Tofu Diet

While being captured by thousands of floats flowing down St. Chas. Ave. for the past twelve hours, I became indentured in my lonely apartment. Suddenly, I realized there are hidden attributes swimming beneath my persona that longed to be free. Without hesitation, I repaired to the kitchen, took out pots that had been languishing in the cupboard, unsheathed my Pyrex knife, and began slicing vegetables as if I were born to the task. "I need extra protein to go with my new life," I said. Looking through my larder, I thumbed my nose at protein sources such as cow, or goat, or God forbid, pig. Suddenly, I found the perfect ingredient. I discovered and unwrapped the elixir of life, TOFU, and voila, the prospects of a decent meal was immediately enhanced. In the pot the tofu went along with soy sauce, water, and a secret ingredient that I have sworn never to reveal. In a separate skillet the vegies are dumped, and with water added along with the tofu water that came in the package the prospects loomed great. The little tofu cubes were tossed and browned to a golden color. The entire mixture was served over re-heated wild rice. What a taste! Fantastic it was. One problem is, I haven't washed the dishes because I didn't realize how many it took to cook such a scrumptious meal. However, any or all of you may come by at your leisure (providing it's soon) and wash them up. Also, when you address me in the future, please call me "Chef," or "Chef Peter." Nothing else will do.

The Last Great Fraternity Party

During my law years I met many a character. For some inexplicable reason, society’s craziest humans all gravitate to that profession. There was this man named Lansing L. Mitchell; “Tut” to all his friends. When I first met Tut Mitchell, he was a mid-level partner in one of the largest defense firms in the city. I never could figure out what Tut did at that firm, because I never heard of him handling any case, in or out of court. The next thing I knew, he was appointed as a U. S. Federal District Judge in a court where I conducted most of my practice.
For those of you who have never met a federal judge, I will attempt to describe that particular species for you. They are the last bastion of autonomy. They do whatever they want, they say whatever they want to say without fear of retribution, and they act however they damn-well-please, all without supervision from anyone. When entering their fiefdom, or office as it is sometimes called, one would think they had immersed themselves into an eighteenth century French Royal Chamber. Why do they act that way? It’s because they are appointed FOR LIFE by the president, with the ‘advice and consent’ of the senate. Once they pass this cursory examination, they are free to say and do whatever they want until they become too old to act that way. Then they take what’s called, Senior Status, which only means they can now refuse to hear any cases at all if they don’t want to, while still retaining most of the trappings described below.
They have two or three law clerks running around doing research and telling His Majesty what the law is on any particular subject. They all have a court crier, who is generally their butler, slave, and gofer all rolled into one. To add to this absurdity, their day to day courtroom activities have now been taken over by numerous U. S. Magistrates, who do all of their courtroom work for them, freeing them up to act like complete assholes. They rarely disappoint.
I will now tell you how one becomes a federal district judge. Politics. Yep, politics paves the path to the throne. Ability is like tenth on the list of qualifications. District court judges are all recommended by one of two senators from their state and generally, the president signs the appointment paper without looking at it. One’s in-state politics have to be perfect before the recommending senator will perform his magic trick. The senators from the other forty-nine states have no earthly idea who they are ‘advising and consenting’ on, as they perfunctorily vote yea when the nominees’ names are called.  
In the case of Tut Mitchell, I think all of his fellow partners at his law firm did everything in their power to see that this lazy lawyer was appointed, because as soon as they realized he was a drag on their net profits, they saw his appointment as a way out. Obviously, the political weight of his partners had sufficient stroke with the senior senator to relocate old Tut out of their office and down the street into the federal courthouse. His percentage in the partnership was immediately distributed to the remaining partners as soon as he exited the door. What a great thing for them. The partners now had a loyal friend on the bench and just rid themselves of one of their ilk who was perceived as a drag on their profits.
One might think I didn’t like this man. They would be wrong. I didn’t much respect him as a judge; but I liked him. And I think he liked me. He affected this surly attitude whenever speaking to lawyers, which I now assume was merely a smokescreen designed to hide his insecurities. A case in point was; through the blind judicial selection process, Tut was randomly chosen to sit in judgment of one Hubert Gerold Brown, also known as H. “Rap” Brown. Rap was the chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, the Justice Minister of the Black Panther Party, and a former citizen of our Great State of Louisiana.
Apparently “Rap” was caught carrying an AK-47 at a baby shower or some such innocuous event, and the Feds wanted to see him behind bars, so they indicted him.
I walked into Tut’s office shortly before the trial began and he said in an unusually soft voice, “May I help you, Paul?” Since he had always called me by my proper name, Peter, and always in the gruffest of voice, I knew something was amiss.
I went out into the courtroom, because I wanted to see the famous civil rights lawyer, William Kunstler, do his thing. The one thing Tut did not want to see was William Kunstler doing his thing, particularly before a national news audience. I never saw a man so nervous in my life. I am positive that Tut, beneath his robe, wet his pants that day. Here was a man who collected Ford Mustangs and loved to tool around with the top down, blowing his horn at young girls. His wife once called him, “the world’s oldest fraternity boy.” Rap Brown just thumbed his nose at Poor Old Tut.
The criers in most courts were innocuous people who hid behind courtroom doors until it was time to "Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” his judge onto the bench. As soon as they pronounced those words, they escaped back behind the closed doors. Sometimes they sat in the courtroom passing documents from the attorneys up to the judge. That was true of every clerk I knew, save one.
Theophile A. Duroncelet’s official title was Deputy Clerk and Courtroom Deputy for the Honorable Lansing L. Mitchell. When Theo decided to move from the clerk’s office filing papers, to Tut’s office as his clerk, the ‘Tut and Theo Show’ became the hit of the town. As much as other clerks eschewed the limelight, Theo savored it. He would prance about the judge’s outer office greeting everyone who came in by name, shaking their hands, and then began a continuous banter of inanities that stopped only when the judge admitted the visitor to his chambers.
When you made it to the chambers, generally for a pre-trial conference of some type, the Tut and Theo main event began in earnest. I am positive Theo was the only clerk in the country who sat in on all pre and post-trial conferences in the judge’s chambers and became an active participant in the process. The judge and Theo talked non-stop, mostly at the same time. The judge would turn to Theo and say, “Theo, where’s my book?” or pencil or glasses or something else, and the redoubtable Theo would produce the object in a flash, without breaking his conversation with one of the lawyers.
One must remember the main purpose of any chamber conference was to enable the judge to strong-arm one or both parties into a settlement, so he didn’t have to try the case. Theo always participated in those roundtable discussions. It was the classic good guy (Theo) versus bad guy (Tut) thing. Ultimately Theo would pronounce his decision to Tut and generally, Tut went along with it. It was the way Theo did it, that caused no one to object, not so much the fact that he did it. When it was over, Theo salved the wounds of battle with kind words for everyone, telling both sides what a wonderful deal they had produced for their clients, as he ushered them out the door. He greeted the next group with the same familiarity as he did the preceding ones, and the process replicated itself. The Tut and Theo show went on all day long. The judge and Theo played their roles to perfection every time I saw the show.
Wednesday in the Federal Court was rule day. It was a day all federal judges in that particular district, sat in judgment of the myriad of pretrial detritus that always accumulates in civil action cases. Today, magistrates rule on the motions without oral argument. But in the old days, Wednesday was a day that the judge didn’t have jurors, or press members, or spectators to spoil their attitude, and they could act almost like normal human beings. The lawyers liked it because they could “show their asses” without fear of retribution from the federal God, seated in the pulpit. Decorum was always observed, but occasionally a snicker was heard to escape from the bench lending some credence to the human being theory.
On one particular Wednesday, I had a terrible rule to try before Tut Mitchell. My opponent filed a rule to dismiss my case, and I felt there was no way I could win, particularly if Tut read the pre-submitted briefs or heard any oral argument. The only chance I had was to divert Tut’s attention away from my case to something else that would allow him to perform for all of the other lawyers present in the courtroom. I knew Tut was a ham at heart, after all, he was the world’s oldest fraternity boy, so I devised my plan.
The courtroom was packed with my fellow barristers, who were sitting patiently on the spectator side of the railing divide, awaiting their names to be called, where they would slowly amble up the aisle like communicants going to the alter to receive the Body of Christ. Once on the other side of the railing, the two advocates began sparring from their respective lecterns, trying to convince Tut of the merits of their position.
When Theo called my case, “ABC versus XYX. Mr. Abadie and Mr. So-in-so.” I remained seated with my head down. Mr. So-in-so rose and began his slow journey to the lectern.
Theo again, “ABC versus XYZ, Mr. Abadie, your case.” Again I acted as though I hadn’t heard Theo and kept my head down.
Finally Theo screamed, “Peter, you better get up here.”
With that, I sprang into action. I raced down the center aisle and leapt over the wooden railing that separated the active from the passive participants and ran up to the lectern as though this were a normal behavior for an attorney in a federal courthouse.
Tut went ballistic, as I knew he would. “Mr. Abadie, go back to your seat the way you came and walk properly in my courtroom.”
Taking Tut’s word literally, I leapt once again over the railing and started running back to my seat. Tut screamed, “No. No. Use the swinging gates.” So I jumped over the railing a third time, and walked through the swinging gates on my way back to my original seat in the audience.
Tut screamed at my back, “Mr. Abadie. You will return to your lectern and if you jump over that railing once more, you’re going to jail.”
By now, the other lawyers packing the courtroom were apoplectic. They were laughing so hard, dropping their papers and pens on the floor, and loudly saying to the person next to them, “Did you see what that asshole Abadie just did?” Of course they all saw exactly what I did and were waiting to see what date Tut was going to set for my execution.
When I finally got back in front of my lectern, my opponent began his argument to Tut on his ‘can’t loose’ motion.
I couldn’t believe my ears when Tut cut off my opponent in mid-sentence, “Mr. So-in-so, I read your brief and you are definitely wrong on this one. Motion dismissed.” I couldn’t believe my ears. I had won. Tut was so totally distracted by my stupidity I didn’t have to say one word. Needless to say, Tut had not read one sentence of either party’s brief.
I believe I heard the phrase “you rotten son-of-a-bitch” directed at my back by my worthy opponent on the way out of the Last Great Fraternity Party.