A Lawyer is not a Luxury

          The title of this blog post comes from the 1963 Supreme Court decision Gideon v. Wainwright establishing a right to counsel for indigent criminal defendants. I like to point to Gideon as one of those cases that shows good things can happen for regular people if we actualize the promises made in the Constitution. However, Gideon’s promise is constantly under threat by the weight of bureaucracy, indifferent or hostile policy makers, and an ever expanding police state. I want to talk about three bits of recent news regarding the right to counsel.

THE GOOD

          I want to start by flagging this Reuter’s article by Nate Raymond about an exciting development at the Supreme Court. Essentially the U.S. Judicial Conference is creating a special office to represent indigent people appealing to the Supreme Court. Arguing at the highest court is a very complicated and specialized endeavor. Most cases with indigent clients get appealed up by a patchwork of private firms or already stressed public defender agencies. This new office should help close the advocacy gap and even the playing field for indigent people.

THE BAD

          This article is about a public defender refusing to take on more cases because their current caseload is so high they cannot ethically represent the cases they already have. It is no secret that public defenders are overwhelmed and with a massive caseload. To give you an idea, a recent study found the average time needed to represent an individual in an adult criminal case competently ranges from 286 hours to 13.5 hours, depending on case type. A lawyer is under an ethical duty to “act with reasonable diligence and promptness in representing a client.”  Which means a workload must be controlled so the lawyer can handle the case competently.

A popular meme account on instagram, publicdefenderproblems, frequently highlights the herculean caseloads public defenders carry.

THE UGLY

          This new article by Ben Polk explores the advocacy crises from the perspective of funding. How much would it cost to hire enough lawyers to give competent representation to every indigent client in the United States? To fully actualize the promise of Gideon? In short, four times the amount we are currently spending. Roughly $28 billion a year.

Three New Coins No. 1

It is no secret that I collect coins. But I also collect exonumia. To clarify, coins are legal tender usually issued by a government. “For all debts public and private.” Exonumia are coin like things that are not legal tender. Think a Chuck-e-cheese game token, challenge coin, or a poker chip. They are only “good for” one thing or in one place. One type of exonumia I collect is coal scrip. Scrip is a special currency issued by coal companies to pay their workers redeemable only at the company store. Like all coins they are tiny pieces of art and history that tell a story. The story of scrip is a story of exploitation, labor, and struggle. Below are a few pieces I picked up recently.

Valley Camp Stores Company scrip.

This piece was good for use at Valley Camp Stores Company. They operated in Ohio County, West Virginia in the the Panhandle coal field. I know they had a company store in Triadelphia, WV, but I also think Valley Camp also operated in Pennsylvania. This is an example of a one cent piece.

The inverse of the Valley Camp Scrip piece. “Payable in merchandise only” “Non transferable”

Panther Coal Company scrip. Panther, West Virginia.

This piece from Panther, West Virginia captivates the imagination. Panther Coal operated in the Williamson Coalfield in the McDowell area. You can see the panther holding a fish in her mouth.

Inverse of the Panther Coal token. “Good for 1.00 in merchandise”

Clover Fork Coal Co. Kitts, KY.

This last piece is my first example of Kentucky scrip. The flower shape really jumped out at me. My guess is the clover shape was meant to evoke the name of the company. Clover Fork Coal Co operated from 1914-1958 in Kitts Kentucky a little bit east of Harlan.

The inverse of the Clover Fork Token. “Good for 25 in merchandise only”

Book Review: The Rural Lawyer

          I finished a great book, The Rural Lawyer: How to Incentivize Rural Law Practice and Help Small Communities Thrive by Hannah Haksgaard. This is a book I would recommend to rural practitioners, policy makers, and people who love rural places.

The Rural Lawyer reminded me of an expression I’ve heard in West Virginia and Kentucky, “in some counties there are only two lawyers, the judge and the prosecutor.” It is no secret that rural communities across the United States are grappling with a severe population decline, brain drain, and the silver tsunami. Rural lawyers do more than address the justice gap by providing legal services, they also help communities thrive. As Haksgaard observes, “without access to legal services, businesses may not form, estate plans may not be written, and communities may wither.”

In her book, Haksgaard takes an unflinching look at the South Dakota Rural Attorney Recruitment Program and the challenges rural America faces attracting and keeping lawyers. The South Dakota program, created in 2013, pairs new lawyers with rural communities and provides participating lawyers with a yearly stipend for a period of five years. This financial support acts as an incentive and support to establish these new lawyers in rural communities. Haksgaard examines the success and shortcomings of the program by speaking directly to program participants and all other people involved in the program. The Rural Lawyer digs deeper than asking, “are these people making money?” But The Rural Lawyer asks, “Are these people making a difference?” “Are they happy?” “Are accepted by the community they’ve chosen to practice law in?”

A big strength of The Rural Lawyer is the very human approach to the data. With a small sample size of thirty-two participants, the author was able to really spend time with these people and see what worked for them and what didn’t work for them. But each story was fascinating. Some participants simply showed up on Main St, hung up a shingle, and started to take criminal appointments. Some participants had support from the community, a senior local lawyer employed them at their law practice and gave them administrative support. My favorite was Dusty Ginsbach, a part time lawyer/ part time oil field worker in a county with 1,178 residents spread over 2,671 square miles. The largest town where he practices has 349 people. The author brings these stories alive and pairs it with data about rural communities.

The big surprise reading this book is how dramatic a change having a new lawyer practice in a town helps so many people. Haksgaard spends a persuasive amount of time on the savings local governments receive by having a lawyer so close. She does a great job of explaining that paying a lawyer to set up shop will save the county money on paying lawyers to travel to your courthouse or city hall to provide services. On the other side of the coin, she also explains the simple fact that these are new tax paying citizens who like to volunteer and do pro bono work. Haksgaard also gives equal shift to criminal and civil practice and the impacts these lawyers have. When you don’t have lawyers to prosecute a case, defend the accused, write up an estate plan, and help transfer property, the costs really add up.

While a well-executed piece of academia endorsing the rural lawyer program, The Rural Lawyer fell short in a way that should be a clarion call to the people who study and love rural communities. There were not enough studies on rural communities and rural lawyers to compare to. Haksgaard faithfully explained the other policy responses, judicare, public defenders, and legal aid. But the big studies used in The Rural Lawyer were from Australia, and understandably, South Dakota. So, any researchers reading this, please talk to rural people in West Virginia and Kentucky. There is a lot we can learn from The Rural Lawyer that would apply to the Appalachian idiom, and Haksgaard does not ignore this, but there simply isn’t enough research on the rural justice gap in these areas to pull from.

The Rural Lawyer resonated with my experience, growing up in West Virginia and practicing law in Kentucky and I think it is a must read for Law School professors running law clinics, public interest lawyers, and bar leaders. The issues the young lawyers face in the South Dakota program are the same issues I and many of my law school cohort faced. How can we practice law in the communities we love, make a living, and have a full life? Rural communities are in crisis. Young people are fleeing their small towns for cities. This is a major problem for West Virginia and Kentucky. That is why I think Haksgaard’s examination of the South Dakota program is so important to read.

Thus, a Blog.

          Hello world. Angelo here. I’ve often described myself on social media as “Generous, profuse, wildly careless, but fully persuaded that he is calculating and prudent. Angelo is attempting to uncover an amoral universe.” The first portion of this phrase comes from a description of a character from a Charles Dickens book. It was either someone in “Bleak House” or “Our Mutual Friend.” The second part, “Angelo is attempting to uncover an amoral universe,” if I remember correctly, comes from my imagination. The principle is to make a stand against a pervasive indifference I find malignant. Thus, a blog.

I have blogged before, an AOL page, livejournal, blogger, and this website. Those pages faded away because they did not bring me joy or life moved me in a different direction. With the endemic nature of the dead internet theory and the soul sucking status of posting I must move forward. I am not interested in a personal brand, only a place to park my thoughts. Thus, a blog.

          For those unfamiliar with me I moved to Owensboro, Kentucky from West Virginia with my spouse and two cats. I like to read, watch movies, play games, run, take pictures of buildings, and collect coins. I am also a lawyer. To quote Deckard Cain, “Stay awhile and listen.”