Advising Ann Landers

            I have always enjoyed the various advice columns that appear in newspapers and magazines. Ann Landers (Ask Ann Landers) and Abigail Van Buren (Dear Abby), twin sisters, entertained and enlightened their readers long before there was an Internet to provide answers to life's problems.

            In January of 1991, I was in my office at the Courthouse when I received a phone call from a woman (I don't recall her name) who told me she worked for Ann Landers and that she had been referred to me by someone at the Ohio Supreme Court. She asked if I could help with the response to a letter that Ms. Landers had received. I said I would if I could.

            She read me that letter. It seems that a young lady had been dating a married man for several months while he was going through the process of obtaining a divorce somewhere in Ohio. He had reassured her that his intention was to marry her when he was free and able. As the date of his final hearing approached, she had asked him about the possibility of setting a date for their nuptials.

            He told her that he could not marry her as soon as his divorce was final, because he had been advised by his lawyer that Ohio had a year-long "waiting period" after a divorce, during which the newly-divorced parties were not permitted to obtain a marriage license.

            My caller asked, "Is that true?"

            "No," I told her. "In fact, I have knowledge of couples who proceeded immediately from my courtroom where one of them had just been divorced to Probate Court to obtain a license and get married as soon as they could." It sounded to me like a dodge on the part of the boyfriend to avoid his commitment to the letter writer.

            She thanked me for my time and told me to watch Ms. Lander's column for the letter and the response. On January 27, 1991, I read the opened the newspaper and there it was. Was there a waiting period in Ohio? Ann Landers wrote, "No. According to Judge Ron Solove of the Domestic Relations Court Franklin County after a divorce is final there is no waiting period before a person may remarry in Ohio." She went on to suggest that the letter writer consider the sincerity of her male friend.

            Somewhere in the archives of "Ask Ann Landers" rests my brush with advice-to-the-lovelorn fame.

Dressed for Court

            I am constantly dumbfounded by how people dress for a court appearance. Were I about to appear as a litigant in front of a judge or magistrate, I would want to make the best impression possible. To do so, I would include in my strategy an attempt to look at least respectable. I would want the court folks to take me seriously and to feel as though I was treating them with respect.

            I recently heard a discussion of men's fashions through history on NPR. The individual being interviewed suggested that the rule of the day was decreasing formality. He predicted that, within a very few years, the only men wearing neckties on a regular basis would be ministers and lawyers!!

            Personally, I like to be comfortable. Having a silk noose knotted tightly around my neck is not comfortable, and, on most days I wear a sport shirt and perhaps a sweater in the office, unless I am going to court. On days that I am not expecting to see a client (like today), jeans fill the bill.

            I do not suggest that individuals appearing in court need to be "dressed up." However, some of the outfits I have seen are about as "dressed down" as you can get. One of my favorites from my experience on the bench was the defendant who appeared in front of me on a contempt citation for failure to pay his child support. His t-shirt was emblazoned with a drawing of two pigs apparently in the throes of copulation. The caption under the picture: "Makin' Bacon." Very impressive.

            I think that a video recorder placed at the entrance to the Courthouse and operated for an entire day would generate a great deal of entertainment for the viewers, generated by the fashion choices of some of the litigants and witnesses entering the doors. Perhaps the people who produce "Duck Dynasty" or the "People of Wal-Mart" would be interested in converting the video into a regular reality show.

            However, not all people look their worst for court. In particular, I have noticed that some women appear looking very good for their final divorce or dissolution hearings. Sort of a nose-thumbing to the men who are cast aside, or did the casting. One experience, however, really takes the cake.

            I was running through the normal morning docket of uncontested divorces when a couple approached with their lawyers for a final hearing. The woman appeared in what I would call a "little black dress" – nothing fancy, but very nice. However, when I looked at the assortment of lawyers assembled in the back of the courtroom waiting for their cases to be called, I noted a level of whispering and quiet hilarity that was out of the ordinary.

            After I granted their divorce and the parties turned to walk away, the mystery was solved. The dress had virtually no back, exposing the very top of the young woman's gluteal cleft. After she left the courtroom, Harriet, my bailiff, walked up to me and said, "She bought that dress at Frederick's for Court!"           

Phone Call

              In mid-January of 1987, I was in my office at Capital University Law School where I had taught since August, 1973. I was a Full Professor, with tenure, and Associate Dean for Students. I liked my job, but after 14 years I was restless to try something new.

            My secretary hollered (our intercom system was rather rudimentary): "You have a phone call on Line 2. They say it's the Governor's Office. Who knows?"

            I picked up the phone. "Can I help you?" The voice on the other end said, "Professor, this is Governor Dick Celeste. I want to talk to you about a vacancy on the Franklin County Municipal Court bench. I'd like to appoint you, if you want the job."

            I had been involved in Democrat politics in Columbus since 1960, when my buddy, Pete Miller, and I volunteered in the Ohio Democratic Party headquarters stuffing envelopes for the Kennedy for President Campaign. Three years before the Governor called, I had run for a vacant seat on the Franklin County Domestic Relations bench, and had been roundly trounced by the Republican candidate. The idea of becoming a judge was still there, but this call had come out of the blue.

            Peggy Bryant, an outstanding Municipal Court judge had just won election to the Court of Appeals. The vacancy created by her election had to be filled. My friend, Lew Williams, had just been appointed to a vacancy in Domestic Court.

            I thanked the Governor for his confidence in me, but told him that I really was uncertain about the Municipal Court appointment. I told him that I thought Domestic Relations was more in line with my experience. The Governor told me that he had appointed Lew Williams to Domestic Court, with an agreement that Lew would be re-appointed to a General Division seat as soon as one opened up. The resulting vacancy would be mine if I wanted it.

            Thus, on January 29, 1987, I began my 13-week career as a Franklin County Municipal Court Judge.

            Here is the one outstanding event I remember: I was Duty Judge on February 14, Valentine’s Day, 1987. When I got to the duty room at 8:30 a.m., couples were already lined up to get married. That is what I did all day long – married folks, from 8:30 a.m. until 5:00 p.m. I skipped lunch that day.

            On May 12, 1987, I was appointed to the Franklin County Domestic Relations Court. Three or four years later, a couple appeared before me for their Dissolution of Marriage hearing. "You know what," said the wife, "you married us on Valentine Day in 1987!" The circle goes 'round and 'round.