Lawyer squeals to State Bar about judge
By
The Legendary
Jim
Parks
 |
| Defense Attorney Blue Rannefeld |
Belton
– Auxiliary Court Room for Rent – reasonable rate – to the
right visiting jurist with proper credentials, willing to exclude
public, conceal exhibits, verbally abuse the defendant, his wife, and
his family – all in the name of “ethics.”
M/Sgt.
C.J. Grisham wasn't on a random stroll when officers of the Temple
Police Department arrested him for going armed on March 16; they
didn't apologize when they confiscated a custom-built AR-15 M4
carbine and a Kimber .45 cal. concealment model pistol.
Oh,
it was described as a Boy Scout hike of 10 miles so his son Chris,
Jr., could get credit for a merit badge. True story.
But
there's a lot more to this story.
Sgt.
Grisham recalls, “Before I went to Afghanistan, I and another guy
went on a high speed chase, going after anhydrous thieves. I had a
rifle...,” and then he breaks into that manic war fighter's laugh,
the kind any major dude with hard stripes will give, anywhere from a
slight chuckle to a hyena's howl. James Jones worked hard to describe
it in From Here to Eternity
after he tagged the First Shirt with it in his story about a rifle
company between wars on the sunny island of Oahu, just waiting for the Japanese to attack, though they didn't know it. The laugh speaks of the
firefight, the ambush, night attack, crossfire, minefield, and booby
trap.
 |
| M/Sgt. C.J. Grisham |
A
very undesirable element waits for those times, the times when big
white nurse tanks of anhydrous ammonia are spotted around the country
in dark fields, not far away from houses where older folks who hit
the hay early still live on the land while younger farmers who live
elsewhere handle their crops on a custom basis.
When
the tattoo faces come to call with flashlights and propane tanks, the
old folks cringe. Not only do they know to the penny what that
anhydrous costs them; they are scared.
They
should be.
Consider
what happened to a Bellmead Animal Control Officer one frosty March
morning a few years ago when he arrived at the dog pound to feed the
stray hounds.
Two
sack-chasing methamphetamine cooks were on a mission to retrieve a
50-pound bottle of anhydrous, and they ducked down in the ditch when
they saw him coming. When the man went inside the pound, they
approached in stealth, and one of them, an old boy with two tear
drops tattooed beside his eye - a man who acknowledged during the
sentencing phase of his trial for murder that he's already killed
twice on a contract basis while pulling a jolt inside the
penitentiary - plugged him in the back. Then he flipped the man over
and shot him in the dead center of his chest, just to finish him off.
So
Sgt. Grisham and his son carried the shooting irons along on their
patrol out past the place where a lot of his kin folks live on the
land – prime stuff near the airport with soil like coffee grounds,
level and always draining well, adjacent to industrial campuses and
aviation complexes under the control of a local government economic
development authority.
They
were men on a mission, as it were. Top Kick and number one son, on
foot patrol, but riding for the brand, nevertheless. S'posed to.
“They've
given me a lot of chances to make this go away,” said Sgt. Grisham
last week, when a 4-man, 2-woman jury could not reach agreement on a
verdict, and his jury trial for interfering with a public official in
the performance of his duty ended in a mistrial.
In
Afghanistan, the cash crop is opium, and the Taliban comes to call
with AK-47 rifles at the ready, collecting taxes for the Mullah in
the name of Allah. Sgt. Grisham should know. He and his men operate
in the field of military intelligence, classifying, enumerating,
correlating names, dates, faces, accidents, incidents, happenings and
reports. But that's another story.
In
this story, his jury was chosen in the absence of family and friends
who could have watched and listened from the gallery to learn what
questions are important to prosecutors when they choose a jury of six
qualified, registered voters who are willing to sit still for a week
and judge their fellow man for an accusation of a Class B Misdemeanor
violation.
Visiting
Judge Neel Richardson excluded family and friends during jury
selection.
He's
allowed to do that.
He's
from Harris County, a judicial retiree who must work a certain number
of hearings and trials in order to qualify for his full pension from
the State of Texas after his retirement. Many judges enjoy the part
time work and continue to work for many years past that auspicious
occasion.
He
had the attorneys and bailiffs position the extra large television
screen where folks could not see how Officer Steve Ermis jammed the
muzzle of his sidearm into the back of the Sergeant's head, stomped
on his foot and jackknifed his torso over the hood of a police car
before he jabbed him in the ribs with the pistol and unsnapped the
rifle from its sling.
He
testified he needed to get control of him so he could determine if
he's qualified - allowed to have a gun - and Grisham hollering all
along that he has a concealed carry handgun license in his bill fold.
To qualify for that, you can't have a felony record, a history of
mental illness, sex offenses, stalking or other creepy stuff. Grisham
still has his concealed carry permit, but he doesn't have his Kimber
pistol. The cops are hanging on to that item in exactly the same way
they are keeping his rifle safely under lock and key.
Three
developments. The defense lawyer, Blue Rannefeld of Cowtown, has made
a motion for a change of venue to another town, though Judge
Richardson will follow him there, along with court security people,
the prosecutors and the court reporter. Rannefeld is “looking into”
filing a grievance with the State Bar of Texas, something that can
result in disbarment and the loss of a license to practice law if
convicted. Visiting County Court at Law Judges must be licensed to
practice law in the State of Texas, admitted to the bar by The State
Bar of Texas. Kind of like losing a driver's license, except you
can't go to AA and get a permit to drive to work. Can't collect that
pension without that law license. Got to be some kind of big deal.
Grisham
has filed a complaint with the Texas Commission on Judicial Conduct
because the judge told attorneys in an in camera conference that he,
Grisham, and Mrs. Grisham are a “couple of yokels” and that he's
going to “teach them something about parenting.”
Your
correspondent would have joined him, but one must have the Cause
Number on the complaint in order to fill out the form properly. That
little doo-dad costs $5 if you have the Bell County Clerk's office
look it up for you.
How
else would one get it? After all, the ladies of the clerk's office
are the ones who assign the numbers, now, aren't they?
There
are other elements of Sgt. Grisham's complaint, including not
allowing the defense to enter some allegedly exculpatory items into
evidence and the rumored exclusion of certain witnesses, several
refractory sessions in chambers as the attorneys attempted to come to
an agreement on the jury instructions, and an outright refusal to
help jurors when they called for instruction, trying to understand
the basic nature of the charge and what must be proven to find
innocence or guilt. Namely, the definition of criminally negligent
behavior. This is not to mention his outright refusal to grant a
defense motion for a change of venue in the first place – wouldn't
even talk about it – and a total disregard for the merits of the
case for his recusal vis a vis his allegedly prejudicial behavior.
Penalties
include anything from a private admonishment or reprimand, a public
version of the same, or outright removal from the bench if the
commission is able to pinpoint prejudicial behavior on the part of
the judge.
One
is reminded of General Sam Houston's admonishment of his troops'
exuberant behavior at the Battle of San Jacinto. They continued to
slaughter Mexican dragoons, even though the enemy had assumed a
position on their knees, trying to surrender, screaming “Me no
Alamo; me no Goliad.”
That's
murder, the General kept shouting at them, riding back and forth
along the skirmish line on his horse. That's a war crime. What in the
world is wrong with y'all?
Finally,
he gave up and shouted, “Gentlemen, I admire your enthusiasm, but I
deplore your manners.”
And
it's all about getting arrested for doing something that's not really
illegal, namely, walking down the road with a loaded rifle or
shotgun, taking a look over the fields.
Hoo,
wah.
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