This excerpt marks a critical turning point in the narrative. It reflects the moment I began to understand the broader implications of the events unfolding around me, and the institutional pressures that would follow.
At the end of our meeting, the Chief Justice introduced me to the young man who had led me to his office. He introduced him to me as his general counsel. Essentially, he was the Chief Justice’s staff attorney. I believe that he wrote the opinion the Chief Justice would eventually issue, referring me to the Commission, among other things.
The Chief Justice expressed relief that our meeting “went so well.” I was surprised by his remark. “Why wouldn’t it have gone well?” I thought. He told me, “Go home and enjoy Thanksgiving with your family. We need you on your cases. I’m going to deny the motion.”
As I walked out of the Chief Justice’s office, I was on top of the world. I thought I was going to put the whole episode behind me and, more importantly, continue speaking to the important issues.
Looking back on that moment, I remember a scene from the movie Jerry McGuire, where Jerry visits the top draft prospect’s father. Jerry leaves that meeting with only a handshake and the father’s words—“And it’s solid as oak!” Later, he gets blindsided when the father reneges on the agreement. Life often imitates art.
As I walked to my car with Tom Petty’s song, “Free Fallin,” playing in my head, my cell phone rang with an unknown number. I thought it was odd because I rarely give out my cell phone number. It was Roland Richards, a local community leader. He said he was calling on behalf of the prosecutor and wanted to set up a meeting between the prosecutor and me. He said, “Judge, you’re right, but I can’t have you [and the prosecutor] publicly fighting.”
In hindsight, I think that Richards was implying he would side with the prosecutor if forced to choose between us. Confident that the Chief Justice would rule in my favor, I told him I would meet with the prosecutor after the Chief Justice made his decision.
Richards subsequently named the prosecutor as the grand marshal of his annual Martin Luther King, Jr. (MLK) parade, which passes through predominantly Black, West Louisville.
In 2010, I, too, served as a grand marshal when I ran my first campaign. In contrast, the prosecutor was soon forced to step aside as grand marshal due to intense community backlash. I imagine it only fueled his anger toward me.
I believe that the prosecutor’s action was antithetical to what Dr. King stood for. The prosecutor may have thought he was following the law, but I believe Dr. King would have considered the petition for certification of law unjust. I think Dr. King would have believed that to remain silent would be to condone it.
As for Richards, every prior year, he had requested I donate money for his parade and his Christmas activities. But after I criticized the prosecutor’s petition for certification of law, he never requested anything. We never spoke again.
The last time I heard from Richards was when he left me a poster of Judge Ben Shobe, one of the greatest Circuit judges in the history of the Commonwealth. He gave it to another judge’s secretary and asked her to deliver it to me. A few years later, I heard Richards passed away.
Returning to my time after meeting with the Chief Justice and speaking with Richards, I called Myers on the way home, sharing that the Chief Justice was going to deny the motion. He seemed happy but wary. I called Raymonda. She was overjoyed. “Thank God,” she said. I also called my friend, Jim Ralston, explaining exactly what happened during my meeting with the Chief Justice. I told him to “keep it roommate,” which was our slang meaning not to tell anyone. Ralston was excited for me.
I expected the Chief Justice would issue an order denying the prosecutor’s motion early the following week. I was ready to return to presiding over my criminal cases. That weekend, I waited for the ruling with much anticipation.
To my dismay, the Chief Justice delayed ruling on the prosecutor’s motion. Ultimately, he did not deny the motion, as he told me he would. Instead, he referred the matter to mediation. I was to mediate with the prosecutor over my job as a Circuit judge. Judicial independence be damned!
When the Chief Justice’s subordinate called me to tell me he was ordering the mediation instead of denying the motion, the Chief Justice’s opening offer to mediate between me and the prosecutor began to make sense, as did Richards’s call on Friday and Rev. Evans’s call on Saturday. The Chief Justice was the one person who had my cell phone number.
That was the beginning of my eye-opening experience. I realized that I was in a conflict with the prosecutor. However, he was not my only adversary. I was facing the Chief Justice and, thereby, the entire Kentucky judicial apparatus, complete with all its power, media contacts, community operatives, and ability to seize all that I had earned and deeply treasured.
For more about Systematically Excluded, return to the homepage.
We use cookies to analyze website traffic and optimize your website experience. By accepting our use of cookies, your data will be aggregated with all other user data.