Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

Unless a judge recently has been involved in a steamy scandal or a high-profile criminal trial, he or she remains largely anonymous to everyone but courthouse regulars. By the time the primary rolls around in September, most people will be taxed even to recall the name of the man who sentenced Miami policeman William Lozano.

You can't blame the voters for not knowing who's who. In Dade County alone, 97 county and circuit judges must run for office. Broward has 62 judges; Palm Beach County, a mere 39. Says Florida Bar President Steve Zack: "Walk up to your favorite lawyer and ask him to name all the judges. It's an impossibility."

The election process is not only shallow but tainted. It rewards the candidates who can afford the best billboards—in other words, those able to squeeze the most money out of lawyers. When the same lawyers later appear in that judge's courtroom, we are supposed to believe that the judge's actions will not be swayed by the memory of political generosities, or lack thereof.

The concept of "selling" judges is tricky because they don't campaign like county commissioners or congressmen; the nuances of someone's judicial record can't be compressed into a snappy to-second sound bite. Judges can't even take a public stand on issues; they are forbidden by a code of ethics.

So what can they talk about on the political trail? Absolutely nothing of substance. Name recognition is everything; billboards, balloons, blarney. Typically we are better informed about our choice of stick deodorant than our choice of judges.

The Florida Bar and many in the judiciary want reform. Several bills have been filed in Tallahassee that could lead to a change in the way we pick circuit and county judges. Merit selection is the most logical option.

Under this method—currently used in 34 states and our own appellate courts—panels composed of lawyers, appointees and lay people submit lists of qualified candidates to the governor, who then chooses the judge. Every few years, voters get a chance to decide whether to keep or remove that judge.

Those who support the present charade wave the flag and beat their breasts. They warn that merit appointments could be spoiled by politics—yet what's more political than the current spectacle of judges out hustling support from law firms?

Critics also wail that merit selection robs the public of the right to choose. It's nonsense. By voting yes-no on retention, the public will hold the ultimate power to replace any judge.

To argue patriotically in favor of judicial elections is fatuous, because the vast majority of incumbent judges run unopposed. It is no accident. Many of them find campaigning so distasteful that they hire "consultants" to steer potential opponents into other races, or discourage them altogether from running.

It is a loathsome and smelly enterprise, but the hacks who manage these campaigns want to keep things just the way they are.

Judges think fast to explain needles, money June 17, 1991

Wouldn't you love to have the Maalox concession at the Metro Justice Building?

"Operation Court Broom" already has ensnared four judges and one well-known defense lawyer. The mood at the courthouse is one of acute gastric distress. Everybody's wondering who's next.

Federal raids have turned up wads of $ 100 bills, as well as other suspicious items. Attorneys are talking openly of shakedowns and kickback schemes. A grand jury is following the trail of slime, and indictments certainly will come.

When the going gets tough, the tough get lawyers. And the lawyers get creative.

So far, my favorite line comes from Ron Guralnick, who represents Circuit Judge Phillip Davis. Agents found a metal box of syringes and aluminum foil in Davis' chambers. Many defense lawyers would've been stumped for an explanation, but Guralnick gave it a shot (so to speak). He claimed the material was "evidence" left over from a long-ago case when Davis was a private defense attorney.

It seems like a prudent man moving to a prestigious judgeship wouldn't bring any syringes, regardless of their origin. Maybe these items held some sentimental value for Davis—a reminder of some memorable courtroom battle. Or maybe he collects old drug paraphernalia, the way other guys collect baseball cards ("Here, I'll trade you three needles for a bong!"). A few other Dade judges would gladly trade Davis' metal box for what was found in their own homes and offices, namely cash.

The FBI loves to spread it around, and Operation Court Broom was a windfall. Documents show that undercover agents paid out $266,000 in $100 bills between August 1989 and May 1991. It was a simple but time-tested scam: Bribes allegedly were funneled to judges in exchange for reducing criminal bonds, suppressing evidence and divulging confidential police information.