Column | Vail Law: Security issues in the practice of law

I have been practicing law for 42 years.

The first 10 or so years were in California and — by some quick math — the last 32 have been in Sweet Home, Colorado. Much of my practice has been in the areas of family law and litigation.

When I first started out, like in airports, there was no security to speak of. Metal detectors at the courthouse doors were unheard of. Now, they are as ubiquitous as fleas on a dog.

In Southern California, the courthouse were, in reflection of the population, massive. If memory serves me correctly, when I left San Diego, the main courthouse had 68 courtrooms. By comparison, the Eagle County Courthouse has four.

With size, there often becomes specialization. While the Eagle County courts are courts of general jurisdiction, in San Diego, Orange County, and Los Angeles, where I mostly plied my trade, there were specialized criminal courts, juvenile courts, family law courts and so on.

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What may be telling is when security at first began to ramp up, contrary to what might be your first instinct, criminal courts were not the first to adopt metal detectors and other security measures. There had, of course, always been bailiffs in the courtrooms. No, the first courts to adopt metal detectors were family law courts. Second, although in the Federal Courthouse rather than the State Court, was bankruptcy court, and then the criminal courts joined the parade.

If you think about it not too hard, you’ll understand pretty quickly that it is in family law — mainly divorce, support, and custody issues — were the rubber of emotion frictions with the road of fallen dreams. It was in the family law courts where one first had to empty one’s pockets, strip off your belt, submit to the wand, and pass through the archway of metal detectors.

In my career, I have thankfully suffered only a few death threats.

Perhaps oddly, the first was when I was an adjunct professor of law. In law school — at least in the dark ages when I attended and when I taught — students were assigned random numbers and were reissued new, random numbers every semester. When a student took an exam, s/he used the random number instead of his/her name, which assured anomonimity; the professor grading the exam had no idea which student was behind the numbers and whose exam that they were grading. Apparently one student didn’t like the grade I issued and left a lengthy death threat on my answering machine. To this day, other than a male, I don’t know who it was.

The second came in a divorce case. My client was the wife and mother of two small children. Hubby was a wild man. Over the course of the divorce, each day when I stepped out to collect my morning paper, I half expected to find my client’s body on my doorstep. Although in the end, he did nothing, when the dust of the divorce had settled, I received my second death threat, also on the answering machine, which was quickly shared with law enforcement.

Third, and thankfully last, involved a litigation matter that revolved around a dispute over significant landholdings. Although the principal on the other side of the dispute was, to all appearances, a sophisticated businessperson, you, apparently cannot educate a boiling temper out of someone so inclined. When we won the case — which by Archimedean logic means the other side lost — the guy’s temper burbled over. What he failed to understand was that it was his own actions and shortcomings that led to his demise. I was only the male ballet dancer allowing the prima ballerina of facts to twirl beneath my outstretched hand.

Because, in his mind, it was my fault, he left an angry, spittle flying screed on voice mail. When he was contacted by law enforcement, he had some serious ‘splainin’ to do.

Legal matters can be stressful, particularly so when one perceives that the courts, the lawyers, and perhaps the world at large are messing with your family, your money, your dreams, and expectations. Understandably, sometimes it all seems too much. Violence — or the threat of it — rarely makes things better, however. Most times people simply grouse, blame, swallow their disappointment, better yet, own up and ultimately move on.

Law is a necessary and noble profession. Without it there would be more — not less — violence and conflict. But in the immortal words of Rodney King, even when our backs may be against the wall, “Can’t we all [just] get along?”

Rohn K. Robbins is an attorney licensed before the Bars of Colorado and California who practices in the Vail Valley with the Law Firm of Caplan & Earnest, LLC. His practice areas include business and commercial transactions; real estate and development; family law, custody, and divorce; and civil litigation. Robbins may be reached at 970-926-4461 or Rrobbins@CELaw.com. His novels are available at fine booksellers; the latest, “Falling,” was published in November.