I HEART DETROIT

Today marked day 1 of my 14 week externship at the 3rd Circuit Court in Detroit.

For all the bad rap we give that city, there is not one person I passed on my two block walk to and from the courthouse who didn't stop to say "hello" and "how are you?" Some even addressed me as "miss" or "ma'am."

And it only got better...

Once I arrived, I introduced myself to the guards at the entrance checkpoint and flashed my “temporary” bar card, (well, ok, it's really my student I.D.). They smiled, shook my hand, told me their names, and assured me I would no longer spend my first hour standing in line behind the masses of plaintiffs, defendants, and their fans-- though that doesn't mean I won't be cardio-boxing my way through them every morning!

The judge's daily docket was flooded with pre-trial conferences. The most memorable of which included a defendant who will stand trial for 2nd degree murder. In the presence of his attorney, he willingly conceded to “no pleas on the date of trial,” and “the deadline for all trial discussions is May 19th.” Nevertheless, to my amusement, a half hour later the prosecutor ran to the bench huffing and puffing because she had just discovered the guy hardly spoke three words of English and had no idea what he just agreed to! And guess what? His lawyer has a "real" bar card.

The judge was very witty about the situation, though. He called the parties back to schedule a second conference next week, in which a Serbo-Croat translator will preside. He then looked down at the defense attorney, and as his reading glasses slid to the bump of his nose said, "Counselor. You have just made the judge late for lunch."

I also watched a jittery, paranoid schizophrenic's attempts at convincing "your honor" that she should stay in the custody of her legal guardian, (her skanky live-in lover), rather than in jail until trial, because she is not a narcotics user or seller. She was her own worst enemy, though: skinny; sunken-in face; and lanky arms laden with scabs and other indications of penetration.

During lunch, I snuck into the neighboring courtroom to catch a glimpse of the infamous Grosse Pointe killer--the first in 60 years, whose lawyers were making motions before trial. The article was in the Free Press this morning.

But don't think my job is all play. I read through 20 bench briefs searching for ambiguities in the law, verifying statutes and citations, and circling arguments that conflict with binding precedent. Many of the referenced cases were ones I already studied and knew--great bar review! To my dismay, however, what I'l nevir forgit frum twoday's assignment is tha plethura of speling misteaks these edukated attorneys make.