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I have been casually studying Superior Court Judge James Dabney for awhile, and I am sure he would make a terrific neighbor.
He has an easily activated sense of humor. Almost unfailingly, he rises on the compassionate side of the bed.
If you run out of gas and his wife is away with the family’s only car, he will cheerfully walk five miles, in the drenching rain, to the nearest service station and shlep back a three-gallon can for your convenience.
I also have watched crude, defiant defense lawyers push Judge Dabney toward a window, talk back to him repeatedly, and dare him to discipline them.
Judge Dabney would adopt a stern expression while hunching forward in his seat. He would open wide and fire back warning after warning after warning. Here is what he was going to do if the darned mouthy, smart-aleck attorney didn’t recoil and relax.
The mouthy, overweight attorney kept rattling his disrespectful gums.
Last, Last, Last Chance
Surprise. Punitive measures nevewere imposed, possibly because mouthy lawyers have been there before. They know their man. Their image of Judge Dabney is that of a paper tiger.
The judge seems to be the kind of parent who tells his child:
“Just wait until your other parent gets home. Then, boy, a tough penalty is really going to be meted out.”
If I ever am dragged into a courtroom for expectorating on a sidewalk after all sensible people should have gone to bed, I hope Judge Dabney is on the bench.
This morning, he faced Albert Vera Jr., and it looked like a pillow-soft matchup of two of the mildest personalities in the neighborhood of the Airport Courthouse.
My Choice
If the defendant is my son, I want mercy. That means I want Judge Dabney, not a farcical replica.
The ideal jurist may be a meticulously measured person who is equally weighted in compassion and frozen-faced application of the law to the max.
Judge Dabney’s legal and private personalities have come in for unusual scrutiny because the perception has been for years that Junior Vera has been allowed to walk away unscorched from a range of violations because of the perceived influence of his powerful father.
Junior Vera has disappointed his aging and generous parents more times than the most patient mother and father can absorb without screaming.
If you have either addiction or disappointment in your family, no elaboration is necessary. You don’t have to ask when a 43-year-old is going to go straight and reclaim his normal life.
Last, Kind of Last, Almost Last
Junior Vera, it can be argued, ran out of last-chances with his family two arrests ago, dating back to March of last year. At the edge of El Segundo, near a hugely busy Sepulveda Boulevard intersection, he and a pal knocked off a vending box in front of a Ralphs market. All that was missing was an invitation to be a witness.
Starting with that arrest, the flashy lawyers defending Junior vanished. It was public defender time. The Kid was on his own for the first time.
This had to be sobering. He has spent about 14 of the last 21 months behind bars.
Balance Junior’s mountain high rubbish pile of keen disappointments against the notion that Junior Vera is one of the sweetest persons I know.
Which way do you lean?
Judge Dabney, your move.
Luck, The Name Is You-Know-What
If you want to win the state lottery, try to get close enough to Junior Vera the next time you see him to just barely touch his sleeve, and the fairy dust should rub off on you.
The bad news is that Junior won’t be strolling down any Culver City street for a long time, but the potential payoff will make the wait palatable.
While he still could be sent back to state prison in January for his latest flirtation with the law, Junior Vera is luckier than the 10 most fortunate people you know.
Sentenced this morning to one year in a residential drug treatment center, for what seems like Strike 15 to clean himself up, the Vera family’s many friends and admirers hope this time the last-chance takes.
