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Well, apparently so.  Take this as an example of such.  A young baboon is chased by an enraged mother, intent on dishing out punishment for some infraction within the troop.  Suddenly, the youngster stops dead in his tracks, stands up and begins to scan the horizon intently.  It is a look that forbodes an imminent attack by outsiders and conveniently distracts all the other baboons, including the mother, long enough so he can make his escape.  Deceitful behavior has a long, long history or so the evolutionary biolgists would say.  The more sophisticated the animal’s brain, the more commonplace is cunning and guile.  Within the primate world, the larger the neocortex - that “new,” more highly evolved portion of of our frontal brain - the greater the capacity to lie, cheat, bluff or swindle the unsuspecting.  It’s little wonder we are drowning in our Bernard Madoffs and Rod “Potty Mouth” Blagojevichs.

If that’s the evolutionary case, is it inevitable that lying and scheming are day-to-day activities for humans?  Alas, it seems to be.  Recently, researchers at the University of California at Santa Barbara conducted their own unique experiment.  They asked 77 college students and 70 people from the community to keep anonymous diaries for a week and note the reasons behind each and every fabrication they told.  The researchers found that college students told an average of two lies a day, community members one and that most lies fell into the minor “white lie” category.  Most were in the “check’s in the mail” variation.  A follow-up questionnaire delved into their most grievous lies.  Of course, as you well might expect, these had to do with adultery, defrauding an employer or lying under oath to protect someone else.  Many carried guilt with them as a result but a surprising number of the guilty realized that they had gotten away with it and felt empowered to do it again and again and again.

The sad fact is this: as humans, we simply are not equipped to detect lies and deceit.  Numerous other studies have documented the pitiful inability for a person to detect lies when viewing someone on videotape.  Is that person telling the truth or engaging in falsehood?  Subjects guessed correctly about 54 percent of the time which is pretty much like flipping a coin or pinning the tail on the donkey.  But we as humans are not the only ones who engage in such widespread deceit.  It’s just that we are the worst at detecting those lies.  Do we have some inbred desire to be deceived at our own expense? (more…)

Robert Mulligan, film director, exited this world last Saturday, December 20, with one great film under his belt.  He will always be remembered for his work in “To Kill a Mockingbird” (1962).  The film won Oscars for Gregory Peck (Best Actor) as well as for Horton Foote (Best Screenplay) and art direction.  Mulligan was beat out that year for Best Director Oscar by David Lean for his film “Lawrence of Arabia.” 

But Mulligan was an accomplished director who should be remembered for his ability to coax subtle yet compelling performances out of actors.  For example, he worked wonders with Tony Curtis in “The Great Imposter” (1961), Natalie Wood in “Inside Daisy Clover” (1965) and Sandy Dennis in “Up the Down Staircase” (1967).  And don’t forget how he handled a very young Tony Perkins in “Fear Strikes Out” (1957).  There, Perkins played Jimmy Pearsall, a gifted baseball player who starred with the Boston Red Sox and later, the Cleveland Indians, but who was tormented by mental illness during his entire sports career.  Not only did Perkins, under Mulligan’s gifted hand, deliver a moving performance, but was matched every step of the way by Karl Malden as Pearsall’s pushy, demanding father.  It’s a film that was way ahead of its time.  Check it out at Netflix. 

Other films to Mulligan’s credit include “Summer of ‘42″ (1971), “The Other” (1972), “Bloodbrothers” (1978), “Same Time, Next Year” (1978).  Mr. Mulligan’s younger brother, Richard Mulligan, an award-winning actor who starred in “Little Big Man” as a psychotic George Custer and in the TV comedies “Soap” and “Empty Nest,” predeceased him in 2000. 

For your edification and reading enjoyment, consider the following:

Caribou Barbie - A nickname for the former VP-candidate Sarah Palin.

Obamanation - Get ready because his name is going to be the wellspring of hundreds of jokes, gag lines and the like.  Variations of “Obamanation” are common.  So common in fact that Slate, which can be accessed on this website, published a compendium of similar terms and calls it “Obamamania! The English Language, Barackafied.”  Here’s some more: Bamalot, Baraccoli, Baracked, Barackstar, Barackupied, Barackwurst, Nobama, Obamacam, Obamafy, Obamalicious, Obamamatopoeia, Obamamentum, Obamanos, Obamarama, Oblamascope, Obamatopia, Obamatose, Obamazon.  (more…)

It was an odd death to say the least.  The young man was found in a commercial trash bin, dead from inhalation of what the police call “combustible by-product” fumes.  They do not believe his death is a homicide since the victim showed no signs of assault.  Amarillo police don’t even know what started the fire inside the trash bin.  Autopsy and toxicology reports should clear up the manner and mechanism of death.    But then the local paper ran a human interest story on the individual the day following the discovery of his body in the bin.  The story itself raised more questions than the information contained within. 

The reporter obviously spoke to several high school students who attended school with the victim.  They all lauded his artistic bent, his skill at the guitar and his friendly attitude.  Some offered anecdotes about how he went out of his way to welcome new students and befriended others who felt left out or marginalized.  One student labeled the victim the happiest person she had ever known.  Fair enough.  But don’t you think that if you’re a reporter, one should harbor a modicum of curiosity, enough to ask that one question that begs asking?  Is it too much to inquire of these students, who I guess knew him pretty well, just what the hell was he doing in a trash bin on a Thursday night?  Was he homeless?  Was he lost?  What?  Did the reporter believe that asking this was in bad taste?  I just don’t get it.  Here’s an 18-year old student, ostensively bright, energetic, possessing a winning personality, getting to vote in his first presidential election, and a month later, is found dead under suspicious circumstances in a trash dumpster.  And the Amarillo Globe doesn’t find this a little weird?  Am I missing something here?  Think we’ll ever find out from the ANG?  Doubtful.

Levohn Brown is an inmate in the Indiana State Prison where he’s in for all day - life without parole for the murder of his biological daughter.  For the past two years, his ex-wife has been trying to terminate his parental rights to their other child of the marriage.  I say she has been trying to do this but so far, she has experienced nothing but frustration.  I’ll explain.

In 2006, Brown’s ex filed a petition which sought termination of the parent-child relationship between the inmate and the surviving child on the ground that Brown had been convicted for being responsible for the death of a child, his daughter.  This sounds like a good reason and, in fact, constitutes sufficient cause to terminate the parental bonds.  The problem with this first petition is that the local trial court which initially granted the order of termination did nothing to provide Brown with notice of the hearing or the opportunity to be heard on the matter.  Brown, acting pro se, took up the issue with the Amarillo Court of Appeals and prevailed.  The Amarillo Court ordered that the case be remanded “for further proceedings affording Brown a reasonable opportunity to be heard on the merits of the termination proceeding.” In re T.L.B., slip opinion no. 07-06-0371-CV, March 14, 2007, no pet.  Retrial was set for June 13, 2007.  (more…)

Last Tuesday, December 16, Amarillo solo Jeff Blackburn gave a short talk to Amarillo Young Lawyer Association.  I got a sbrief notice about it the day before via e-mail and thought that it just might be interesting, so I attended.  The food is always good at the Amarillo Club where the meeting was held; hence, a secondary reason to attend.  But to the point.  The subject of Jeff’s talk was  the converging interests of criminal and civil lawyers as we enter a period of economic uncertainty.  At first, I felt that most of those in attendance really weren’t wired into the lecture.  Only later, as Blackburn warmed up to the topic, did they begin to listen, really listen.  And what I took away from the luncheon was something which I believe is fundamentally true about what Jeff had to say.  The days of hitting that big lick, making a ton of money real fast with no real work being expended is over, done with, finito.  You guys who have been around as long as me or longer know what I’m talking about.  The demise of the workers comp racket was only an omen of things to come.  Personal injury litigation has been made over, everyone in their dog is doing divorce work now (major civil firms in this town are certainly not exempt) and I’m even seeing civil lawyers’ names pop up on the criminal docket from time to time.  It’s tight out there and you’re going to have to earn your keep in an environment with too many damn lawyers trying to cut the pie into just so many pieces.

Say what you want about Blackburn.  You may disagree with his politics or criticize his methods.  But on this point, he’s right.  Times have fundamentally changed and that means that we all have to start thinking about the law for law’s sake.  In other words, the time has come to rethink what a lawyer does for his daily bread.  Doing the right thing, doing the job well because that’s what the job calls for, doing the work of a lawyer for the intrinsic worth of the work is what Blackie was promoting.  Again, I think he’s right on.  For a little perspective and objectivity, look to what the legal landscape was fifty, forty years ago.  Lawyers back then knew they would not get rich doing what he (or she) was doing.  Sure, it was a job but the emphasis was on the art of the task, not on devising ways to separate the client from his money. 

You’ve heard of art for art’s sake.  I think we are heading into a future where we can learn by reflecting on the past and those lawyers who toiled away at their craft.  They did it because they liked it, worked at it, respected it and respected those who felt the same.  I know those advocates were much, much happier than we are now, even if they made comparatively less money.  They were professionals in that sense because they got up each morning to go do their thing and didn’t waste their time searching for inspiration.  Leave that to the amateurs. 

Well, it had to happen - sentencing, that is, for Mr. Anthony Pellicano, aka Mr. Stupid.  You all know about Pellicano since I’ve written several posts on him.  Go ahead, use my search engine; it’s pretty good if I do say so myself.  Anyway, he represented himself at trial and the results were lamentable, as they always are when defense counsel and client are as one.  It’ll take me a long time to forget that Pellicano referred to himself during trial in the third person.  That darn Anthony.  And what did Judge Fischer do with him, after having to endure nearly two years of this guy’s antics?  She imposed a sentence of 180 months and fined him $2 million. 

It wasn’t until the pre-sentence report had been filed that Mr. Stupid finally realized that he needed that guiding hand of counsel and a court-appointed lawyer he got.  But it was already too late.  The appointed lawyer (talk about a thankless job this one was for that unfortunate soul) pled for leniency, citing Pellicano’s ongoing struggle to provide for his autistic son as one cause for his behavior.  Of course, no one ever heard about his autistic child until now, on the eve of sentencing.  Ever the showman, Pellicano had to get into the act, too.  He stood before Judge Fischer in shackles and told the court that “I have taken full and complete responsibility.”  Then why this endless trial?  The time to get your three-point reduction for acceptance of responsibility was about three years ago when this whole shitstorm broke, not now.  As is so often the case in the criminal arena, too little, too late.

As we hear so often in the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Texas, Amarillo Division: “Marshal, please take him away.”  In Pellicano’s case, it’s for all day.  Remember the man is 64.  And this 180 month sentence is exactly what it says: 15 years, mostly day for day. 

Surely you’ve heard about them.  You know, the “helicopter” parents, hovering over and nearby wherever their child goes, scanning the horizon for anything that might pose a “risk” and in particular, hectoring their neighborhood schools to create special nut-free lunch tables to avoid the deadly nut allergic reaction.  Some parents have even reported that they were interrogated by aggressive, “concerned” parents about their ingredients and preparation methods for birthday treats they might send to school.  One parent reported that she had been asked by yet another frenzied mother whether the knife she used to cut brownies had ever been used to spread peanut butter. 

Well, first things first.  Nut allergies can be a risk for some children but we now know through longitudinal studies that the number is damn few.  And the kind of hysterical response I’ve highlighted above is a gross, damaging overreaction to the magnitude of the threat.  Some numbers are in order to put all this in perspective. 

It is estimated that some 3.3 million Americans have some kind of allergy to nuts.  But guess what?  Twice the number are allergic to seafood.  Of some 30,000,000 hospitalizations each year, only 2,000 are for food allergies.  Estimates now show that perhaps up to 150 people each year die from some kind of food allergy.  That’s the same number of people who die each year from bee stings and lightning strikes combined.  Some 10,000 children die from traumatic brain injuries from sports (football, riding on those godawful ATVs, etc.), 2,000 children drown each year and easily over 1,000 die from gun accidents. 

There’s no evidence that these stringent, ridiculous nut bans are effective at protecting children.  And, on the scientific end, actually banning a child’s access to nuts can increase the risk of actually developing an allergy.  A 2008 study in the Journal of Allergy and Clinical Immunology of some 10,000 British children concluded that early exposure to peanuts actually lowers the risk of allegy rather than increasing it. 

And let’s not forget the apparent consequence of frightening children to death over something like this.  For 99% of the children out there who have no allergy whatsoever, making them run the “nut-free zone” gauntlet is not only stupid, counterproductive and silly, it produces unnecessary anxiety.  Look, nuts are not a clear and present danger but the parents behind this goofy movement surely are.

Wild Again, a gallant thoroughbred who won the inaugural Breeders Cup Classic in 1984 by a desperate nose, was euthanized last Friday, December 5 at Three Chimneys Farm due to infirmities of old age.  Sandy Hatfield, stallion manager at Three Chimneys, called Wild Again ” a one-in-a-million kind of horse.  Until the end, he was happy, healthy and energetic, but, above all else, he was a gentleman.”  Wild Again sired multiple stakes winners, including 2002 Belmont Winner Sarava, Santa Anita Handicap winner Milwaukee Brew and Elmhurst, winner of the 1997 Breeders Cup Sprint.  That last race I remember well, since I had a ton on the horse that Elmhurst nipped at the wire, all the while burying that tough beat in whiskey at a Ft. Lauderdale, Florida bar.

Wild Again wasn’t considered much as a 2-year old.  Bred by W. Paul Little, he was sold to Texan Bill Allen for $35,000.  Allen, head of a racing syndicate called Black Chip Stables, ran him on the lightning-fast Southern California tracks during the years 1983 and ‘84.  By the time the first Breeders Cup day came around, Allen knew he had a runner with class, grit and heart, not to mention speed.  He and his partners took a huge gamble by paying over $360,000 to supplement the horse into the Classic field.  Before the race, Allen, obviously born with ice water in his veins, calmly assured NBC viewers that East Coast favorite Slew of Gold and Gate Dancer would not get by their speedy colt.  And he was right.  Under the steady hand of Pat Day, Wild Again took the lead and never gave it up, even though the horse had to survive a lengthy inquiry at the end of the race to post the victory.  It still stands as one of the greatest BC races ever run.  Wild Again would later stand at Three Chimneys alongside the horse he beat on that historic day, Slew of Gold.  He exits this life having won 8 of 28 starts with earnings of $2,204,829.  And those are early 80’s dollars, not the funny money being passed around these days.  He was a hell of a horse.

I was a third-year law student at Texas Tech School of Law for Boys and Girls, at home watching the MNF game on my crappy b/w TV (really, it was all I could afford - that and free love), when Howard Cosell announced the untimely death of John Lennon.  I mean, listening to Howard, he would make every sporting match sound like the Nuremburg trials except this time, there was real drama.  A couple of nights ago, the date stuck in my head and it didn’t take long for me to figure out what the day signified.  The older you get, the more cluttered the mind becomes with all these dates.  So there, that’s where I was on December 8, 1980 around 9:00 p.m.  Where were you?