Mace wins case in front of the United States Supreme Court

This article was previously published in Unreasonable Doubt, the Newsletter of the Nevada Attorneys for Criminal Justice. I planned to bowdlerize it for fear that the sensibility of the Clark County Bar Association might be offended by some of my graphic characterizations (especially of my mother). But I thought better of it. Now after I've stared into the faces of the "Fine Nine," "The Big Court" as some Washington insiders call it. Far be it for me to damn by faint praise. Moi, a Bon Vivant, Literary Lion and Galloping Gourmet, who has attained notoriety due to his honesty rather than his tact. So here it is in its pristine (a word generally associated with me) unexpurgated glory. ENJOY !!!! THE ODYSSEY or .......... How did a nice Jewish boy like me end up being screamed at by the US Supreme Court? It ain't over till it's over, but I know why they call it the Court of Last Resort. They're not final because they're right. They're right because they're final. I've been planning for this moment ever since I attended law school. I've always dreamed of arguing in front of the US Supreme Court. Visions of Brandeis, Warren and Douglas danced in my head. Unfortunately, I spoke with Rehnquist, Scalia, and Thomas. This court is not sympathetic to a criminal defendant.

I tried this case in 1988. When the court ruled that Mr. Riggins could not stop taking the medication (Mellaril, a psychotropic drug used to suppress psychotic behavior), I was astonished. It just didn't seem fair. Our only defense was insanity. There was no question he killed the victim. I referred to Mr. Wade as a despicable drug dealer, but his girlfriend tried to soft-pedal this by saying he only sold drugs infrequently. But that's like being almost pregnant -- either you are or you aren't and he was.

Despite this fact, the public service defense wouldn't work. The SODDI defense (some other dude did it) was out. The TODDI defense (this other dude did it) wouldn't work and even if I worked myself into a creative fervor, I couldn't see using the battered women defense. I was stuck with insanity (talk about a Freudian slip) [I've always wanted to open a lingerie shop with this name, I also think anal fixation is a great name for a suppository].

Insanity and I are old friends (right after sex, drugs and rock 'n roll) but a little insanity wouldn't work. I needed BIG INSANITY. I thought I had the raw material. My client was a paranoid schizophrenic. He had been hearing voices of God, St. Peter, Satan and his assistant. Also, he thought JFK and Marilyn Monroe were his parents and that Mr. Wade was trying to kill him by squirting his aids-infected blood on the cocaine before he sold it.

These are "insane" facts, if my client could communicate these delusions with fervor and conviction (I hate that word). But the zombie next to me was chemically cauterized synthetically sane, hapless and helpless.

He was convicted and sentenced to death. I appealed to the Nevada Supreme Court. The argument was lively, the decision was delayed. I was beginning to have hope. Then POW, a 4-1 decision affirming the appeal. I wasn't ready to give up. I was appointed to file a petition of certiorari to the US Supreme Court, the last chance for romance. Incredibly the court granted certiorari.

At this time a coalition of disparate organizations contacted me and offered their help. Four groups, the American Psychiatric Association, the NACDL (The National Association of Criminal Defense Lawyers), the NACJ (The Nevada Attorneys for Criminal Justice), and the Coalition for the Free (I'm not making this up, it stands for the Fundamental Rights of Equality of Ex-patients) filed amicus briefs.

I went to three separate moot court procedures, in Philadelphia, New York and Washington. I was ready! Bring on the Court. However, into every life a little rain must fall. The day before my argument, a water main in Washington broke, unfortunately this closed the building where I was preparing with my CO-counsel. His firm arranged a suite in the Hay-Adams Hotel. An old elegant institution directly across from the White House. This suite cost $1,275.00 per day and there was no bathroom (I wonder what that would have cost?).

We arrived in court at the appointed time, 9:00 a.m. It was bitter cold outside. We were taken to a room by the clerk of the court who wore a morning coat and told us the DO's and Don'ts:

1. Don't touch the microphone; 2. Don't hit the microphone while flipping the pages of your legal pad; and last but not least, 3. Don't address Justice O'Connor as Sandy Baby.

We entered the courtroom. I spread out my materials. I reviewed my opening and then it happened. I started to get nervous. Me, someone who has looked at the wrong end of a gun twice and who has seen crazy Charlotte (my mother, who is about 4 feet tall, 4 feet wide but her mouth is wider than Lake Mead, she's one of those people whenever her mind is made up, she never lets the facts confuse her. The best way to describe her is like General Patton wearing a skirt) eat grapenuts without her teeth. I felt a little queasy. My throat was dry. My heart was pounding.

My case was called. I stood up at the podium. My knees were actually shaking, but I looked and no one else could see. I started speaking slowly, deliberately, purposefully. Suddenly, Justice Kennedy asked me a question and the nervousness dissipated.

The questions were coming fast and furious. Justice Scalia was especially intense. He asked the most questions. The one that sticks in my mind is when he asked if it was OK for a defendant to put on a clown suit. I felt like saying YES, if he borrowed one of yours, your Bozo-ness. It was the longest 30 minutes I've ever spent. I was responding to the clown suit hypothetical when the red light went on and Chief Justice Rehnquist said thank you.

I gathered up my materials, put them into my brief case and left. I felt like I was walking on air. I was glowing as if I had finished a marathon. I've been to the top of the mountain. It's cold and lonely in that rarefied air. It's hard to describe my feelings, but I believe this experience changed me. It's tough to explain.

One thing I know, if by some serendipitous Synchronicity of the stars, the planets and the universe, I prevail; Everyone will think of me as the poster boy for mental illness. It's a crazy world!. SEE YA!

PS On May 18, 1992, the United States Supreme Court reversed the underlying case in a 7 to 2 decision, Riggins Vs Nevada 504 US 127 (1992) Take that, your Bozo-ness.