(It’s all downhill after Iwo Jima.)

I inherited Murray from my senior partner, Bill Moore.  The two of them seemed to get along because they were both veterans of the Pacific Theater in the Big War: Bill a decorated fighter pilot and Murray…well, who knows what Murray was, except he had evidently fought at Iwo Jima.  Anyone who knew Murray knew he fought at Iwo Jima.  Murray made sure of that.

Ask Murray the time of day and he was as likely as not to mutter, “I’m old and useless.  They should have finished me off at Iwo.”

How he spent the post-war years, I never learned and I was never really certain that he’d ever been totally with the program.  But several years after I first met him, he’d finally become not only mentally, but physically helpless and his son and daughter-in-law asked me to petition the court to appoint a conservator for him.

Establishing a conservatorship is not a step that courts take lightly. It essentially takes all of a person’s constitutional rights away from him and grants them to someone else.  He is no longer able to decide where he lives, what he eats, who his doctors are and so forth, and all of his assets come under the control of the conservator.  With proper accounting to the court, of course.

Because of the danger of greedy relatives trying to rip off rich Uncle Fred, a trained psychologist from the Court Investigator’s Office interviews the allegedly incompetent person as well as the person petitioning to become the conservator, checks out the living arrangements and makes a recommendation to the court.  And absent very serious health problems, it is required that the proposed conservatee come to court so the judge can see him before making the final decision.

That’s how Murray and I ended up in the Contra Costa County Superior Court.

“That matter is ready, your honor,” I responded when our case was called.  “Steven Dimick representing [daughter-in-law], the petitioner in this matter.”

“Mr. Dimick, is that the [mutter, mutter, mutter, killed me at Iwo, mutter, mutter]?”

“It is, your honor, and we’re [mutter, mutter, mutter, goddamned Nazi sitting up there, mutter mutter] Murray, hush!  I’ve read the Court Investigator’s report and [mutter, mutter, mutter, Nazi, fought for my mutter, mutter, Iwo.]”

“Mr. _____, do you object to the [mutter, mutter, useless, mutter, mutter, Iwo, mutter, Nazi]?”

“Murray, hush!”

After a few formalities, interrupted constantly by Murray’s suggestions that they should have finished him off at Iwo, the judge granted the petition.

As I wheeled him out of the courtroom, the audience exploded in laughter when they heard me say, “Murray, it’s not nice to call the judge a goddamned Nazi!”