The Small Things - September 18, 2008

In my twisted world of accomplishment and goal-setting, I set my sights on many odd and perplexing things. While others are content with doing things that are within the norm, I appreciate the baser things. One of the more simple, general acts that are part of the legal system is “service of process.” Movies and television programs have made this act sound exciting and glamorous, when, in fact, it is not a fun deed. There is a reason why there is not a reality show on TV featuring process servers. The system is more simple than saying, “You have just been served.” All that one must do to serve somebody with a legal document, is ascertain the identity of the individual served. After that, the person does not have to accept the papers, open the door, or converse. If the person being served refuses to take the papers, they can simply be dropped on the ground. After that, if the person does not look at the document, it is their problem.

My self-proclaimed “Double Crown” of Service this summer at the Public Defender was the service of an Assistant District Attorney and an Officer of the Law. I completed the Kentucky Derby of service during my time in Downtown Los Angeles. When the opportunity arose to serve the District Attorney, I jumped to volunteer. It was not as amusing as I had hoped, but it was a good experience nonetheless.

However, anybody can win the Kentucky Derby. The other races are what make a winner a champion.

My chance to complete the service duo arose on my last day in Compton Courthouse, which was also my last day of clerking for the summer. I was bored after my five weeks of interviewing over 75 clients, so I decided to watch the high profile trial that was occurring a few floor above me. The case featured two defendants who were allegedly involved in the robbery of a phone valued at less than 100 dollars. The prosecution flew in a witness from Texas (already bringing the cost of the trial over the total loss suffered in the alleged taking). During recesses, another clerk and I had the opportunity to interact with the two defense attorneys, one of whom was a Public Defender. At one point during a recess, the attorneys realized that a key Deputy Sheriff was not going to be called to the stand by the Prosecution to testify. The defense needed him to testify because he was necessary to the defense theories.

Upon this realization, the Attorney’s understood that their only choice was to subpoena the Deputy and that it must be done before the close of the court day. They looked at the other clerk and I, with a glazing ferocity. They looked us up and down. They turned to me and said, “H, how would you feel serving the Sheriff’s Department Watch Commander?”

“That would be perfectly fine,” I replied.

“Are you sure,” they inquired.

I looked at them, with a feeling of excited confidence. “Of course. That would be a good experience.”

“Really,” they said in a tone of disbelief likely resulting from my eagerness.

“Yes, really,” I said. Do not worry about it.

“Ok,” they began. “Good luck.”

I walked away excited to have the opportunity to serve a Sheriff’s Deputy with court documents. I figured that if I could handle (and understand) the service of process of a subpoena of an Officer of the Law, I could handle (and understand) the system. When the elevators doors closed on my way to the floor on which the Public Defender’s office was located, I was hit with a scary realization. I had no idea what to do.

I entered the office, drafted the subpoena and proof of service document, and rushed out of the office towards the elevators. On my way to the elevator, I ran into a Deputy Public Defender with whom I had worked extensively in the prior weeks. We exchanged some small talk. During our conversation, I dropped in the fact that I was on my way to serve a Deputy. At the end of the exchange he stopped me and said, “Did you say you were going to serve a Watch Commander?”

“Uh, yeah,” I responded hesitantly.

“Oh. Good luck.” He said.

I looked at him, with a look of disdain that can only be described as the threshold to utter hesitation about the act I was about to undertake. “Man. People keep saying that. I’m not even excited about this any longer.”

He laughed at me, and answered a few of my questions about the service of process. Satisfied that I actually did know what I was doing, I made my way to the ground floor of the courthouse where and walked towards the Sheriff’s Station.

As I walked through the door, into their office, I kept the subpoena and service papers low, below the desk so they could not see what I was there to do.

I asked the Deputy at the front desk to fetch the watch commander for me. “Who are you,” he asked.

“I am H,” I said.

“Well, Mr. H, is he expecting you?” he said.

“I don’t think he is,” I said, laughing on the inside.

A minute later the Watch Commander walked out. As he walked over, he asked me for my name. I told him who I was (but not where I was from), and followed up by asking for his name. Once he gave me his name, I took out the service of process form, and began writing his name, and filled in other requisite blanks. I turned to him, and began to explain to him what I was there to do.

H: I hate to be the bearer of, uh, bad news, but I need to serve this subpoena on you.

Watch Commander: (Upon taking the document from me) This is not for me.

H: I know, it is for a Deputy.

WC: He is not stationed here, you have to go to his station and serve it there.

H: Actually, you are a Watch Commander for the Sheriff’s Department. As such, I can serve a subpoena for any Deputy on any Watch Commander, including you.

WC: Well, I am not going to accept it.

H: Commander, you do not have to accept it, you know that (Sheriff Deputies are the people who regularly serve documents).

- What is your badge number?

WC: I am not giving it to you.

H: Deputy, if you were not going to give me your badge number, you probably should have covered up your badge.

At that point, I looked at his badge, and wrote down the number. I thanked the Watch Commander for his time. As I walked out, he told me, in a booming voice, “I am not taking the documents.”

I told him that “I am sorry you feel that way.” As I opened the door, I saw the Watch Commander storm off to the back reaches of the office, leaving the papers in a neat stack on the front counter. I walked out.

Service complete.

Let’s just say, it is a good thing I do not live in Los Angeles at the current time. The fury of vengeance knows no bounds to officers.

At least I completed my Double Crown. It was a fantastic way to end my summer clerkship.

While at Compton, I saw a great number of cases (the number of interviews stood at over 75, but I had a part on a great many more while there). The two other clerks and I were able to give great analysis to some of the cases on which we were asked to help. One of these cases featured a police chase, during which both the County Sheriff and local Police took part. The clerk who was assigned the case and I read through the documents and reports at length. We were looking for the missing link, the prized mistake of the case.

While reading through the police reports from both agencies, we came up with a great many theories. However, something did not seem right. We had a feeling the police “stretched the truth” on their reporting of the event. That is to say, something looked untruthful.

When we were near completion, an anomaly occurred to me. The deputy who wrote one report said that he searched the defendant’s vehicle while the other officers with him watched and secured the Defendant.

The police reports from the local police agency stated that they were not on the scene during the search, and that the Sheriff had the Defendant detained.

To the untrained eye, it seems that there is no problem. However, it hit me, very suddenly, that the reports did not support each other. I informed the other clerk that Deputy Sheriffs do not refer to themselves as “officers”, because they are Deputies; likewise, Police Officers are referred to as “officers”. Deputies do not like being called Officer, and Officers are not called Deputies. Therefore, the Sheriff’s report lied where they stated that the Police were on the scene. Something was obviously being covered up.

The other clerk called me crazy, and said he hadn’t before heard of this bifurcation in designation. When the Court Bailiff (A County Deputy Sheriff) walked into the room, I stopped him to ask a question. When I inquired as to how he refers to colleagues in the Sheriff's Department, he responded by saying “Deputy.” When asked how he refers to the local police, he said “Officer.” I pushed the envelope a bit by asking him if he would ever refer to a Deputy as Officer, or an Officer as “Deputy.” He said, never. He included that he will not correct people when they call him officer, but said that there is a definite designation between the two. Game. Set. Match.

It’s the small stuff that counts.