Klaw - Keeping it civil: the case of the pre-nup and the porsche & other true accounts from the files of a family lawyer

Keeping It Civil

The Case of the Pre-nup and the Porsche & Other True Accounts from the Files of a Family Lawyer

Margaret Klaw

ALGONQUIN BOOKS OF CHAPEL HILL 2013

To Alan and Joni, my partners in life and in law

Contents

Opening Statement

Im a family law junkie. I am riveted by the vortex of marriage, divorce, parenthood, sex, money, love, anger, betrayal, sexual orientation, reproductive technology, and the rapidly shifting legal landscape on which it all plays out. Family law issues are debated and dissected everywhere we turn, from the hair salon to the state supreme court, because they affect us all, directly or indirectly. They go to the very core of who we are, to our most intimate selves. And to the intimate selves of our neighbors. We are, lets face it, endlessly fascinated by how other people live, love, and often screw up their lives.

Family law is also on the cutting edge of our changing cultural norms, as society wrestles with the expanding definition of family. Same-sex marriage, open adoption, gay and lesbian couples raising their biological or adopted children, reproductive technology that spreads out the components of parenthood among multiple people (intended parents, egg donors, sperm donors, gestational carriers)as these new configurations emerge, old boundaries dissolve. I work in the trenches of this rapidly morphing world, but I find myself frequently frustrated that I dont have more time to reflect on it. A day at my busy Philadelphia law firm can become just a series of emails and phone calls and letters and meetings, punctuated by billing each task in tenths of an hour, a string of individual activities stretching out like a river behind and ahead of me with no resting spot. Each case can be broken up into so many little fragments that the big picture recedes.

The chapters that follow are the result of precious moments stolen away from that long march of the billable hour. They are not meant to be a comprehensive overview of the practice of family law or a how-to guide to navigating the legal system. My intention was simply to write about my own experiences practicing law and building a law firm over the last twenty-five years, to provide snapshots of specific moments in time, a chronicle of events legal and social, pulled from hectic days in court, in the office, and, occasionally, at the dining room table. With the exception of the chapters titled Anatomy of a Trial, which run throughout the book and are a composite based on many custody cases I have tried, all the cases and clients I write about are real. I have, of course, changed names and identifying details to protect privacy and client confidentiality where necessary.

Family law can be messy and complicated and frustrating, but to me it is always exhilarating, characterized by high drama and powerful emotion. As we divorce lawyers often say, whether in rueful punctuation at the end of difficult phone calls with opposing counsel or in the course of bemused tsk-tsk ing while sipping cocktails at bar association receptions, You couldnt make this stuff up, right? Our colleague, nodding his or her head emphatically, will reply No, you certainly could not.

And then one of us will laugh and say Someday, Ive got to write a book about it.

The Wall

D arle n e was a pretty, blond nineteen-year-old with a ten-month-old baby girl whom she wheeled into my office in a ragged umbrella stroller. Darlene, the baby, and the babys father, Keith, had been living with Keiths parents in a row house in northeast Philly. Keith and Darlene apparently argued a lot, and one day, during a fight about Darlenes wanting Keith to watch the baby so she could go out with her girlfriends, Keith put his hands around Darlenes neck and tried to choke her. Darlene had filed in court for and received a protection order to keep Keith away from her and the baby. Keith, in response, had turned around and filed for custody of the baby, alleging that Darlene was a drug addict.

At this time I was about five years out of law school and working for a nonprofit legal center. Darlenes was one of my first custody cases. Like Darlene, I had a ten-month-old daughter. I worked three days a week and stayed home with my baby and four-year-old the rest of the time. I was still immersed in that mothering cocoon that descended upon me after the birth of each of my daughters, venturing out to do battle in a world of conflict and aggression that was my legal life and retreating back into the sweet, cozy routine of trips to story hour at the library and long afternoons of play groups and coffee with my friends and their babies.

Darlenes case really got to me. Her baby became my baby in my mind as I transitioned between my two worlds. I felt pure outrage that this abusive young thug was trying to take a precious little baby away from her mothermy client!and incredible fear that it could happen on my watch. I felt sick as a mother and terrified as a professional, and I wasnt sure which was which.

Darlene and I met at the courthouse on the day of the custody hearing. She was wearing extremely tight blue jeans, which annoyed me because I wanted her to look like Madonna (not the singer, the other one) but then decided that it was my fault for neglecting to prep her on what to wear to courtand, anyway, there was no point in bringing it up because it was too late to do anything about it. I focused on finding the courtroom without looking like an idiot. I had not handled many cases in Philadelphia, and I desperately did not want Darlene to know I had no idea where I was going. Somehow, I managed to find the right door without asking anyone and totally blowing my cover.

We walked into an ancient, crumbling courtroom with dusty portraits of dead judges on the walls, high ceilings, and stains on the polished marble floorsfaded elegance from another era, turned shabby and depressing. The judge was old and white haired and imposing, peering down at us from the bench. I had never appeared before him and had no idea what to expect, an unnerving situation in any case. Keith was there, looking like a choir boy with tattoos. His parents were also present, looking kindly, sensible, and grandparental, although probably considerably younger than I am as I write this.

The proceeding itself is a blur. I remember only a conference in chambersclose, dark, intimate, but extremely formalwhere I struggled to get the judge to understand the retaliatory nature of Keiths request for custody and his history of physically abusing Darlene, which included a number of assaults prior to the recent choking incident. There must have been witnesses called and testimony taken, but all that has been eclipsed by the stunning clarity with which I recall the outcome of the case and its aftermath: His Honor decided to take the baby away from both of them and award custody to Keiths parents. The legal basis on which he did so eluded me then and eludes me still, as the grandparents never even asked for custody, but nonetheless thats what happened.

When the ruling was announced, Darlene was, literally, hysterical. I dragged her out of the courtroom into a long and dingy hallway, where she dropped violently to the floor, curled up in the fetal position, and began to rock back and forth, wailing Shes my baby, I had her, I have the stretch marks to prove it, shes my baby, how can he take her away from me? The uniformed court officers in the hallway looked on helplessly, and I felt like I was going to throw up.

That was a Friday afternoon. I went home and looked at my baby and started to cry. I felt physical pain everywhere in my body. I completely understood why Darlene was rolling on the floor of the courthouse, showing her stretch marks to the court officers. The thought of the states removing my little Robin and giving her to someone else to raise was intolerable. Over and over again, I told my husband about what happened, looking for reassurance that it wasnt my fault, something he couldnt tell me with any credibility whatsoever since he (a) wasnt there, and (b) wasnt a lawyer and had absolutely no idea what I should or shouldnt have done, and (c) generally tells me hes sure I did a great job anyway. I dreaded the next week when I was going to have to be the lawyer, when I was going to have to talk to Darlene and figure out a strategy for reclaiming the baby. I was the grown-up, the professional, and I had screwed up royally.