Judge Robert Zack

Judge Robert Zack

201 SE 6^th Avenue

Fort Lauderdale, Florida 33301

RE: Is Castro right? What’s that smell?

Judge Zack,

In a galaxy far, far away my son Sean, not quite 7, asked me why that lady was crying. “Because Poppy is sending her son to jail”, was my answer.

“Poppy” was my father, Judge Martin J. Smith. Poppy’s first grandson Sean is now a member of the Bar in 3 states, those states being Virginia, New Jersey, and New York. I mention them to show that the likelihood of him ever appearing in your court room is remote, very remote. I say that because I would not want him to be in the same court house, let along court room, let alone with you presiding over anything judicial. He has strong memories of his grandfather. He was a good and decent man. His judicial conduct added to the traditions of both Bar and Bench. He enhanced the aura that society believes should come when you don Black robes and pick up a gavel. As a Judge you are called on to weigh doubts against certainties and do things that affect the lives of those in front of you. Those people assumed that regardless of the outcome they were given a fair hearing. They assumed that you did really believe that “equal protection under the law” would preclude the things that you did with astonishing regularity.

You abused your trust and insulted those who put such trust in you.

You should be driven from the court house by outraged citizens. You should be flogged on the steps for violating the sacred trust of the Bench. Better you should have held up a 7-11 or stole a widow’s Social Security check. You could say you were hungry or that you were a drug addict. Better that you took the pennies off a dead man’s eyes.

My father did not go to high school until he was 26 years old. He had a natural sense of “balance” that Aristotle spoke of in his “Ethics”. Later, when he became familiar with his writings, he regarded it as yet another proof of his correct choices in life. You, on the other hand, must live in an ethical Gehenna. Right, wrong, and maybe change places so many times in your universe that Dante would have to figure out a new circle for you.

You “borrowed” money from a bail bondsman 6 years ago. You skated on that. You “borrowed” money last year from a lawyer who was trying a case in your court room. You skated on that one too.

Not being a lawyer I am better able to see the difference between law and justice. What you did was contemptible. It was akin to a teacher buggering a 6^th grader. You violated the delicate trust that exists in any court room. It is assumed that both sides will present their case vigorously and zealously. It is assumed that both sides will follow the rules both written and unwritten. It is assumed that the Judge will keep the ball in bounds and allow the tale to play itself out. One of the lawyers had a marker, a chit, an IOU, in his pocket from you. It is inconceivable that it was not a factor in the trial. You let this lawyer buy you dinner and pick up your bar tabs. You sat there like a Black robed turd in the punch bowl pretending that all was well.

It was not.

Who knows what other evil things you have done?

I look back on all the times I was in a court room and ask myself if the Judge was under someone’s thumb. You say “it was probably not a very good idea to be letting litigants before him take him out for meals”. You’re right on that.

There is an old law covering the above.

#1 – Thou shalt not steal.

There is a scene in “A Man For All Seasons” when Thomas More, knowing that all is lost, knowing that he going to be executed, asks what is the chain of office around his accuser’s neck. “Sir Richard is made Attorney-General for Wales”, is the answer.

“For Wales? Why, Richard, it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world… But for Wales!

At least that Judas got a country. You got some blue tarp and some whiskey. How little you valued your office. You should have held out for a new bathroom and a week in London. May be you could have seen where they put Thomas More’s head.

You stole from the people of Broward County. You stole from the traditions of the Bar. Most importantly, you stole from the legacy of my father.

Castro, our bearded thug neighbor, has a special loathing for Florida Judges. This episode has been like an elixir for him.

“You have raised a stink in the nostrils of honest men.”

“There is nothing lost save honor.” Go. Go quickly. Flee now lest your foetid ordure make the court house uninhabitable. You have already made it unbearable for honest men.

That smell is you.