Bobby Mims

Bobby Mims is a criminal defense lawyer in Tyler, Texas. He graduated from the University of Texas in 1974 with a BA, from South Texas College of Law in 1977 with a JD, and attended the Harvard Business School in 1979. He served with the 25th Infantry Division in Vietnam before college. He was in corporate management until 1990. He is a partner in the Boren & Mims, PLLC, law firm dedicated to defending the citizen accused. He is a past president of TCDLA. He can be reached at or (903) 595-2169.

Blue Matters Matter

By now, we all should know that the Texas Code of Criminal Procedure Article 39.14 requires the prosecutor to disclose to the defense the criminal histories of its witnesses. This disclosure often matters to defense counsel if the alleged victim is a “no-good SOB” who might have had coming what our client allegedly gave. However, what about those police officers that the prosecutor will parade into the courtroom wearing “just-so” pressed uniforms, pistols, and shiny badges? These officers would not have criminal histories, would they? Are there no skeletons in their closets? If they did, then they would not have those “Batman” utility belts, precise creased polyester pants, fresh “high-and-tight” haircuts, nor take on “Napoleonic” temperaments, now would they?

Well, that police officer might not have a criminal history (because he would never think of driving drunk), but if he has been a cop for any appreciable amount of time, you could bet that house your ex-wife lives in that he has been “in the barrel” with internal affairs or has received the Garrity Warning 1 2at least once in his career. Many criminal defense attorneys who represent police officers find that cops get into trouble about as often as other clients. They just get into a different kind of trouble. At trial, their trouble is potentially as useful to the defendant as impeachment evidence as are the prior convictions of the prosecutor’s testifying “snitch.”

A Brief History of Police Union Lobbying

In the mid-70s, a group of police officers bolted from the Texas Municipal Police Association (“TMPA”) to form the Combined Law Enforcement Associations of Texas (whose acronym is “CLEAT”).  CLEAT members believed that the TMPA was not aggressive enough in protecting cops from “management,” i.e., government and civilian oversight. CLEAT membership was concerned with matters regarding the discipline of law enforcement officers.

CLEAT soon got busy lobbying, and in 1987, Chapter 143 of the Texas Local Government Code as it exists became the law in Texas. Chapter 143 is essentially “legislated unionization” for municipal police and fire departments in municipalities where the electorate has voted to enact it. Those municipalities that enact it are called 143 Civil Service Municipalities (“143 Municipalities”) in the context of police and fire departments. Dallas, Fort Worth, Houston, San Antonio, Austin, Beaumont, Port Arthur, Orange, El Paso, Lubbock, Amarillo, and Tyler are 143 Municipalities. Chapter 143 can apply to any municipality with a population of 10,000 or more, which votes to enact it for their departments.

CLEAT still lobbies and negotiates generous collective bargaining agreements for its membership. CLEAT takes pride in being much more radical and aggressive than TMPA.3

Discipline That Is Not Discipline4

What, you may ask, does Chapter 143 do, exactly? It imposes rules and regulations upon the operation, maintenance, and management of a municipality’s police and fire departments, including classification and appointment (Subchapter B), compensation (Subchapter C), disciplinary actions (Subchapter D), leaves (Subchapter E), and several other administrative “odds and ends.”

Included in “odds and ends,” found in Subchapter F, is §143.089, which governs the maintenance of personnel files. Section 143.089(a) states that officer personnel files are subject to public disclosure. It describes what a personnel file must contain, including any record of the past discipline of an officer. Section 143.089(g) provides for a separate personnel file that a department chief may maintain, which, according to the statute, is not subject to disclosure to the public. This file is euphemistically called the “G-file.” The contents of a G-file must include, inter alia, any records of verbal and written reprimands, i.e., discipline for policy violations.

So, let us consider Subchapter D and see how it defines discipline. Section 143.051 begins by defining discipline within the context of “[r]emoval or [s]uspension.” Section 143.052 describes the manner and method by which a department head (chief of police) may suspend without pay (including an indefinite suspension, which is the same as a termination) an officer for disciplinary reasons. Section 143.054 describes the manner and method by which a department head may demote, for disciplinary purposes, an officer. Note a similarity here? Hint: each involves a financial penalty to the officer in question.

Underlying the legal bases for a suspension without pay or a demotion assumes that the officer in question has been found culpable for transgressing one of the 12 enumerated “no-noes’” in §143.051. Section 143.051 includes such things as convictions for felonies and misdemeanors, incompetency, neglect of duty, discourtesy to the public (seriously!), acts showing a lack of good moral character (we’re not making that one up), off-duty intoxication, neglecting to pay one’s debts, being AWOL, shirking duty and cowardice. The “term of art” in most departments is a finding of “Sustained” for an alleged violation found to be “True.” It is possible, legally, theoretically, and practically speaking, for the charge against an officer of §143.051 to be Sustained without that finding leading to a suspension without pay or a demotion. Because of the progressive (not liberal but incremental) disciplinary policies that most police departments use, it is likely that an officer’s first time “in the barrel” for a Sustained violation will result in some disciplinary action that falls short of a suspension without pay or a demotion. By operation of §143.089, the paper trail that leads from an allegation of an officer’s violation of some part of §143.051, and to a finding of “Sustained” that does not involve a suspension without pay or a demotion will be nowhere in the officer’s personnel file maintained under §143.089(a), which is subject to public disclosure. Instead, these little gems end up in the officer’s G-file, and out of sight from the meddlesome public eye.

Put succinctly, how discipline is treated by Subchapter D is that it excludes disciplinary actions that do not involve an adverse financial impact on a police officer. An officer can be found to have violated a policy, rule, or statute that does not qualify as a discipline under Subchapter D of Chapter 143 because the action does not result in the officer losing pay, an unpaid suspension, or a demotion. Furthermore, records for these incidents are kept from the public by operation of the language of a statute that the legislature enacted because of the lobbying efforts of CLEAT. The upshot is that the form of discipline, whether written or oral reprimand, for a Sustained rule/policy/statutory violation does not count unless a portion of the officer’s pay leaves the public fisc by way of forfeiture of pay or demotion.

Case Law on Our Side

There should be no question but that these records ought to be available to the defense in a Motion for Discovery or by the invocation of the Michael Morton Act. However, prosecutors and attorneys representing Civil Service municipalities routinely get up in arms when a defense attorney files a Motion for Discovery or a Morton Demand seeking these records. Cops and their chiefs are very jealous of the contents of their G-files, and to some degree are so are municipal civil service directors. Thus, even a request for an in-camera inspection of the G-file is met with the rending of clothes and gnashing of teeth along with the filing of a fierce Motion to Quash.

But guess what? Besides Brady v. Maryland, 373 U.S. 83 (1963) and United States v. Bagley, 473 U.S. 667 (1985), there actually exists state case law that supports at least an in-camera review of G-files in criminal cases. Back in the ’70s and ’80s, when Scooby Doo was still a common staple of Saturday morning TV programming, Tex. Code Crim. Proc. Art. 42.12 contained §27, which protected from disclosure any and all records maintained by the Texas Department of Corrections on inmates subject to “parole, release to mandatory supervision, or executive clemency.” In Texas Department of Corrections v. Dalehite, 623 S.W.2d 420 (Tex.Crim.App. 1981), the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals addressed the issue of whether those records covered by §27 were discoverable by the defense in a criminal proceeding. It turns out that they were. Citing Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles v. Miller, 590 S.W.2d 142 (Tex.Crim.App. 1979), the Court reasoned that, while some confidentiality was necessary in order for the Board of Pardons and Paroles to function effectively, the statutory privilege of Tex. Code Crim. Proc. Art. 42.12 §27 had to give way where it stood in the way of the exercise of a constitutional right. 623 S.W.2d at 432. The Court went on to cite United States v. Nixon, 418 U.S. 683 (1974), wherein the United States Supreme Court held that: “The need to develop all relevant facts in the adversary system is both fundamental and comprehensive. The ends of criminal justice would be defeated if judgments were to be founded on a partial or speculative presentation of the facts. The very integrity of the judicial system and public confidence in the system depend on full disclosure of all the facts, within the framework of the rules of evidence. To ensure that justice is done, it is imperative to the function of courts that compulsory process be available for the production of evidence needed either by the prosecution or by the defense.” Thus, did the Supreme Court, as put by the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals, conclude: “that the President’s broad interest in confidentiality would not be vitiated by disclosure of a limited number of conversations preliminarily shown to have some bearing on the pending criminal cases, especially since the production of the materials was for in camera [sic] inspection with all the protection that a district court would be obliged to provide. The assertion of privilege must yield to the demonstrated, specific need for evidence in a pending criminal trial.” 623 S.W.2d at 423. Who knew that “Tricky Dick” would be useful to the Texas criminal defense bar in the Year of our Lord 2020?

Defense Lawyers Need to Seek the G-File

The writers suggest that where police officers have been listed as witnesses in a criminal trial, which is practically in every trial, that a Morton Demand, a Motion for Discovery of State Witnesses Personnel Files and/or a Subpoena Duces Tecum seeking the G-File should be considered by counsel. The G-File will probably contain information beneficial to defense counsel in trial preparation and cross-examination. The attitude of virtually all Judges is probably that the G-File is exempt from disclosure. However, if the criminal defense bar moves forward in this area to educate the Judges of the relevance of this material, that they should assume their duties to provide a fair trial under the law and the Constitution, then we may see the dam break and at least have the files more often reviewed in camera. If so, then we could expect that the salutary effect would be that officers would be more careful in their actions, the public might become more trusting of the system when bad officers are exposed. The benefit gained by exposing bad officers who shuttle around to various police departments might be realized.

Legislature Needs to Act

The national social conversation and political movements are likely to result in some remedial legislation. Considering the recent events in our country that highlight the need for police reform and more oversight of how law enforcement conducts and polices itself, it is time that the veil of secrecy that shrouds the contents of G-files to be reviewed in Austin by the legislature. Amending §143.089 mandating that any record in a G-file that could impeach a testifying police officer in a criminal trial be turned over to defense counsel is a step in the right direction.

So, it seems, that blue matters really do matter!

Motion and Brief for Discovery of State’s Witnesses’ Personnel Files

My Welcome Home From Vietnam: Back in the World in One Piece

My ears popped, and the tires screeched as the TransTexas Airways DC-3 touched down at the Airport in Tyler. The stewardess had avoided eye contact, and the other passengers looked away from me. The short flight from Dallas was a replay of the plane ride from San Francisco. It was strange that no one would look at me, and the stewardesses were not friendly. 

Seventy-two hours earlier, I climbed into a chopper in Cu Chi with my orders to go home. Seventy-two hours before that, I was pulling my final patrol with my platoon. The old loud rattling DC-3 reversed props and braked to make the first turn in to the terminal. It seemed like another world from where I’d just left. I had left this same terminal 2 years before with my induction notice and kissed my mom goodbye, tears in her eyes. I was a 18-year-old kid from one of the poorest families in the county and was scared because the war was all over the news. 

 

I had been born in Houston because my mother needed to get away: I was going to come a little early to suit the folks in the community. She ran away with my dad, who was barely 20 years old himself. He had dropped out of school, lied about his age, and joined the Navy at age 15. He was just out of the Navy after serving in the last two years of the Pacific war against Japan. He was the last of a long line of men in my family that had served in the military back to the Revolutionary War. Military service was a duty and rite of passage into manhood. Military service was honorable and expected of every male in my family. 

I was drafted in 1969 as the Vietnam War raged. The Tet Offensive of 1968 was fresh in memories, and every week, 200 or 300 GIs were KIA. Already our hometown had lost 5 men. One man was a fighter pilot shot down and missing over North Vietnam. The draft was what was on everyone’s mind. You could avoid the draft if you had money, if you had parents had a friend on the draft board, had a bad knee, defecated in your pants, had poor eyesight, or if you went to college. Married men with kids got deferments. Soon the draft board eliminated that exemption. They were drafting everyone who could not get a deferment. For me, there was never a question of avoiding the draft or going to Canada like so many were doing during that time. The men in my family served the country. We were patriots. 

The pilot announced that the temperature was 90 degrees, the time was 10:15 a.m. It was Friday in October 1970. He told us that we were in Tyler, Texas, but to keep our seat belts on until we reached the terminal. Two weeks before, I had been sitting in the open door of an Army chopper flying at 5,000 feet—with my boots on the skids, full field pack, an M-16—and no one warned me to put on a seat belt. The stewardess opened the door and thanked everyone for choosing TransTexas. Everyone except me. She was older than me, attractive, especially since I had not been around women for months. However, I was married, anxious to get to my wife as soon as possible. There were no baggage carousels back then. The baggage handler just sat your luggage out by the plane, you picked it up, and walked out.

So I shouldered my duffle bag and looked up at the crystal clear blue sky. The air was fresh and smelled of pine needles and freedom. There was a flock of crows cawing and sparrows chased them away. I saw squirrels in trees scampering around, making ready for the winter. I even saw a flock of geese high up in the sky in the V formation heading south for the winter. October is beautiful in East Texas. As I breathed in deeply, I pleasantly realized something was missing. There was no odor of the dank, dirty smell of rice paddies full of buffalo dung that infiltrated into everything in Vietnam. Instead, it was the smell of East Texas. I was glad to be home. I had plans.

Two years earlier, I was just another 145-pound poor kid from East Texas with an order to appear for induction into the armed services of the United States of America. I was barely 5΄8΄΄and skinny as a river-bottom reed. In the Army, I had grown to 6΄1΄΄and weighed 195 pounds. Interestingly, my feet did not grow. My boot size never changed. Back then, I had stepped forward and took the oath to defend America from all enemies, foreign and domestic, with the full knowledge that I was going to Vietnam. Despite a year of “humping” in Vietnam jungles, burning off leeches with borrowed cigarettes, enduring moments of terror, suffocating heat, or shivering in the freezing cold monsoons, I felt strong. On that day, and in that place, I wore a full dress U.S. Army uniform with the 25thInfantry Division patch on my left shoulder and my ribbons earned in Vietnam; my shoes were spit-shined, my gig line was perfect. I was in excellent physical condition. I felt that I had earned the rights of manhood. I was confident and proud. I had made it out alive, and I was exhilarated.

I got in line with the other passengers. They were chatting with each other, and some knew each other. Some had wives or friends meeting them. They were all civilians. Not one tried to speak to me or acknowledge me. It was strange. I did not care since the only thing on my mind was to get home and find my wife. We got married before I Ieft for Vietnam. I had only seen her for a brief R&R in Hawaii. We had been apart more than together. I wondered if it would be the same as before. My duffle bag had everything I owned in the world, so I just slung it over my shoulder and walked out of the airport. I noticed some of the cars that were picking up passengers, loading and driving out of the airport. It was only about a half-mile from the terminal out to Highway 64 and then another 60 miles to my hometown. It would be no sweat since I could hitchhike all the way home. I was sure that all I had to do was stand on the highway and thumb my way back. I did not think much when the cars leaving the airport passed me up. Surely when I got to the highway, I would catch a ride. 

I wondered what my buddies were doing at the time. I recalled the nights that we sat on the ambush patrol. They were probably in the bush again, setting up the claymores, the tripwires, and getting the flares ready. These were the best guys in the world, and we all swore we would meet up back in “the world,” buy Harleys and ride all over the USA. I found out a few days later that they had been ambushed and taken casualties. Donnie, a kid from Kermit, Texas, was KIA, and several of my guys were wounded and had to be medivacked out to the 12thEvac Field Hospital at Cu Chi. But on that day, I did not know that yet, and so I looked forward to getting my wife and going back to reclaim the job I had before I was drafted. 

Highway 64 is a busy highway linking Tyler to Dallas. Tyler, in 1970, was not large but was the largest city in East Texas. On that morning, the traffic in both directions was reasonably heavy. Pickups, big rigs, passenger cars, and farm vehicles headed east in a hurry to get to wherever they were going. I sat my duffle bag down and stuck out my thumb. This hitchhiking was going to be easy. Eighteen months ago, I had hitchhiked 600 miles to make it to my sister’s wedding and only needed three rides. I never waited more than a minute or two before someone would pick me up. A GI had no problem getting rides in early 1969. 

I was wrong. Car after car after car passed me up without even slowing down. Trucks, big rigs, a farm truck with a load of hay just passed me up. The thumb wasn’t working. It is about six miles to the loop that I needed to get to from the airport. I started walking. I would occasionally take a chance and try to thumb a ride, but no one stopped. This was not going to be the easy trip I thought. I walked and walked and walked the six miles to the loop.

I was in good shape, but after about an hour of walking, I was getting angry and confused. What was the problem? I did not understand that the country had changed. Here I was a 20-year-old kid just back from Vietnam and could not get a ride. Here I was in East Texas, and these people are good people who love the country and the troops. Yet I could not get a ride. I finally made it to the loop, and the sun was now high in the sky, the temperature climbing. But I was used to the heat. I did not unbutton my uniform since I did not want to dishonor it by becoming sloppy despite the heat. I had started to continue around the loop. The loop around Tyler in 1970 was all rural and pasture land. There were no stores, no houses, no businesses. 

I finally gave up trying to catch a ride and resolved to hump all the way home if that is what it took. I might be able to find a phone and make a collect call home and see if someone would come and pick me up. I had stopped even turning around and looking at the oncoming traffic. After a few minutes, over my shoulder, I heard the sound of a car coming at a very high speed. It was different than the others as this car was traveling fast, loud, and hard. He sped by me without slowing down. The wind blast and dust nearly blew me off the shoulder. It was a shiny black 1970 Chevelle SS 396 with only the driver inside. The car suddenly hit the brakes hard and skidded to a stop, leaving rubber and smoke all over the pavement. The driver put it in reverse and gunned it back to me with the engine at full throttle. I wondered what this was all about, but at least someone had stopped. 

“Where you going, troop?” the driver asked.

I told him that I had just got in from Vietnam was trying to get home to see my wife. He told me to get in and that he would take me. I told him that it was at least 60 miles. He said: “I don’t give a fuck. I’ll take you as far as this thing will go, or we run out of gas first.” 

He asked me what unit I was in, and I told him that I had just been discharged out of Vietnam with the 25thInfantry Division in Cu Chi and Tay Ninh. He said, “Well, son, you need to salute me since I am a first fuckin’ arty lieutenant with the Big Red One.”

I said, “No problem, sir!” giving him my best dress salute.

He then said, “I order you to get into this fuckin’ vehicle and tell me where we’re a-goin’.”

I got in, and he said, “Son, If you’d saluted me in the Nam, I’d have either shot your ass or busted you back to E-1 or both.”

 I said: “I know, sir. We don’t salute in the Nam.” 

He revved up the engine, popped the clutch, and burned out, fish-tailing all over the road, and the first thing we were over 100 mph. This guy was crazy, but I loved it. He told me that he had got shot up bad at a FireBase that had nearly been overrun by the VC during Tet. He explained that he was on a convalescent leave out of Fort Sill. He had just bought the SS 396 and paid cash from the money he had saved. He was on his way to New Orleans to party, get high, and get laid. He asked if I wanted to go with him. He said he had plenty of money and would pay for everything. I told him that I had a wife, but that I appreciated the offer. He laughed, shifted gears again, and floored it. I think he got smoke and rubber in 3rdgear. This lieutenant was probably only 23 or 24 years old. I never asked. To me, he was an old guy who outranked me, so I just went along with whatever he wanted to do so long as he got me closer to home and my wife. 

We swapped some war stories, and before I knew it, we’d gone the 60 miles. We stopped at the courthouse square in the middle of the afternoon. Before I got out, he turned to me and said: “Son, this country has changed. Some people are not going to like you. That uniform you’re wearing there is going to get you in trouble. I advise shuckin’ that military garb as soon as you can. Get you some civvies, and don’t tell anyone that you’ve been to the ‘Nam.’ I’m just sayin’ it to give you some free advice. You are not going to be treated the same as before. You are damaged goods, and people are going to be afraid of you.”

I asked him, “Why do you say that?”

“Trust me!” he replied.

I got out and gave him a salute, which he returned. He burnt out, leaving smoke and rubber all over the downtown street. The townspeople on the square looked up in surprise as this mystery SS 396 roared out of town and this strange GI suddenly appeared in their midst. I never got his name, but I will always remember this first lieutenant as the only person who stopped to pick up a GI who needed a ride. 

Postscript

This mysterious lieutenant was correct warning me about how I would be treated as a Vietnam veteran. These stories about being spat upon or being called “baby killer” never happened to me. It seemed that we were to be ignored, unseen, damaged, crazy, unstable, and unreliable. I had been drafted from a job with a major oil company. When I presented myself to reclaim my job, I was told that they no longer had a job for me.

One of my buddies in my platoon was 25 years old and had a law degree from Ohio State University. He had been drafted but refused to accept a direct commission as an officer. I was always impressed with how he was always able to use his wit and education to quote Army regulations to any offending NCO. I did not intend to be ignored any longer and insisted that I be given my job back. I said something about the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Civil Relief Act. I was grudgingly hired in the lowest pay  grade the company had. I then went back to visit with my old boss, who was a WWII vet, and told him that I was ready for work. He told me that he was glad that I was back in “one piece.” 

As we talked, one of the engineers came into his office and interrupted our conversation. He looked at me and said, “Hey Bobby, I haven’t seen you in a while. where have you been?”

I replied, “Well, Jim, I’ve been to Vietnam.”

Without so much as an acknowledgment, he turned as if I wasn’t there and ignored me—and never spoke to me again. That one encounter was indicative of how I felt the people back home treated us. It was like a lightning strike and a lesson. 

From then on, I never told another person that I was a Vietnam veteran or even that I had served. In those days, it was a stigma. You were never going to be promoted nor even given a chance in corporate America. While we were serving our country in the jungles of Vietnam, there were those who dodged the draft and stayed home, earning good salaries, getting promoted, marrying, having children, buying homes, and living the American Dream. Then they self-protected each other as they rose in the corporate ranks. If you couldn’t find a way to dodge the draft then you were considered a “sucker.” I have often wondered if there was any small element of shame or embarrassment with these people. 

Because of my lawyer buddy, I had a dream of going to law school and becoming a lawyer. I applied to every law school in Texas, but each, except one, rejected me despite having a good LSAT score and good undergraduate grades. I cannot say they did so because of my military background, but it sure felt that way. I got a call from South Texas College of Law, and they said that Dean Garland Walker was holding 20 spots open for veterans, and that I was being considered for admission. I met personally with Dean Walker, also a WWII veteran, and he advised that he was going to take a chance with a class of Vietnam vets, and that he hoped that I would not disappoint him. That class of veterans was outstanding, and today some of these lawyers are leaders in the bar and in their communities all over the nation. 

It is only very recently I have felt comfortable discussing my Vietnam service. The country has changed, and though the gratitude is late coming, it is appreciated. My son bought me a Vietnam veteran hat recently and has encouraged me to wear it. I have not so far but might soon. 

Now, 50 years later, with most of my career behind me, I am so thankful that I served my country, that I became a criminal defense attorney, that I practiced in the courts of the greatest nation on earth. I am blessed that I have made such close friends and colleagues in the Texas Criminal Defense Lawyers Association and the Harris County Criminal Lawyers Association. If I have accomplished anything in this life, I am most proud to be a criminal defense attorney with brothers and sisters who fight every day for freedom and justice. 

Finally, not one thing that I did in Vietnam compares to what criminal defense lawyers do every day to defend the Constitution of the United States of America. So, be proud of what you do because your country, your state, and your community need you. 

No other institution stands against the overwhelming power of the Government on behalf of freedom except the criminal defense lawyer.

TCDLA Affiliate and Rural Practice Committees

Mission Statement of the TCDLA Affiliate Committee

by Bobby Mims

“The Affiliate Criminal Defense Bar Committee seeks to promote the establishment of local county and/or city crimi­nal defense bar associations in order to promote the mission of TCDLA at the grassroots level. This committee will also advise and assist members who seek to form and/or strengthen their organizations by providing pro forma bylaws and organization materials. Additionally, this committee will work with the Criminal Defense Lawyers Project Committee to coordinate criminal law seminars held in all areas of the state in conjunction with TCDLA affiliates which are seeking to stimulate growth of the local organizations and thereby growth to TCDLA. The Committee will advise the officers and staff of TCDLA on methods to establish clear lines of communication between TCDLA and local affiliate organizations in order to ensure that the state organization is cognizant and responsive to the concerns of the local membership.”

Committee:

Mimi Coffey, Sharon Curtis, Harold Danford, John Gilmore, James Granberry, Deandra Grant, Bobby Mims, Doug Murphy, Katherine Scardino, Gary Thomas, and Christopher Tritico

Activities:

Presently TCDLA has 32 affiliates associations. Presently TCDLA members are organizing new affiliates in Corpus Christi and Texarkana. The existing organization in Corpus Christi appears to have been subsumed by the Nueces County Bar Association and has ceased to function as solely a criminal defense association, and meetings are attended by civil attorneys, prosecutors, and judges. Recently, two members advised that they were disenchanted and stated that “TCDLA does nothing for the lawyers in the Coastal Bend.” Joe Martinez has forwarded copies of bylaws to one of our members in Corpus. The Trail Tactics: The Art of War seminar was held on August 26, 2011, in Corpus Christi. This is a huge geographical area with a large population presently under-served by TCDLA. Re-establishment of an affiliate in Corpus and the Coastal Bend is a priority of this committee.

Charles Pelowski of Texarkana has volunteered to start an affiliate in Texarkana as the Bowie County Criminal Defense Lawyers Association. We have never had a significant presence in Texarkana other than our members, and this area is another demographic that is under-served by TCDLA. There are good opportunities to add membership if we can establish an active and effective affiliate in Texarkana. Charlie Pelowski is one of our brightest young members and is presently with the Bowie County Public Defender’s Office in Texarkana. We may add members who are licensed in Arkansas as well as Texas. If we plan a seminar in that area, we may even be able to have CLE approved by the Arkansas State Bar and attract participants that would otherwise not be available and realize revenues generated from out-of-state sources.

The committee asks for input from the membership on other areas that need attention, and we are looking for opportunities to expand the service to all members wherever they are located in Texas.

Report of the Rural Practice Committee

by Theodore A. (Tip) Hargrove III

El Presidente created a new committee called Rural Practice, and we are glad he did! Criminal defense for those of us who live and/or work in Hooterville can be quite different than that seen by our brothers and sisters in the city. Example: A defense lawyer in a small rural county wants a bench trial on a misdemeanor domestic assault case. The county judge is not a lawyer. The defense counsel and the prosecutor, who are on a first-name basis, go see the county judge with whom both are on a first-name basis. The county judge is friends with the defendant’s family and wants to recuse himself. The three of them talk about it for a while and agree that the defense at­tor­ney can draft for the county judge a letter to the dis­trict administrative judge asking for someone to be appointed. Defense counsel and the prosecutor agree on a couple of choices and off the letter goes. Can you folks in Gotham City imagine doing such a thing? Probably not, but those facts—and they are facts—illustrate many of the things that we are discovering about rural practice.

Shortly before Rusty, the Rural Practice Committee sent out a questionnaire to any and all who classified themselves as rural practitioners. The results are interesting. The first thing we discovered is that rural practitioners don’t like to fill out questionnaires! Some of what we have to report here is based on a spotty response so take all this with a grain of salt.

First, there appears to be more male rural practitioners than female, and usually at or past middle age. The percentage that are board certified is rather low. That is likely a function of economics. Very few rural practitioners indicated that they could survive on criminal defense work alone. The vast majority handle family, real estate, probate, and various other areas of civil prac­tice. A fair number of responders even indicated that they represented the local bank or credit union. Virtually everyone handles family law cases in addition to criminal defense. With a few exceptions, rural practitioners have a large number of appointed cases each year. There was only one person who practiced in an area where it was possible to opt out of appointed work. Most indicated that they were not allowed to opt out if they accepted criminal cases for pay. This is quite a contrast to urban areas where attorneys compete for appointed clients. In the rural areas many are overwhelmed by appointments and wish they had fewer. One responder indicated that he had averaged 72 appointed cases for 10 years in a row. That same practitioner reported that one third of his total criminal and civil case load was appointed criminal while one ninth of his income was from appointed criminal.

That leads to the next area of questions which, concern whether or not the rural practitioner felt that the fee paid for appointed criminal cases was fair. Most indicated that “fair” was the wrong word. Few believed the fee received was fair, but most indicated they could live with it. Most also indicated that they had little trouble actually getting the judge to sign an order for payment; that is probably related to the fact that most rural practitioners know their judges on a first-name basis.

The average rural practitioner sees the same judges and same prosecutors every day. Most are on friendly terms with the judge and prosecutor. Only a few growled that they could not get along with the judge and/or pros­e­cutor with no explanation as to why. Very few responders indicated they ever had to take punitive action against the judge or prosecutor, and very few in­di­cated any experience with the grievance committee. That probably means problems are handled internally on a face-to-face basis behind closed doors rather than within the formal disciplinary process.

Virtually every responder indicated the computer was essential to their practice. Most used some form of ad­ver­tising but of a “low key” nature. You just don’t put up a billboard or have a TV ad in Pecos, Texas.

Everyone wanted to collect their fees up front and few ever got it. Most admitted they had to work on a pay-out basis, and many times were stuck with collecting only a partial fee.

Our responders came from counties from all sizes, with at least one saying he lived in a county of 750,000 people. It seems clear that many of us consider ourselves to be rural practitioners although we live in the city. That means we travel to small counties and do not mind doing so.

When it came to seminars, most wanted those that did not extend beyond two days and were on Friday and/or Saturday. The requested topics were varied but centered on DWI and scientific evidence. We surmised—partly from personal experience—that when you live in the country you drive around with a cold beer in your hand.

The committee was gratified, and TCDLA should be too, with the responses concerning what we were do­ing right or wrong. Most responders indicated that TCDLA was helpful, and that nothing was missing in the way of effort extended by the organization.

Now to what is needed. Everyone wanted to know how to get access to information. While the List Serve was applauded, it was also deemed to be, at times, overwhelming. In addition, it was difficult to anticipate which gems to save and which ones to delete. That leads us to a suggestion or two. The rural practice committee would like to improve access to resources. There is a lot of information out there, but how do we get to it? Here is an example. Frequently, the List Serve refers to a wonderful article in the Harris County Criminal Defense Lawyers Association publication, The Defender. How is a lawyer in Paducah, Texas, going to get that? Perhaps the large-county TCDLA af­filiates could provide for an auxiliary membership for non-locals. I personally have joined the Harris County Criminal Defense Lawyers Association to have access to The Defender although it is unlikely I will ever attend a meeting. We also wonder why we can’t establish not just a brief bank but a memo bank as well. Many times a one-page analysis of a particular sub­ject that should be preserved somewhere will show up on the List Serve. The comments of Michael Mowla and Leonard Martinez are prime examples. We need a place for those things to go so we can find them on an as-needed basis. Fact situations that occur in Dallas or Houston on a daily basis may occur in Marfa only once a year, and while Mr. Mowla responds every time he is asked, he shouldn’t have to do that. Hopefully a better system of gathering and indexing our resources would be a benefit not just to the rural practitioner but to the membership no matter where located.

The Rural Practice Committee will continue to function and gather information on the country lawyers of Texas. Hopefully, the more we know the more we will be able to help. It is good to know that rural prac­ti­tioners like and appreciate our organization. We pledge to continue to strive to do an even better job for our members and TCDLA.