September 2025 eBulletin Now Available

Dear Fellows:

The courtroom is often a place where we see the heights of human drama and emotion played out. Accountability can be meted out for harm done to others, or perhaps a contested right is finally vindicated. But because the courtroom is a stage, with all of its unscripted twists and turns, it can also be a place rich with humor, whether intended or not. I have taught trial advocacy for several decades, and I always tell the students that once we begin a mock session, no matter what happens, stay in character because there isn’t anything that could happen that couldn’t also happen in a courtroom. Not anything.

All Fellows have a rich supply of courtroom humor. Either they have experienced some hilarious moments themselves, or they have heard stories from other judges or lawyers. I don’t have the raconteur talents of an Andy Coats or a Bob Byman, but after many years of trial practice, including substantial time handling criminal matters in federal court, I do have a story or two to share.

I attended a dinner recently where Fellow and former Georgia Governor Roy Barnes spoke.  Roy can tell a story. That evening, he told a story I’ve often shared myself, though not nearly as well. The thing about lawyer stories is that over time and with the retelling, the details are often lost, but the stories get better. When I joined the U. S. Attorney’s office in Atlanta in the early 1980s, Newell Edenfield was one of our district court judges. Judge Edenfield was an excellent judge, but he was also quite the character. In fact, one of my first cases was before him and involved the murder of a prisoner at the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary. At the time, the pen had a well-deserved reputation for violence. The not-so-funny running joke in the office was that when you went out to interview witnesses at the pen, you and the guards were the only ones who did not have a weapon.

As the story goes, Judge Edenfield was presiding over yet another prison murder case. But this defendant had fallen out with his lawyer and decided to proceed pro se. Dutifully, Judge Edenfield set the matter down for a hearing to determine whether the defendant, Mr. Muhammad, was making a knowing and voluntary decision to go forward without a lawyer. In his distinctive Southern drawl, Judge Edenfield addressed Mr. Muhammad and asked whether he wished to fire his lawyer. Whereupon, Mr. Muhammad stood and said that he did. Mr. Muhammad then announced to Judge Edenfield, “Your honor, Allah is my Counsel!” Judge Edenfield, without missing a beat, responded, “Yessir, but do you want local counsel!” I suspect Mr. Muhammad may still be in prison after trying his own case.

I had another early trial that also arose out of the penitentiary. The case involved two defendants thought to be members of the Aryan Brotherhood. The two had been caught on the roof of the prison after scaling a wall and working their way to the front entrance of the prison. The front of the building actually jutted out beyond the more heavily secured portion of the prison. Had they managed to get down from the front roof, the inmates would then have only needed to make their way to the perimeter fence under cover of darkness, avoiding detection from the guard tower. It was a plausible plan. But fortunately, the tower guard spotted the inmates as they lowered themselves to the ground using knotted bed sheets.

I indicted the two inmates, charging them with attempted escape. Despite the evidence, the two did not want to forego the opportunity for trips down to the courthouse, so they went to trial. One of the defendants was a young man whose arms were heavily covered with tattoos. At every appearance, he wore a green fatigue jacket and dark sunglasses. The defense was insanity. Now mind you, they weren’t breaking INTO the prison; nonetheless, they both offered insanity defenses. One of the defense counsel – a good friend with whom I had gone to law school – called as a witness the forensic psychiatrist who had examined his client. The psychiatrist testified that the defendant was suffering from a mental disease or defect that resulted in his being so divorced from reality that he was not responsible for his actions. The psychiatrist testified that the patient he examined had presented as a young, white male, approximately 30 years old, with full tattoos covering both arms, wearing a green fatigue jacket and dark sunglasses. The doctor explained that the defendant told him that he wore the sunglasses to prevent others from being able to “look into his soul.” Counsel then asked the perfunctory, “Will you please identify for the record the man that you examined.” The doctor peered into the courtroom at length with no response. Sensing disaster, defense counsel walked over and stood behind his client, who was sitting there in a green fatigue jacket, arms full of tattoos, and wearing dark sunglasses. Counsel again asked the psychiatrist to identify the man he had examined.  After some time, the doctor answered that he was unable to identify the man he had examined. This led to various attempts to “refocus” his attention on “the man seated at defense table.” The doctor persisted in his inexplicable inability to identify the defendant.  Defense counsel finally gave up and slumped into his seat. I had the good sense not to cross-examine the good doctor.

I hope you have had a chuckle. Maybe these vignettes have called to mind some humorous courtroom experience of your own. Any seasoned trial lawyer will tell you that courtrooms, despite their typically serious atmosphere and propensity for high drama, can sometimes become places of comic relief because human nature is so unpredictable. Judges, lawyers, witnesses, and even defendants occasionally bring moments of unintended humor through slips of the tongue, misunderstandings, or, as in my prison escape trial, bizarre testimony. Attorneys often exchange witty banter, and judges—especially seasoned ones like Judge Edenfield—sometimes use dry humor to ease tension or maintain control. These occasional moments of levity can sometimes provide a welcome reminder that even in the high-stakes, emotionally charged environment of the courtroom, there is still a very human and sometimes humorous side to justice.

Here’s hoping that a few of you will share a funny story or two with me when we gather to celebrate the 75^th Anniversary of the College!

Richard H. Deane, Jr.
President

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