to civilians in Silesia and in Leipzig, where other atrocities were committed by Frederic's Prussian army. The play tried out in Bath and then was presented in the West End, London. This is its only American booking.

Brian Cox, a star of the English stage, plays Bach and is definitely the leading character. Nicole Ansari-Cox, his wife in real life, plays his wife in the play, and Stephen Hagan plays Frederick.  The play's first act is a (slow) set-up to what happens in Potsdam and Bach's faith-based beliefs against Prussian militarism are more than adequately advanced by Cox in scenes with his wife and his son, Carl (better known as the classical composer C.P.E. Bach), who is working as a composer for Frederick.

The action and drama arrive in the significantly longer second act when Bach arrives at Frederick's palace. Their differences focused on faith and war--it's not too hard to figure out who's in favor of which--emerge despite the senior Bach's promise to his son to restrict his touching on these touchy subjects. The other court composers suggest to Frederick that a theme he has composed--Frederick enjoys his slight efforts to compose--be the subject of a wager as to whether J.S. Bach can compose a three-part fugue from the short theme.

J.S. proceeds to do just what is asked, surprising all of them, except his son, who wins the bet. The elder Bach is totally unaware that the request Frederick makes for him to compose the fugue is the subject of the wager and was intended to demonstrate Bach's declining powers in performing what the composers deemed an impossible task. His performing what would be impossible for any other composer confirms the assertion Carl has made (and wagered) that his father remains the greatest musician then extant in Europe. 

The tension of the drama is whether Bach's angry argument of his views on faith and war will cause Frederick to take action against him, given the powers of royalty and the atmosphere of suspicion and accusation in the palace, especially in Prussia, in those days. But it does not come to that. In fact, the closing scene finds Frederick visiting Bach at his Leipzig home where they continue their discussion. The presence of Voltaire, well played by Peter de Jersey, injects some needed lightness and even a bit of humor to the proceedings.

The play by Oliver Cotton does well in presenting the verbal and intellectual conflict. In London and Bath, Cox, who played the leading character, Logan Roy, in the streaming drama Succession, received strong reviews for his performance. In my view, I was more impressed by how Hagan created the character of Frederick the Great. The King was known for inviting major artistic figures in Europe to visit him as despite his basic orientation as a warrior king, has major intellectual and artistic ambitions. Thus the presence of Voltaire as a visitor when J.S. Bach was also spending what turns out to be only two days at Potsdam.

In Hagan's depiction, Frederick's positions are presented shrewdly and effectively, with a good deal of charm. Cox makes Bach a powerful force but given the atmosphere of suspicion and suppression in the King's court, to me he came off as too strong and too loud. Bach at one point recalls how in Leipzig he needed to negotiate with the city councillors for his wages and working conditions; he admits that he hasn't succeeded in winning what he feels he deserves. Underneath, Bach likely accepts that he is unlikely to convert Frederick but his continued assertion of his views in a challenging tone made me feel that he was deciding in his old age to say things that he had not dared to say earlier.

The subservient attitude of the three court composers, who are in awe of J.S. Bach, as well as the same outlook of Bach's son, who urges him not to remonstrate with Carl's employer, Frederick, conveys the scary atmosphere of the palace. I had the feeling that the playwright was striving to show that J.S. Bach was by this time (62 was doubtless an advanced age then) beyond suppressing his opinions to anyone's control, even a monarch who may have had stronger intellectual powers but probably the tempestuousness of Henry VIII.

All in all, it was a good theatrical experience. The play will be playing for another month in D.C. with, as noted above, no present plans to put it on elsewhere in the U.S. 

 

 

 

 

Catching Up With Life

It shouldn't feel surprising that I haven't posted here for months. If you've checked this site out, I'm very appreciative and yes, regretful. It just slipped out of my active consciousness (when I use that kind of term, I recognize how my writing has been influenced by reading too much prose infected by both legal and clinical--as opposed to critical--thinking).  

I do attribute my absence from this page mostly to Eileen's death on April 16. This piece follows almost five months since then. I haven't stopped feeling the effect of that event, and I doubt that I will anytime soon. We were married for 55 years, knew each other for 60, and enjoyed each other amid the usual (and some unusual) ups and downs. Most who know us were aware of Eileen's incredible survival through five or six major cancer episodes requiring surgery. One was Stage 3 (out of 4). Those who saw us over the past two years and especially the last seven months or so of her life could discern that this last time was different. Too many insuperable challenges hit at the same time.

She experienced treatment this time provided by a variety of physicians with varying bedside manners. In the end, it was for naught except that she gained at least one and almost two years to enjoy life before things truly began to go south. She had realized that as much as she loved her profession--mediation--and had excelled both in doing it and training others, here and abroad, it finally was time to retire in July 2024 after 49 years in several different roles at the Federal Mediation & Conciliation Service. Her positions included district director and general counsel, but what she loved the most was being a mediator (which carried the title of "Commissioner") and mediating disputes.

Eileen broke in when male chauvinism in a field populated by aging former negotiators for labor or management was still rampant. She won over many who had been skeptical of both her and other pioneer women in the mediation field through learning from those men and women, and helped by the support of the few who encouraged and promoted her, especially Regional Director Paul Yager and FMCS Director Wayne Horvitz. She benefited from the foresight of the FMCS Director when she first was an intern, W.J. Usery, later Secretary of Labor, who started the intern program to diversify FMCS although he wasn't yet sold on women as mediators. There were times she missed living and working in New York despite all the friends and colleagues she had in D.C., but in New York City, she had shared an office with a Yiddish-speaking Black mediator--where else could that happen?

She never lost her wide interest in the field of industrial relations she had discovered during her undergraduate years at the Cornell School of Industrial and Labor Relations. Eventually, she won all their major undergraduate and alumni awards--the Ives and the Groat, also visiting several times as neutral-in-residence. She was elected to lead the Society of Professionals in Dispute Resolution (SPIDR--later absorbed into ACR, the Association for Conflict Resolution) and the Industrial Relations Research Association (later LERA--the Labor and Employment Relations Association).

Eileen went back to Georgetown to earn a law degree at night. Her main motivation was to be able to deal more easily with the lawyers who represented most parties in labor mediations. It was like her--eminently pragmatic--to recognize this value of a law degree and bar admission. Yet she also found research in the field enthralling, even when she felt that many academics ignored the practicalities of effective mediation.

She was a people person and a superb public speaker--often demonstrated at conferences. Her sense of humor particularly came through on these occasions. I'll never know how many of those starting out in the field she assisted with more than just advice--she would call and write on their behalf. 

She traveled on work trips to train mediators and to help design mediation agencies and programs in many countries. She didn't like to be away from home, from our daughter Vanessa, who was growing up, from friends and family, and even from me. So, she made brief journeys to far-away places. While I sometimes was gone for longer periods on overseas projects, she made a three-day trip to the Philippines (not counting the travel time) to deliver a speech.

It's not surprising that for the most part, she didn't write up her experiences. Partly, she wasn't that fond of writing and perhaps more significantly, much of what she would have set down evolved from meetings and other settings where confidentiality was either mandated or assumed to be appropriate. I'm beginning to go through her massive assemblage of papers because Cornell is interested in adding them to its archival holdings; the major challenge will be dealing with material that may still require preservation of promised (and often legally mandated) confidentiality.

Eileen enjoyed teaching and taught collective bargaining, negotiations, and alternative dispute resolution, mostly at George Washington University's National Law Center and more briefly at the University of Maryland's now-Global Campus. She also presented courses at overseas law programs in China and Spain. Her former students stayed in touch with her and she was delighted with their successes and continued to help them with placements. She won the top faculty award from GW law school one year.

She did keep in contact with her family, even when they were wildly opposed to her political and social views. After all, mediation was in her system. I was fairly diligent in maintaining relationships with my many cousins, but it was Eileen who reminded me to write and to make regular phone calls and later, Zoom contacts. We did travel, not always for work, and again, Eileen maintained communication with friends and family of both of us.

She organized two of our later trips: a Normandy tour featuring D-Day sites (our first organized tour) and a trip to Ireland with Vanessa and Dave. The mark of Eileen on that trip was that she made sure there was something included that met each of our individual choices. She also drew on her many contacts to have us meet with the leader of the Irish Labour Party and a prominent community mediator in Belfast. I traveled with her to South Africa, China, and Hungary. She arranged her own trip to speak for the International Labour Organization when I was working in Indonesia for half a year. Vanessa came along courtesy of my air miles. We also finally made it to Israel after she trained labor inspectors for a week in Amman and I joined her to see Petra.

Despite her health challenges, Eileen was always an "up" person. Her glass really was  always half full or more. She took friendship seriously, always there when one needed her. She remained a friend for life with four of her roommates from college, grad school, and her year at London School of Economics. She spent seven months on an exchange with the British Advisory, Arbitration & Conciliation Service (ACAS) and was able to deliver her valedictory at the 2024  (and thus far only) combined conference in New York of FMCS, IIRA, and LERA days before she retired. 

She adored her grandsons, Ethan and Alex, and they had a very special relationship with her. She tolerated our beach weeks at Middlesex Beach every summer because Vanessa and I loved the beach. She was usually very happy there catching up on reading and more than once, she was summoned back to work for some emergency, usually a dispute crisis: she was on a 4-passenger prop that took her back once from Nantucket.

Vanessa and I always laughed when noting that Eileen won the awards, honors and elected offices in our family. The surprise came when one of us managed to get one. And she never solicited them, or organized any kind of a campaign. Our capabilities did complement each other's, yet we were only sporadically able to work closely together as some couples like R.V. (Dick) and Tia Denenberg could. She did benefit from some of my editing skills and I gained even more from her wise advice on everything.

We did enjoy Cornell, both as students and after, especially thanks to the generous hospitality over the years of Jane and Mel Richards. She profited from studying with Jean McKelvey and John Windmuller She wisely opted out of attending football games, which as a former sportswriter, I never could. But she would volunteer to go to some "important" game with me, despite my responding that I had attended so many games in so many sports that one more or less was no big deal. But when we lived in England, I did take her to Henley, Arsenal, the Oxford-Cambridge boat race, and the Grand National Steeplechase; she drew the line at cricket.

She knew her own mind and what she wanted. I met her when she was considering competting (yes, that was the word) for The Sun. She decided we were all too crazy, which we were. She did join the debating team; she said it was because the room she shared as a freshman in Donlon was too small to live in with Irish Scully if she didn't. We had a good run. I will think of her when Violetta sings "Sempre Libera" (always free) at the end of Act One of Verdi's La Traviata. I'll always miss her inimitable spirit and, yes, love. 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

Chez Joey

 Last Saturday, I saw the Arena Stage's adaptation of the Rodgers & Hart musical, Pal Joey, which dates to 1940 and was based on a series of New Yorker stories by John O'Hara. I really still find O'Hara, in his stories and some of his novels, a wonderful writer. These stories were out of his Hollywood/nightclub stories (the others were set in Gibbsville, his made-up town in the Pennsylvania anthracite country modeled after Pottsville, his home town; and New York City and its environs).

Joey in the original musical remains a heel. He has an affair with a rich lady who becomes an angel for his club, but it ends badly. The critics didn't like the 1940 show because the characters, totally real, seemed unattractive to them. So they got all high and mighty and puritanical about it, including Brooks Atkinson of The Times. O'Hara had taken a lot of critical abuse over the years because of what was seen as gratuitous sex in his novels. 

This is all to say that I was game for whatever the Arena decided to do with this show. They changed the name to Chez Joey, which only seemed to mean that the whole show took place in the club that eventually bore that name. The first act was slow as far as I was concerned. They included lots of good R&Hart songs, like I Could Write a Book, Where or When, and even My Funny Valentine, one of their greatest and one I'm absolutely sure was not in the original or previously revived (the production I had seen in New York) Pal Joey. They changed a lot of the tunes, which was too bad, because Rodgers was nothing if not a master melodist. In case I haven't made it clear, the first act left me cold.

The second act, however, saved the show, for me anyway. The show was directed and more importantly, choreographed, by Savion Glover, the greatest modern tap dancer, who more or less revived this art. He didn't dance in the show but his footwork was evident because in the second act, fantastic tap was performed. It even reminded me of those movies with the Nicholas Brothers, fabulous tappers in '30s movies from whom even Fred Astaire learned a lot. Tap did get revived, especially by Glover, a couple of decades ago, and some of the old tappers still around, like Honi Coles, got some work, which was a nice dividend of the revival.

So, this show, with a largely black cast, except for the white female lead--really one of three female leads--who sang the one great song fro the original show, Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered, in the end left you leaving the theater with a good feeling.. Miles Frost, the male lead, Joey, showed plenty of talent, and bears the distinction of having performed the role of Michael Jackson in many productions of the musical based on MJ, as that musical was titled. He won a Tony for playing MJ in the Broadway production but admitted in the showbill bio that he'd hardly played any other major roles.

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 first dean of 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, I might say with respect to me--exaggerated 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, "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 suggested to a friend with whom we were staying in Breckenridge to invite Ernie 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 case 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 where 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, Maury informed me, Ernie replied with a twinkle, “the goddamn fucking judges.”