(Pick your judges wisely)
Manoucher was retired from the Irani postal service, living on a tiny pension that was barely enough to feed himself on, let alone pay for medical care. He did, however, have three strapping sons who had all emigrated to America. The youngest worked at this and that, trying to support his wife and son; the middle one was an electrician making fair money, and the oldest had become a successful restaurateur.
The two oldest, being dutiful sons, hatched the idea that the youngest should fly to Dubai, drive to Tehran, finagle the old man out of Iran and bring him back to California. Tom (Americanized name), the oldest, had it all figured out. “He can spend a couple of months with me, a couple of months with Bob and a couple of months with Sean. It won’t be a problem for anyone.”
It sounded like a great plan, except it didn’t even last for the first four months. Dad was well into his 80s, spoke nothing but Farsi and the older brothers’ families didn’t really want him hanging around. The grandkids spoke no Farsi, the old man was a very confused stranger in a strange land and the wives were embarrassed about the shabby-looking father-in-law. All in all it was, to put it delicately, inconvenient.
Sean, the youngest, lived in an apartment with his wife and baby, and had no room for Dad. Sean’s wife’s mother, however, had a mobile home and agreed to take in Manoucher. When the relocation occurred, Tom and Bob stopped all contact with their father and refused to contribute to his support. Sean was left begging doctors and dentists to treat Manoucher while contributing, as best he could, to the old man’s expenses for housing, food and clothing.
***
There is a little-noticed provision in the California Family Code (back then, a part of the Civil Code) that says “an adult child shall, to the extent of his or her ability, support a parent who is in need and unable to maintain himself or herself by work.” Evidently, nobody paid much attention to this statute before Manoucher came my way, as I was able to find only a sprinkling of appellate cases interpreting it – and none dated within the last 30 years or so. But I filed the action anyway.
***
It was slow going at first. And then it got even slower.
When I filed the support action, the clerks had never heard of such a thing. It didn’t fit within the parameters their computers could deal with. So we summoned the supervisors, who were equally at a loss. Good thing I had thought to bring a photocopy of the statute with me or nobody would have believed me at all.
It was finally decided to assign the case to a family law department, and I was given a hearing date. On the date of the hearing, however, the judge decided it was not properly a family law case and ordered it transferred to the probate department. Two months later, the probate judge ordered it transferred back to family law. Back in the family law department, we are now probably four or five months into the process and I haven’t yet had a chance to make a single statement on the merits of my case.
***
We were finally able to go to trial, and Tom and Bob were ordered to pay monthly support for Manoucher. But this was approximately two years later, so I’m getting ahead of myself.
***
This particular family law judge and I got off on the wrong foot in a couple of cases and I was left steaming. What I dislike most about family law is its arbitrariness, its capriciousness, its results which depend on which judge you draw. And this one shot from the hip. She was sarcastic, caustic and acerbic and she would interrupt an attorney before he had hardly begun his argument because she KNEW what he was going to say and that it was going to be wrong.
And she was damned smart.
Over the next couple of years, I developed a great respect for this judge, and we learned to get along together. I am second to none in my admiration of her intellect. The problem was – and still is – that she isn’t quite as smart as she, herself, thinks she is.*
***
In the judge’s chambers during a settlement conference, she indicated that if this matter went to trial, she wouldn’t even consider ordering parental support if the parent were not a citizen of the United States. (During the trial with this judge’s successor, I successfully showed that the law did not require the parent even to be a resident of the United States.) She made it very clear how she felt about immigrants coming over here and abusing the system.
But Sean had another year or two before he could become a citizen and he had to become a citizen before he could sponsor Dad. So I did what lawyers do best: I continued the case. Again and again.
***
In Alameda County, at least, judges only have to sit in family law for a year or two before somebody with less seniority becomes a judge and gets stuck in family law. The former family law judge, then, gets to go to downtown Oakland and do felony trials, which seems to be what all judges want to do, anyway.
So my judge moved up to felony trials (which wasn’t by far the end of her climb*); a new judge – obviously from a different political party – was assigned to her department; we went to trial; the hotshot San Francisco defense attorney stomped out of the courtroom when the trial was over; Tom and Bob were ordered to pay support to their father, the old man was able to get his new teeth and Sean finally got some relief.
Moral? Our parents supported us. Maybe not as well as we would have liked, but still. And it’s not just a moral obligation, but a legal obligation, that we support them. Think about it.
Moral II? It ain’t what the law says, it’s the judge that you draw.
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*She’s now a justice on the California Supreme Court. Neither her politics nor her sarcasm have changed, but she’s a little more circumspect in her written opinions and I don’t find myself disagreeing with too many of them.