Conflicted…
Yikes…what a way to start a weekend! This past Saturday morning just before 8:00 a.m. with a haze of drizzle and gloom coloring the skies outside, I went to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee and was surprised by the shrill ring of our doorbell. What the heck? I rarely answer the doorbell when I’m home alone, but especially having recently moved into a new place with boxes, packing materials and huge piles of miscellany everywhere, and not even on my 2nd cup of coffee yet…ugh, I was annoyed. Heaven only knows what prompted me to investigate further, but I suppose it was a combination of both curiosity and concern, as the property is fenced, gated, and I wasn’t expecting anyone? It was then that my heart began to beat a little faster. So much for my trusty crew of canines; not one of them, not the Rottweiler, not the Aussie, and definitely not the Golden could be bothered to even lift their heads, much less bark, growl or assert themselves in any way that might remotely resemble a display of protection? Thank the dear Lord, I had slipped on leggings and a sweatshirt earlier, so when I went into the garage which borders our driveway and pushed the open button to find three men wearing dark hoodies and face masks, standing there in front of me, I didn’t appear as vulnerable as I felt. If I were still wearing my lacy nightgown when confronting the intruders, I don’t know if I’d have felt as empowered to pick up Alex’s rifle from its secure location, stride directly towards the men, and demand to know what they were doing on private property. None of them spoke English though, so communication was not likely to go well. All I could think to do at that very moment was to boldly hold the rifle upright, in clear view, demonstrating proper “muzzle control” with the butt of the enormous gun resting on my hip (I knew there was a good reason why God gave me that extra cushioning - silver linings, right?). One of the men started speaking loudly and gesturing wildly. The modicum of Spanish that I understand was totally insufficient to match the situation, and thus, I didn’t catch much of what the guy said, but I also really didn’t care at that point. What I was concerned with, my immediate goal, was getting them to leave, and to do it very, very quickly. The only thing I could think to do at that moment was to stand my ground, rifle in hand, and hope to appear commanding, so they wouldn’t see my knees starting to tremble? Pointing at the gate with my free hand, I began telling them to leave in my ‘broken but best’ Spanish, repeatedly attempting to say that I was going to call the police. It’s doubtful that the trio understood each of the words I spoke, but it’s safe to say they must have understood the powerful, if silent language of the rifle! Standing squarely in the middle of the driveway, with raindrops falling increasingly quickly, I held that position until I watched the men retreat, turning back to the awaiting truck where they jumped inside and began backing out and down the long driveway leading towards our gate before finally pulling out onto the road and speeding off. By then my heart was racing and only when I was back inside the house, with the rifle safely returned to the security of its home, did I catch my breath. Almost immediately, I heard the ringing of my cell phone and moved swiftly to answer the call. Phew, what a relief to hear Emily’s voice asking me if everything was ok? Apparently, the real estate agent, whom I had never met in person, but had handled this particular transaction through Emily, phoned her saying a team of gardeners were at our property and someone had pulled a gun, ordering them to leave. That of course panicked Emily and her tone was, both, more than a little bit “elevated” and agitated when she asked me what the hell was going on? While my heart rate slowly returned to normal, I explained the situation. She in turn, then hung up to call the real estate guy back. The whole scenario was relayed, and the agent proceeded to apologize profusely saying he hadn’t known the gardeners were going to show up, but he would let them know they were dismissed and not to come back. An unpleasant way to start the weekend for sure, and also…“much to do about nothing.” What a waste of gumption! I sat back down to sip my warmed-up coffee, while a loop of thoughts played in my mind. I looked down at my cell which had just beeped indicating a text notification and found a new message revealing a “gif” sent from Em and Alex in our group thread; it showed an animated photo of Marcia Cross’s character from “Desperate Housewives” slinging a shotgun of her own over one shoulder, dressed in a little cute little red dress with the adornment of a large, chunky gold necklace. She looked far cuter than I imagine the image of me in leggings, sweatshirt, top-knot, huge black sunglasses, with my hip slightly “popped out” to help support the weight of Alex’s rifle, must have appeared? Then, the lyrics to Miranda Lambert’s song “Gunpowder and Lead” came to mind, which immediately compelled me to request that “Alexa” play it…not once, but twice! Next came the memories from the week of Hunter Safety and Handgun Certification classes I took with AJ over a decade ago, but which came flooding back as vividly as if it happened yesterday. Quite bizarrely, those thoughts led me to think of Alec Baldwin and the implausible manner in which his drama from the movie set in New Mexico seems to be playing out. There’s just nothing about that entire tale which reads as either genuine or remotely believable? Uh oh, here I go again; more “Gilmore Girl” moments (seriously in contention for best show ever award) flashing in front of my eyes as I travelled down a rabbit hole of thought associations. I found myself thinking about the rodeo father we knew from AJ’s Junior High and High School days, whose shotgun accidentally backfired in the cab of his truck killing his four-year old son sitting in a car seat securely fastened in the second row. Next come the remembrances from the first hunting trip I treated AJ and two of his buddies to for AJ’s Birthday. I’ll never forget their dare... I wasn’t brave enough to watch them “gut and skin” the poor wild boars that were the subject of the trip, or was I? Then appear the beloved trove of memories from the years I spent feeling superbly protected by my German Shepherd, Jerrico, who was the most earnest and devoted sentry I ever knew. He certainly did not earn the moniker, “el perro loco” by ranch hands, visitors or the various construction workers at Rancho Valiente because he possessed a meek and mild demeanor? No, sir… Jerrico meant business! I guess in the absence of such canine protection, it’s a damn good thing I’ve got a Remington 270 for back-up, and even better that I know how to use it? Or, so says the tiny card acknowledging my participation in and certification of gun safety training that has lived in my wallet all these years. What a shame that the entire year I spent in Texas during 2017/2018, while going through my nutty, albeit Harley and Ferrari-free, mid-life crisis, did not include more, or any, time spent at the indoor shooting range just down the road from my beloved “Cantina” property in Silverado On The Brazos? The time and practice would probably have served me well? So too, might the investment in another bad-ass watch dog, be a good idea right about now? Who knows when the next time an unexpected group of “visitors” might show up in my driveway on a random weekend morning? What if another such occasion occurs and the Remington, or my Ruger handgun, isn’t immediately accessible? Wow, what dizzyingly tiresome mental exercises I often find myself engaging in? Regardless…what was supposed to be a calm, relaxing, Saturday morning turned into anything but; reminding me of the reality that my thought processes, really, don’t need any additional stimuli to trigger “go-mode.” I guess I’ll just chalk up last weekend’s beginning, as an interesting adventure with which to “christen” a new home. On a positive note, the surprising encounter did provide me with a fresh approach to introduce this particular blog post. “Slight detours” always spice up a road trip, or a story…don’t they?
IT’S CERTAIN, I DON’T LOOK THE SAME NOW AS I DID THEN, BUT I GUESS THE “EASE” WITH WHICH I HANDLE A GUN WAS A GIVEN RIGHT FROM THE START, SAVE THE EXCEPTION OF FAILED MUZZLE CONTROL ON DISPLAY IN THIS PHOTO (WINK). IT IS WITH A CERTAIN IRONY THAT I “EMBRACE” GUN OWNERSHIP. MAYBE I’LL SHARE THE BACKSTORY, SOMETIME? IT HAS TO DO WITH RAISING SONS… AND B.B. GUNS. (WINK, AND A SMILE) P.S., PLEASE NOTE… NO CATS WERE HARMED IN THE TAKING OF THIS PHOTO!
Hmmmm…is it more than just an interesting association to contemplate, as I segue from guns to lawyers? Maybe it’s just me, but from certain angles, do those two “subjects” share a few similarities? Consider this, be it gun, lawyer, maybe even the judicial system…when handled correctly, each proves a swift, sharp and an effective measure of protection. However, when misused, and not “put together” correctly, they can jam, back-fire, and cause unfathomable destruction. Whether you agree that my analogy is a good one or not, the comparison might make for an interesting introduction to what comes next?
There is an expression regarding lawyers (just one of many that come to mind) but this particular phrase gets a good bit of mileage, especially when divorce is at issue. If there’s even the slightest chance that “one” might be in your future, or should you find yourself wading through the miserable process already, desperately struggling to keep your head above water while trying to avoid, or make the best of, the mud, the mess, and the muck, what’s one of the last things you’d want “added to your plate?” I’ll tell you what. It’s being concerned, and even fearful, that the lawyer representing you doesn’t have your best interests in mind, and yes, that does really happen…more often than anyone might like to admit. For real! Indeed, it is, but, let me get back to the expression that sparked this particular post. The phrase consists of two simple words, but not a simple meaning? I was introduced to the concept, initially, in what came wrapped as a surprise (maybe, kind of…not entirely) and subsequently learned more when I was “assigned” a front row seat to watch “them” (the two words) at work…so, back we go!
The summer of 2007 proved to be an excruciatingly uncomfortable one in California. Per usual Santa Ynez was predictably hot, but it was also unusually warmer than the norm for coastal Montecito, 35 miles south! It wasn’t only the weather which was growing increasingly uncomfortable though. From start to finish, the not quite, entire three months of June, July and part of August 2007 evolved from bad, to much, much worse. If I were to go back in time with the perspective I have now, I hope I’d have dealt with circumstances differently that summer or the many years that preceded it? Perhaps the benefit of hindsight, coupled with better judgement and clearer vision (plus YEARS of therapy) might have allowed me to see and confess to the strife which punctuated the entirety of my marriage and relationship with the father of my children and, then, husband? It’s an unfortunate but revisited truth, that I really only felt happy in my marriage to Al, for maybe 4-6 years tops, and never consecutively, of the 19 years we spent together. The remaining times in our relationship were filled with emotional and legal trials, personal as well as familial challenges, and one hell of a monster, roller-coaster ride. Those anguishing times contributed to quite the library of “self-help” books that took up residence on the numerous shelves lining an odd interior, balcony space in what became my son’s bedroom at Roblar. Thankfully, I was probably the only person who ever actually started up that steep staircase or made the miniscule effort to climb over the “child-proof gate” lodged in place a few stairs up. I spent a good bit of time in that narrow little hallway, because it provided a safe, if small, escape for years. It often gave me pause much later on, when I pondered the question of who it was that Al assigned the job of packing up those shelves, following our divorce? The negotiations of our MSA provided that I was awarded the opportunity to gather, pack, and take my “personalty” as well as our cats Angel and Spice, myself from 3981 Roblar…our children’s and my home of 15 years; but, Al never allowed that to happen!
As such, I can attest, with 100% certainty, to the fact that I never received, along with several other items of personal possessions, the hefty collection of tomes which lived on the shelves of that odd, upper balcony, providing me a small sense of sanity, some much-needed comfort, and a bit of inspiration to help keep me focused on keeping my family intact. Titles, like “The Gift Of Fear,” “Celibate Wives,” “The Sociopath Next Door,” “Marriage Without Sex,” “The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work,” “The Proper Care & Feeding of Husbands,” or “10 Stupid Things Women Do To Mess Up Their Lives,“ were lined up next to the innumerable stacks of weekly received “Dog News,” publications, which I subscribed to, studied and had collected for over 15 years, as well as my assemblage of other works on a wide variety of subjects, including many volumes of books detailing some of my favorite subjects, like the traits of various dog breeds, understanding canine behaviors, growing good Roses, as well as several books regarding learning disabilities, which helped my understanding of our son’s medically diagnosed learning differences. Those shelves also included all of my school yearbooks, the complete series of Nancy Drew mysteries my Mom gifted me as a young teen, a huge assortment of Mignon Eberhart mystery stories that my Grandmother, Ma, passed on to me, along with my very worn and tattered copy of Gone With The Wind (all-time favorite read), and an array of other beloved books, which became akin to friends that I had gathered throughout life. There’s a better than average chance that Al’s assistant, secretary/bookkeeper, “Miss Piggy” was tasked with that chore, and I assume she would have been only too happy to throw all those volumes out? Who knows though…maybe she opted to keep one or two? Perhaps she was also the one who decided to keep or pitch my Grandmother’s Antique typewriters gifted me, or the several boxes of treasured vinyl records left to me by my Grandparents. God knows that that same person had morphed into a vulturous scavenger early in the Summer of 2007, as she sifted through our “discards” piled up in the driveway courtyard, awaiting their pickup by the Salvation Army following the last interiors update Katie Guyer had exacted at our hilltop, Roblar home. Regardless of who reappropriated or threw those items out, it doesn’t negate the existence of their presence, nor the reality that I am without them today. I couldn’t then, still can’t, and no longer care to “understand” any of the actions taken by either Al, or his many minions, but examples like the ones above and my memories that accompany those times are real, and directly attributable to the happiness, or lack thereof, that existed within my marriage.
That confession doesn’t mean that other parts of my life didn’t bring me great happiness during those same years, or that much of our lives weren’t blessed, even excessively privileged, but I am admitting that our marriage rarely was. It’s a difficult conundrum to conjure, but truth be told I think I became so damn accustomed to survival mode that anything ranking even slightly above that measure, was considered a gift. “Quite frankly” {a fond “Bruce” reference from my very beginnings with Al} after the Fall of 2006, the ‘gift’ of anything above survival-mode in my marriage, simply disappeared. What I had come to believe over time was a successful partnership, even if not a warm and intimate union, was one of the greatest misrepresentations I’d ever tell myself. Our life together was truly the oddest combination of make-believe and very dark drama dumped into a blender, and then with a push of a button to high speed, combusted to create a wretched mess, sometimes “cleaned up” but often not. So, when August of 2007 came around, and I found myself in the waiting room of an Outpatient Surgical Center on Castillo Street calling the most respected list of local divorce counsel in Santa Barbara, I was not sure what to make of the ambiguous, far from receptive, messages I was receiving? Not one attorney on that list would take my call…WTF? I was about to start dialing the short list of numbers for Los Angeles lawyers to which I had been referred, when a large man clad in green scrubs wheeled my Mom out from knee surgery to the small lobby where visitors or family were encouraged to wait for a patient’s release. I greeted and hugged Mom, listened to the instructions for her care and then led both the attendant still guiding the wheelchair and Mom to the car waiting in the parking garage below. It was the Arnage, not Al’s smaller Continental Bentley, nor the Suburban which was parked and waiting for us, as the Arnage was the most comfortable vehicle we owned and possessed an easily accessible height and entrance for Mom to conveniently, albeit haltingly, slide herself into. Once situated, we drove straight for Freehaven, our Montecito home, where the kids and I spent the bulk of our summer that year. After hearing my offer of home and help, Mom had happily accepted the invitation to stay with us and help with her care immediately following the knee surgery, but still before the time (less than two weeks away) when the kids, Al and I would return to Georgia for the school year ahead.
The moment we arrived in the motor court of Freehaven, Emily and PJ rushed from the house to help assist me with getting “Nee” (Mom) into the house and settled in her interim home. Freehaven’s two bedroom/two bath guest suite, in addition to Al’s large office, was on the second floor, but the lengthy staircase in between would not be conducive to Mom’s immediate goal of healing following knee surgery. With that in mind, Emily had offered Mom her room and its en suite bath, in which to get situated and begin her road to recovery. Emily and PJ’s wing of the house was just beyond Al’s media room, and adjacent to a small, but comfortable lounging/TV room, short hallway to the laundry room with an additional small bedroom and bath beyond, originally designed for live-in help, but which had yet to be occupied. Emily’s intent was to sleep there while Mom was staying with us. Easy enough, right? NO! Nothing was ever as easy as it could have been, and that occasion was no exception. (If you need more context, my June 4, 2021 post called, “Reality Check” might help?)
It felt like forever since I left the house earlier that day at 5:00 a.m. to pick up Mom, accompany her to and wait through the duration of knee surgery, followed by our subsequent return to Montecito and the drive down our half mile, Olive Tree lined road, leading to Freehaven’s motor court and entryway, but in reality, it was probably only about 7-8 hours. Shortly after getting Mom settled that same afternoon, another brief window of “alone time” presented itself, and I started calling the list of Los Angeles divorce attorney’s names jotted down on a small notepad hidden within the side, zippered pocket of my “Neverfull.” I had had absolutely no success with the Santa Barbara lawyers I contacted and was feeling discouraged and desperately in need of something…anything, which might supply an indication of hope, whatever that might look like? After the past year of bitterness that occupied the majority of our days, I was feeling a crushing new low, and sense of frustration. My predilection for optimism and the determination to persevere, felt completely exhausted. What was I going to do? Thankfully, life has a way of delivering the unexpected at just the right moment, so I was relieved, and my faith slightly restored, when the first name and number on my L.A. list of recommended divorce counsel took my call. Never mind that that feeling wasn’t destined to last long? Rob Anto, a named partner in a well-revered Los Angeles law firm, was both patient and kind as he listened to me ramble and outline the “SparkNotes” version of my relationship, subsequent marriage and life with “Al” Capone. It didn’t take him long at all to grasp that I had no financial assets of my own, nor access to any of the mutual assets acquired from a 19 year relationship, and 16 year marriage, to pay for his “hefty” retainer. Nonetheless, he was still willing to take me on, as both, a client and potential risk? Maybe it was the last name? You’d be shocked at the number of people who believed, maybe still believe, that my “X-Al” was somehow related to the original…but then, it’s possible he is? Perhaps it was the list of addresses I relayed to Mr. Anto, which represented all of “our” homes and properties, at least the ones I knew about at the time, which captured his attention? It might also have been my transparency, as I was very open with him about my own “transgressions,” and shared them right up front? I didn’t then, don’t now, and likely never will have the answer to explain Rob’s expression of trust, but it doesn’t really matter why he was prepared to bet on me. It DOES matter what he explained next. Rob went on to outline the process of what had transpired earlier in the day with the Santa Barbara lawyers with whom I tried to initiate contact, but to no avail. I listened closely to his explanation, and all I could think was…wow, not only did I feel instantly defeated again but both my heart and head were spinning! How could I continue to be so incredibly naïve, even stupid? Of course, Al would have considered every angle, no matter the cost or level of deception involved…it’s what he did best! My usual, impossibly optimistic, “rose-colored glasses” view of life was waning and undoubtedly to blame for my surprise at this latest twist? Rob continued speaking, and I found myself once again in the position of being abruptly and thoroughly schooled. This lesson wasn’t just about the nuances and realities of the legal profession, but was, yet another blow being dealt me at the hands of my then husband. From Rob’s explanation, I gathered that Al must have called each one of those Santa Barbara attorneys and told them just enough about our (failing) marriage, to give the impression he was going to hire them. Rob’s calm manner indicated he was trying to be gentle, but his message couldn’t have been more glaring. By speaking with each of those lawyers, giving them the impression he was going to hire them, and disclosing even a bare minimum of the details of our marriage, Al had successfully shut down and extinguished any possibility that I might hire them for myself. It’s called “CONFLICTING OUT,” and is a well-known, often used, albeit dirty strategy that Al successfully employed to manipulate the legal system for his personal gain.
RECOGNIZED ON A VERY LARGE AND PUBLIC STAGE, “CONFLICTING OUT” IS A LEGAL NO-NO, BUT STILL FREQUENTLY EMPLOYED, AND AS WILL SOON BE DISCLOSED...IS A STANDARD OF BAD FAITH, UNETHICAL, AND DIRTY DEALING WHICH UNFORTUNATELY IS UTILIZED BY MANY, AT EVERY LEVEL OF THE “JUSTICE” SYSTEM.
https://www.forbes.com/sites/jefflanders/2012/04/17/how-conflicting-out-top-divorce-attorneys-can-impact-your-divorce/?sh=41328b9f148a
I was dipping my toes into what was about to become a very deep, dark, and frigid abyss. My lesson and the journey ahead would include a “crash course” covering far more than I ever cared to learn about the dirty maneuvers exacted within a divorce process. The recollections from my youth, and the stories of others detailing the divorces my parents endured, came no-where close to preparing me for what was immediately in store, or far into the future as well?
I must have been uncomfortably silent while attempting to digest the information Rob was dispensing, because he finally paused to ask if I was still on the line, and was I “getting it all?” I don’t recall my response, but I do remember the next words which were spoken by the thus far, patient and sharp attorney at the other end of the call. “Missy, this information means divorce is already in your husband’s ‘wheel-house.’ You have to move first, serve him before he serves you; gain the upper hand. Clearly, you have no control of, or access to, any of the financial assets of your marriage, so acting first is the next best advantage you have in a situation like this!” He was so candid, so sure of himself, and simultaneously I felt anything BUT? In the distance, I could hear AJ calling my name, and I quickly told Rob I had to get off the phone. He politely replied, “fine, but your situation is serious… think about what I’ve said and call me back soon.” I had already shared with him the details of our bi-coastal lifestyle, and thus he knew we only had another 10 days left in California, before heading back to Georgia. Rob’s parting words were, “you need to do this before you leave the state; I can have the papers drawn up to serve him in the next day or so! Let’s get that out of the way, and go from there?” Some part of me felt enormous relief knowing I had a potential plan, plus the support of a well-known, hot shot LA lawyer on my side, but the rest of me felt sick to my stomach and partially paralyzed…what was I going to do? I cringed at the possibility that I would be the one to sever our family, and potentially forever damage my children’s security.
In bits and pieces shared throughout the evolution of this blog, as well as much more that will eventually be revealed regarding the Fall of 2007, you’ll see the enormity and variety of “misdeeds” that were exacted at the time, but for now, let me get back to the expression that started this whole thing… “conflict out.” It was mid, to “late-ish” January 2008, when I found myself steering my G-Wagon with Jerrico securely situated in the back seat, heading north on I’95 from Sea Island to Atlanta, Georgia. The kid’s favorite “sitter” was staying overnight with them, ready to do school pick-up, morning drop-off, 2nd pick-up and everything in between, so I could make the 5+ hour drive to Atlanta, drop Jerrico off with his original breeder and well-known Shepherd legend Johnny Moser, and then go on to meet with new Georgia divorce counsel. I wasn’t terribly familiar navigating my way around Atlanta and managed to get hopelessly lost for over an hour, so I didn’t arrive in the designated part of Atlanta where a hotel room was reserved and waiting for me until somewhere around 9:00pm, and by then I was more than a little “rattled.” Plus, it was already way too late to drop Jerrico off as originally planned, so I called Johnny to tell him of the schedule change and made my way to the particular Hampton Inn, where I was to stay for the evening. I went into the lobby, intentionally leaving Jerrico in the car, so I could casually and inconspicuously arrange for a room on an exterior wing, enabling me to sneak Jerrico in my room and remain unseen. Jerrico was a successful, retired show dog and old pro at traveling. His behavior was impeccable, even if a little needy and overly protective. He didn’t bark without cause, could walk off-leash without ever leaving my side, and was perfectly crate trained, as well as housebroken. Nevertheless, it was still an “iffy” proposition whether hotels permitted breeds like Shepherds to be “guests,” and I couldn’t take the chance of being turned away. I entered the lobby, went straight to the registration desk, pled my case and sure enough, the kind woman behind the desk gave me a small envelope with a credit card type room key tucked inside with no fuss at all. She was directing me to the parking spaces immediately outside my room, when I noticed a man approaching the desk. He didn’t wait in line behind me but stepped right up to the counter alongside and leaned uncomfortably close on the desk. The woman behind the desk finished her instructions, and I turned to escape the situation as quickly as possible. It was just a short “L-shaped” distance around the building from reception to my ground level, exterior room and took only a few seconds to move the car. I selected a space in the almost empty parking lot, when a minivan pulled up and parked just two spaces over. Gathering my purse, phone, and room key, I stepped out of the G Wagon and walked to the back of the vehicle where Jerrico had ended up and was waiting inside. I hadn’t yet opened the door when the same “creepy” guy from the lobby stepped out of the minivan and started walking my direction and speaking, offering his help with any bags I might have. I’ve never felt insecurity switch to confidence faster than the moment I opened the back door and Jerrico jumped down and out of the vehicle to sit at my side. Innately Jerrico seemed to sense the same vibe I was getting from the “creeper minivan guy.” The man started to speak again and moved a bit closer when Jerrico took an aggressive step forward and then stopped in his tracks. He wore no leash and stood perfectly still with his lips opened just enough to reveal a mouth full of teeth, while emitting a low, deep and steady growl. The hairs along his back and around his neck raised just enough to be noticeable, and if you know anything about dog behavior, signaled a serious warning. The creeper guy froze at the sight of my companion, the formidable four-legged obstacle in front of him, which provided me just enough time to grab my wheeling duffle, tell Jerrico to “heel” and get to the safety of my room. Trouble averted…thank the Lord, and my dear Jerrico! After a call home to the kids, a bit of time to unwind and rethink half of the purpose for my trip, I took my Aleve P.M., managed to tune out the world, and proceeded to get a reasonably decent night’s sleep. I woke up early, cautiously took Jerrico outside to relieve himself, returned to the room to feed him, get showered, make myself presentable, and head out to meet with the man, who was likely to become my new Georgia lawyer. The original plan for my quick Atlanta back and forth was not just to meet with and engage additional divorce counsel but was supposed to have included a drop off of Jerrico, with his breeder, legendary GSD handler and now friend.
Jerrico…my treasured friend and protector, remembered always in my heart and this loving tribute.
What a fascinating, if wildly costly adventure it proved to “campaign” a show dog at Jerrico’s elevated level of play. It was during our last family trip to New York for the 2007 Westminster Kennel Club Annual Dog Show where Jerrico was competing in the prestigious canine event, having earned the distinction and title of top ranked German Shepherd Dog in the country over the past year, when Johnny Moser, Jerrico’s breeder and handler at the time, reported some concerning news. Apparently over the past ten days or so, Jerrico had been intermittently showing some signs of lameness in his left hind leg and was losing weight as well. Johnny met us immediately upon our arrival in New York, where we had just finished checking in to The Regency, Al’s favored NYC hotel at the time, in an effort to “gently” and in person, break the news regarding Jerrico. Johnny didn’t want to pull him from competition until the last moment and of course, only, with our consent, but that was exactly what needed to be done. Thus far, none of the vets Jerrico had seen were able to identify what was wrong, and his condition was worsening. We were scheduled to attend a number of the storied event’s social gatherings, we were also included among a small group of VIP guests of Johnny’s and his business partner’s skybox at Madison Square Garden for both evenings of Group and Best In Show competition, and so we stayed to participate in numerous events of the fabled show, but Jerrico’s show career was suddenly, simultaneously and unceremoniously over.
Stay with me, please… no one knows better than I do that my ADD presents many twists and turns and is a constant challenge to track, but I promise to get back to the heart of the story asap… After a heartbreaking diagnosis of bone cancer, then a subsequent transfer to a Veterinarian surgical specialist for more testing, it was discovered that Jerrico didn’t have cancer after all. Weeks later, it was only just occurring to me, as my new hero, veterinarian, Dr. Matt Corrse, relayed the good news of Jerrico’s progress and readiness to go home, that I realized through all four+ years of his life, Jerrico had NEVER ever lived with us “at home?” For that matter, he had never lived in any home? Jerrico’s entire life up until that time had been spent as a show prospect, then a show dog, and medical patient, but never as a pet or family member. He was impeccably groomed, well-travelled and a stunning performer in the show ring, but he had never lived in a household with a menagerie of other pets, not to mention kids, guests, housekeepers, gardeners, or any of the many other factors which made up our life at the time. Nonetheless, he was ours, and “home” he would go. Once Jerrico did arrive “home” it was with detailed care instructions, a large assortment of medications, and understandably a very cautious nature. “Overnight,” Jerrico became a family member, and also just as quickly, I became Jerrico’s caretaker and nurse. The next few months forged, between the enormous amount of time, individual attention and care he received at my hands, a bond between us that was like few I had experienced. Jerrico was undeniably mine. As protective as he became of me, he grew increasingly wary of others. That factor intensified over the next many months, and with the family changes, drama and circumstances that the Fall of 2007 brought our way, by the time the following January arrived, with the divorce process in, full-on “go mode,” nothing about our lives was stable. Every day proved more divisive and tumultuous than the one before, and because we were back in Georgia, Cottage 64 on Tabby Lane was filled with tension. Children, strangers, any source of frenetic energy as well as anyone who approached me quickly, were NO friends of Jerrico. I understood those constraints and worked diligently not to put him in a position where those variables and boundaries couldn’t be controlled. There was one constant in my life, however, which checked not just one, but two of those “uh oh” boxes on Jerrico’s list of “hell-no’s.” That one, non-negotiable “variable” was my son! At 11 years old, with typical young male traits and an extremely active nature, the interactions between my two “boys” was giving me huge cause for concern. AJ would frequently bound onto the couch landing immediately beside me or run up to hug me after entering the house with a burst of energy. Those activities, among a long list of others, sent Jerrico to the “cheap seats” as quickly as the instances themselves took place. We had had one close call too many during our Christmas holiday break, and with all the other ups and downs that were resulting from our family split, it was with hesitation, but safekeeping in mind, I initiated a call to Johnny explaining our current situation. I asked if there might be any way he would be willing to keep Jerrico for a couple months with him until we could get things straightened out on the home front. AJ was sad and did not understand how he could be the cause of Jerrico having to depart (even temporarily), but I was at a loss to think of any other immediate or better solution. Johnny didn’t hesitate before answering, “yes, absolutely…that’s no problem at all, Missy. Jerrico can stay with me as long as you need.” Fate has a way of putting certain moments of serendipity in your life at just the right time, and this case was no exception. I had just arranged a meeting with new divorce counsel on the Georgia side of my legal woes. The law offices were located on Riverwood Parkway in Atlanta and wouldn’t make the additional drive with Jerrico to Johnny’s place too difficult or lengthy. With Al and his attorneys tracking and challenging every step I took and conversation I had, I knew I only had a limited window of time to be away from Glynn County, without fear of threats, intimidation and retaliation. I was afraid and needed to act quickly and effectively.
Those considerations and plans were made before the prior evening, and before Jerrico’s deliberate intervention and protection of a very “on-edge” me…standing opposed to the creeper, minivan guy. I was having serious second, third, and even fourth thoughts about losing the sense of strength that Jerrico had offered me the night before, as I pulled the G-Wagon into the large parking garage of the enormous professional complex on Riverwood Parkway. I found a spot in a distant corner where, with Jerrico settled comfortably on the back seat, he wasn’t likely to be disturbed, and I parked. It was cool outside, so leaving the windows down a couple inches would provide Jerrico a comfortable wait, but not enough space to invite trouble. Before leaving the car and making my way into the building, I checked the mirror, looked back at Jerrico, feeling grateful for his presence and prepared myself to go kick some ass in the meeting ahead of me while still hoping to maintain my composure? Composure was a must, as my emotions were all over the place and every last nerve beyond frayed. Having Jerrico there provided me the reassurance and “backup,” I so desperately needed? I wasn’t there alone…after all. I reached back to pet his face, exited the car, and strode purposefully into that huge complex of office structures to meet “Mayoue.” His firm occupied at least one entire floor, if not more, of the unattractive, geometrically configured, wooden structure, and I was distracted momentarily thinking about the poor architect who had unsuccessfully tried to force a union of design, vaguely reminiscent of Frank Lloyd Wright, combined with a disastrous extra contemporary element that only resulted in an epic fail? On the plus side, I would only ever have to pay one, in-person, visit to that building. I wonder, though, if my first impression of the building itself shouldn’t have been a preemptive sign regarding my association with Mayoue?
There must have been dozens of meetings and many years that passed before I was able to begin recognizing and disengaging from the façade that so many lawyers like to present. It only took one meeting with Sorrell before I felt a feeling of confidence and safety; those two emotions were essential to maintaining my kids and my well-being, and to the very end, he never let me down. The rest of it all…the show, the pomposity, and plumping of chest feathers which so many other lawyers (and Justices) exhibited, meant nothing. Anyways, as I stepped from the elevator of that unfortunate Riverwood Parkway structure and found myself in the lobby of Mayoue’s firm, the first person I encountered was his assistant, and to say she was a bit of a sourpuss is the mild version. Farrell was cold, haughty and distant as she showed me to the seat where I was directed to wait, and I wondered what her attitude was all about? Anything to divert my attention and nerves was welcome though, even if the distraction was unpleasant.
I also thought about the last 24 hours and knew in my heart there was no way I was going to be able to drive and drop off Jerrico with Johnny once this meeting was concluded. Between the reassuring presence and support of my kids, the alliance with Sorrell, and the obvious loyalty of my new “bodyguard,” (only discovered the night before), and I finally felt a measure of comfort. For a moment, I believed I could tackle anything, and there was much “tackling” left to do. It wasn’t an easy meeting, but nonetheless, Mayoue was hired, and “joined” the team, or did he? When I left his office, I didn’t leave feeling the same confidence I experienced after meeting Sorrell. Instead, I felt a hint of reservation, an edge of condescension and something else too, but I couldn’t quite identify it at that very moment? None of that should have mattered much, because it had been made very clear to Mayoue that Sorrell was the architect of any and all legal strategy regarding my case. We had even held a conference call with Sorrell when I was sitting in Mayoue’s office that same morning, and I had heard with my own ears, Mayoue’s comment stating, “yes, he agreed with Sorrell’s assessment of my situation, and he would get to work immediately on the plan laid out before him.” Mayoue also referenced an associate who had worked in his Atlanta firm, but left to relocate to California, and had taken a position with a Los Angeles firm, which coincidentally enough just happened to be Trope & Trope. He mentioned that the same associate remained licensed in both Georgia and California and might prove a valuable asset to my case. It was during that same conference call, when I relayed to both men something Al had confided to me over the Christmas break. The comment was made a couple days after Al’s open-heart surgery, while he was still in his “short-lived,” but fragile and appreciative state of mind, with our divorce proceeding “on hold.” Al mentioned he was concerned about the competency of one of his two Georgia divorce attorneys. He wasn’t entirely sure he would continue using him. One cursory glance of the case below, however, would surely have proved to Al that the lawyer he was concerned about was actually as devious and deceptive as Al himself. They were truly a “match made in heaven,” (or hell) as circumstances might dictate.
THIS CASE (EASILY FOUND) ON ANY SEARCH ENGINE, HAS TO BE ONE OF THE MOST “TEXT BOOK” EXAMPLES OF “CONFLICTING OUT” EVER DOCUMENTED? HOW IRONIC TOO, THAT THE ATTORNEY IN QUESTION WAS REPRESENTED BY THE SECOND OF AL’S DIVORCE COUNSEL - BOTH OF WHICH ARE NOW GLYNN COUNTY JUSTICES? TALK ABOUT CONFLICT???
ALL (IF ANY) EVIDENCE TO THE CONTRARY, AND WITH THE EXTRAORDINARY “CONFLICTING OUT” THAT EXISTED IN THAT CASE… I SUPPOSE THE END RESULT AND “RULING” IS JUST ANOTHER ROUTINE CASE OF, “NOTHING TO SEE HERE, FOLKS, IN GLYNN COUNTY, GEORGIA?”
That conversation in Mayoue’s office on the occasion of our first meeting became meaningful if only that it prompted Mayoue to tell Sorrell, he would call the one legal firm he valued in Glynn County and engage them. “That way in case Al decided to ‘switch up’ his Georgia representation, Mayoue would have already “CONFLICTED OUT” a potentially formidable adversary. How weird was it that in a six-month time frame, I had heard the phrase “conflicting out” twice, after having lived my entire life, never having heard it before? Was there a greater message I should have picked up on? YES! There was more, much much more, but I never knew about it until it was too late. Nonetheless, I’m still here, which brings me back to the reason why I’ve been droning on about the back story to arrive almost, full circle, at the very same point where the subject of “conflicting out,” began! Humor me, please, and check out the case and information shown above, again? There’s a point and a pattern, I promise.
These headlines are just a fraction of what might pop up on your screen, when searching for the “legal” process and details about Glynn County. It doesn’t take a legal scholar, or even a 1st year law student, to see there’s quite the list of red flags that appear. The “snippets” of cases one can find while searching Glynn County, Georgia’s “legal/judicial” history is an endless path, and the further you go, the more there is to find.
When I first started writing DearEasyDiaries, my timing happened to coincide with the heinous murder of Ahmaud Arbery in Brunswick, Georgia. It was virtually impossible to NOT notice that most of the media coverage, internet and social media reports were being directed at the issue of potential corruption in Glynn County, Georgia, NOT on the victim or the violent circumstances? While the particular issue of Glynn’s “issues” (obviously) didn’t come as a surprise to me, I was dismayed at how ‘that' factor so distracted from the very stark reality of a man’s brutal murder? Shouldn’t the bigger outrage have been focused on an innocent man being stalked, cornered, and then violently killed in cold-blood, at the hands of three other adult men, one of which had ties to the Glynn County legal system? The bulk of the initial coverage centered around Glynn’s history of alleged dirty dealings, and I got to wondering about the issue more and more, as time elapsed. Why do you suppose the system was receiving more attention than the murdered victim and the actual crime itself? Was it a combination of factors? Words like conflict, coincidence and/or corruption, all come to mind? Actually, I take that back…I don’t believe coincidence has one darn thing to do with it. Similarly, I now understand how it happened that Al’s Assault & Battery lawsuit served in the Spring of 2004 and filed by a Sea Island Company employee who suffered a Heart Attack after being shoved and knocked to the ground by Al (admittedly) at the OF construction gate literally “vanished” overnight after just one cocktail shared with Bubba III and Billy Ray. That Glynn County’s former Police Chief had retired and become Sea Island Company’s Head of Security, unfortunately, now carries an entirely new weight I didn’t understand previously…but know was absolutely NOT a coincidence.
I’m late to the table, but I think I have a pretty clear idea of what has been happening in that part of Southeast Georgia for decades and decades and so on and so forth. But why did it take months to actually dig into and seriously investigate, or disclose, the circumstances surrounding Mr. Arbery’s death? Was there an effort made to distract from, or dismiss the situation in its entirety? Had county officials colluded to orchestrate a questionable but predetermined outcome regarding the case? Was there a deliberate attempt to “overlook” vital and pertinent evidence? My mind raced with questions, but it also appeared that my suspicions were likely merit based? With the complicated “twists” I had encountered, myself, in that systemic cesspool of Glynn’s “legal machinations,” I just couldn’t wrestle my conscience into looking the other way. I felt compelled to dig deeper, and the history of Glynn County “high jinks” are chronicled at great length for anyone to find and read. There were, and are, multiple examples cited in case number after case number, from a simple search on Google, which detail a wide variety of suspect actions on the part of Glynn County’s legal and judicial system, both past and present. The media attention surrounding Ahmaud Arbery, and several other individual’s abhorrent experiences within Glynn has concentrated heavily on police and law enforcement practices, but only fairly recently has the focus of criticism been attributed to the judicial branch of Glynn County… why? Why exactly is that? One quick look at the official Glynn County website reveals that everything from the Board of Equalization to Community Development, Property Appraisals, DMV, Parks and Recreation, Libraries, Fire Department, County Police, Sheriff’s Office, Taxation, Court Departments, Water/Sewer, Public Safety and even Animal Control is administered under the same Glynn County umbrella. That’s when it hit me… there are a whole lot of “dog’s” that need rounding up and admittance to the pound; no pun intended! Unfortunately, I have been an unwilling participant on that particular Glynn County “legal playground” before, and I know what it’s like to have the deck stacked against you within that system. I also know I should have paid a whole lot more attention to the manner in which a great many things happened back when I was experiencing the suspicious acts myself, but as I’ve described before, I was focused on survival… my kid’s as well as my own. It’s too late now to rewrite or correct the systemic wrongdoing of the past, but the lessons I’ve learned might hopefully help to guide someone else’s future? I want, no…I (and so should you) demand to know if a person must be the victim of a very deliberate, gruesome murder in order to receive even a modicum of justice in that little pocket of Southeast Georgia? Is it only possible to get a fair shake in Glynn if you’re “one of them?” Does wearing that particular “brand of justice” yield a veil of protection? Perhaps if your pockets or connections are deep enough, justice can be purchased? I don’t know all the gory details of the exact process, but it sure appears that there’s some kind of “magic formula” included (like if the last name Capone or Jones is involved, at least if you’re a male) in order to find justice sitting beside you, rather than opposed, in that little part of the world? With that in mind, do you suppose it’s just mere coincidence, or a sign of some deeper conflict, that Sea Island Company’s Bankruptcy filing occurred in the Summer of 2010, just a few short months following Capone’s own Bankruptcy filing in February of 2010? Isn’t it super weird, too, that the very same Glynn County law firm represented both parties, SI and Capone, personally, for well over a decade, and were also either joint/co/or “special” counsel in both entities’ Bankruptcy cases? Maybe that’s just the way life shakes out? No, I don’t think so. Looking back, it’s also odd that in March, 2008 Sea Island’s own “in-house” legal counsel as well as an officer of the SI Company and named partner in the same subject Glynn Law Firm was deposed and admitted that the Sea Island Co. had paid Capone somewhere in the neighborhood of $35 - $50 MILLION dollars, just 2 years prior to their Bankruptcy’s? I wonder if the other long-term officers, officials and entitled employees of Sea Island were that fortunate in what they received, versus what they were “promised and guaranteed,” as a result of Sea Island’s Bankruptcy and “bail-out?” Wonder what Bubba III’s end-game number, and take, from the SI bail out was?
There is much to be ‘unpacked’ in the clip referenced above…but if you’ve been the victim of wrongful activity in Glynn County, Georgia…you may want to seriously study the legal concept noted above? I never knew about it, nor the people that I’m about to mention, and was, myself, just a lowly “outspouse,” not the victim of murder, but from what I do know…Katie Sasser, Caroline Small and Ahmaud Arbery, (among others) nor their families deserved the fate received, courtesy of Glynn County justice, and the concept of “qualified immunity?” All “good things” must come to an end, supposedly. It’s definitely WAAAAAAY PAST time for that ancient policy, which originated in the days of the KKK, is put to bed, for good.
Albeit, I was not a victim of murder, rape, nor violent abuse, but I still wouldn’t wish my experience within Glynn County’s “legal” system and its officials on my worst enemy, nor would I ever want to subject my kids or myself to repeating those moments in time, but I will say, I would have been far better prepared and equipped to deal with all that came our way, had I known about this archaic concept, which still exists today. I doubt I could have changed a thing, but I might have been more insistent when I sensed or, flat out watched, the outrageously questionable “legal maneuvers” repeatedly occur for all the world to witness? I also would NOT have been so intimidated about questioning alleged authority figures, particularly after learning of the legacy of injustice that all those lawyers and judges inflicted, based on the premise of “qualified immunity.”
THERE’S NOT MUCH SOLACE TO BE FOUND, WHEN JUSTICES DISPLAY SUCH BLATANT CALLOUSNESS, EVEN IF IT IS MASKED WITH FEIGNED HUMOR.
A plethora of ugly circumstances followed me for years resulting from my divorce and the consequences that were created in its aftermath, but none of it appeared significant to any of the parties which could have exacted change? Even with the very visible media attention and public coverage given to the trial of Mr. Arbery’s murderers, there were several other instances of suspicious deaths that went overlooked in Glynn County’s system of alleged “legal justice.” A quick gander at the circumstances surrounding other deaths within Glynn County’s legal jurisdiction, illustrates that a number of violent, and even deadly, cases have NOT been justly tried? I don’t know about you, but that makes me spitting mad. Could it be, potentially, that some of the law enforcement officers, lawyers and “justices” didn’t want closer observation given to their own actions? (DING, DING, DING, I THINK I SMELL A WINNER?)
AT THE TIME THIS EMAIL WAS SENT, I WAS ANNOYED THAT MY CONCERNS WERE BEING DISMISSED SO CAVALIERLY, AND I DREADED THE THOUGHT OF PAYING YET ANOTHER RETAINER, BUT I WAS ALSO BRUTALLY UNAWARE OF THE UNDERPINNINGS OF THE SYSTEM THAT WAS ACTUALLY AT WORK. IT SHOULDN’T COME AS ANY SURPRISE THAT I WAS INDEED “SMALL-TOWNED” BIG TIME!
Shortly before I received the above email, Al had filed another one of his multiple nuisance motions in the Georgia Court to either renegotiate or modify our Settlement Agreement, even though the MSA clearly spelled out such action wasn’t permitted. Details like that never stopped Al. His attorneys were at his beck and call, ready to do whatever, whenever, and this instance was no exception. So, yes, I paid another retainer, travelled from California back to Georgia, and stayed in town long enough to meet with new counsel, appear in court, and essentially watch as attorneys negotiated and manipulated the system to exact my acquiescence on a Motion in Al’s California Bankruptcy case in exchange for his “dropping” the Georgia motion! What in the world did Al’s negotiation, in a California bankruptcy court, regarding payment of a note for his Lear 60 have to do with me defending myself against a malicious and wrongful action in the Georgia courts? Oh right…nothing! It was merely a tactic of intimidation. The bully pulpit was not only alive, but thriving within Glynn County. By the time the action described above occurred, I was three Judges deep in Georgia, (Tuten, Williams and Wilkes) as well as on my fourth Georgia attorney, (Stern & Edlin, Mayoue, Durham/McHugh, and Williams). To adequately express that the entire process and charade was not just exhausting and costly, but totally paralyzing was, and still is an understatement of extreme proportions. I’ve never been very good at, or a fan of gymnastics, but I was jumping through hoops, scaling enormous obstacles, and balancing as best I could on what was a wire-thin tightrope. Worse still, is that I was actually expressing appreciation for my new Glynn lawyer, not realizing, nor recognizing the enormous anomaly that was occurring. Not only was I being manipulated, but I was thanking them as it happened? If I had known that day, in November 2010 what was ACTUALLY transpiring or how many more punches were still to come, there’s a fairly decent chance I might have considered taking a very long swim after diving from the Sidney Lanier Bridge?
Anymore it’s tough to tell, but I don’t believe it’s illegal (just yet) to state an opinion, even though it can sure feel that way at times? That feeling is pretty appropriate and particularly true now, as I’m STILL banned from Instagram, how many months later, following my 30 day suspension issued October 4th? Challenging the mainstream these days transforms you immediately into “persona non grata!” The mantra of “get along and go along” guides a world where the doctrine of “rules for thee, but not for me” dominates our landscape. That was true while I experienced the machinations of Glynn County’s “legal” system throughout my nine year divorce ordeal, as well as more recently in 2020, and again in 2021 when I attempted to revisit a situation, report a newly discovered fraud and attempted to make right, a very wrong reality. What I learned instead, is that it is precedent only, not justice, which guides the law; “stare decisis” it’s called. As far as I’ve been able to learn from my fairly lengthy experience on this planet and in that world, the only precedent that steers the “legal” system in Glynn County is corruption, otherwise described as Qualified Immunity? Al, and his Georgia attorneys (now, both Judges) proved to me that telling the truth and acting ethically, or even legally at a bare minimum, isn’t really a necessity or a requirement to getting what you want.
The great Sir Winston Churchill once stated, “You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.”
Thank you Mr. Churchill for that “pearl of wisdom”… I agree. I am not afraid to stand up for something or someone I believe in, even if it is unpopular.
The last four sentences of those two pages were, and are, the icing and cherry atop a very densely, layered cake and as far as I know, all those people and the practices referenced above are still at work? Scary, right?
There’s more…oh so, so much more, but depending upon which side of the table you sit, you either play the losing role, or you’re playing on the, “hey” look the other way” team! “Corruption in High and Not So High Places – Cash for Clunkers” is not just an interesting title but is also another written work which can be found with a quick search of “Google” directing you to a short piece entitled, “This is a story of ethically challenged actors….” The information presented in that article has not only proven to be true with the passing of time, but my initial concerns dismissed by my attorney, were absolutely justifiable and not just the figment of my imagination, as I was told. The circumstances outlined would seem to make a mockery of Glynn’s legal system, and yet there’s still nothing done to prevent the same behavior from being repeated again…in perpetuity? How is that possible? Glynn County procedure would tell you to file a complaint with Georgia’s office of Judicial Qualifications Investigation, if you have a concern regarding legal or judicial wrongdoing. My guess is most people would assume such a process would prompt serious inquiry, investigation and follow-up? So, does it? No; from what I’ve learned, such an investigation appears to serve as a mere formality. A detailed report and account of your “concern” is required, but what next? Not so much as a brief “timeout” imposed for the offending party, if you will. Nothing is done. Nothing that ACTUALLY might set new precedent, or signal that “corruption” has a new enemy, much less show that Glynn County has a new Sheriff in town? Nope…it seems clear that in the case of Glynn County, Georgia…no matter how many examples are shown revealing a long trail of legal misdeeds, the end result still reflects that the “ethically challenged players” are allowed to remain on the bench and/or “practice” law, if that’s what we’re still calling it…indefinitely.
THIS BRIEF STATEMENT PRETTY MUCH SUMS UP THE ISSUE OF MEANINGFUL CORRECTION OF LEGAL OR JUDICIAL INJUSTICE AND SPEAKS FOR ITSELF. THE ISSUE OF “JUSTICE” REGARDING CHALLENGES OF LEGAL/JUDICIAL MALPRACTICE REMAINS A ROGUE AGENT! 40 YEARS OF “JQC,” AND ONLY 5 INSTANCES OF HEARINGS AND FOLLOW-UP HAVE OCCURRED…OUTRAGEOUS! DO THE MATH? THOSE STATISTICS DON’T INSPIRE MUCH FAITH IN AN ALREADY VERY FLAWED LEGAL SYSTEM.
Such instances are stark reminders of the gross legal negligence that can be engineered, and the many lengths that power-hungry, Narcissistic egomaniacs are willing to go to in order to achieve their end game, especially in a system that permits, even encourages such bad faith. My mission over the next many years will be to start, and fund, a foundation…one which provides support for the “Outspouses,” and others who find themselves desperately needing guidance with regard to navigating an often-treacherous legal system. I don’t have all the specifics of the future or the foundation hammered out just yet, but more than ever before, I recognize how critically valid the need is, and where there’s a need, there just has to be a way. Someone MUST stand up for the underdog, and I want to be on “that side of the table!”