"There is more, and it is the worst punishment. Before he brought this shame on himself, the name Frederick Gideon stood for integrity, honesty. My client was someone who was widely admired. Judge Gideon has disgraced his good name and he may never be able to reclaim his dignity."
Browder was an imposing attorney with wavy gray hair and a dignified bearing. He paused and placed his hand on his client's shoulder. Gideon flinched, as if the touch had burned him.
"The ability to show compassion is essential in a judge," Browder said. "I ask you to show compassion to this man. Please look beyond this single transgression to Fred Gideon's countless good deeds. He is a decent person who made one tragic mistake. Probation is the appropriate sentence for this man."
Browder sat down. Quinn could put off his decision no longer. He looked across his courtroom at the defendant.
"Mr. . . . ," Quinn began. Then he corrected himself. 4'Judge Gideon. Even though you are no longer on the bench, I will address you as a judge because you have served as a judge for a long time. By all accounts, with the exception of the incident that brings you to this sorry pass, you have been a good judge."
Quinn's voice caught in his throat and he was afraid that he might not be able to go on. There was a pitcher of water and an empty glass at his elbow. Quinn filled the glass slowly to give himself time to recover. He sipped the water until he felt his composure return.
"I'm relatively new to the bench. I suspect that's why I was assigned your case. You sat in another county, our contacts have been few. Most of what I know about you I have learned during this sentencing hearing. As I said, I'm new to the bench, but I suspect that I may never have to make a more difficult decision than the one I will make today."
In front of Quinn were notes he had made in his chambers the night before. He consulted them for a moment.
"Judge Gideon, some of the finest people in this state have spoken on your behalf and your lawyer has been eloquent in his plea for leniency, but there is a presence that speaks more eloquently than any of your lawyers or your witnesses. It is this courtroom with its high ceilings, marble floors and walls of dark wood. This courtroom reminds me of the dignity and majesty of the law and it speaks to the duties of a judge."
Gideon's head hung down and he stared at the top of the counsel table.
"We have a code of judicial conduct in Oregon. It forbids judges to commit criminal acts or engage in fraudulent conduct. You would expect that. But it also says that judges have to act honorably not just because fraudulent and criminal acts are forbidden by law but because acting at all times in an honorable way promotes public confidence in our judges and our courts."
Quinn paused. This was as hard as he thought it would be.
"Judge, I know how much you have suffered and will suffer every day of your life. You are a decent man who knows that you have committed a great wrong. When you sold your judicial decision for money, you did far more than simply rob a litigant of a fair hearing. You committed an act that called into question the integrity of the American system of justice. You committed an act that undermined the confidence of our citizens in the judiciary. In effect, you betrayed the people of this state. I know that you understand what you did and I can see how much you are suffering. I want to give you probation, but I would be committing a great wrong myself if I did not sentence you to prison."
Martha Gideon moaned. The defendant was sobbing quietly. His attorney looked as if it were he who would soon be behind bars.
"If you are the person I believe you are, you will know that I am doing the right thing today by sentencing you to the Oregon State Penitentiary for two years. If you are not able to appreciate your sentence, then I have probably been far too lenient."
[2]
Presiding Circuit Court Judge Stanley Sax found Quinn in his chambers shortly after noon. Quinn's secretary was at lunch and his clerk was also gone. An uneaten ham and cheese sandwich and a sealed bag of potato chips lay on Quinn's desk next to an unopened can of Coke in a small space that had been created by pushing aside some of the paperwork in Judge Gideon's case. Quinn was seated in shirtsleeves in front of his untasted food.
Sax sat in a chair across from Quinn without being asked. He was a small, solemn-looking man with a paunch. Except for a fringe of curly black hair that was going gray and a few odd strands on the top of his head, Sax was bald.
"You going to eat those?" Sax asked, pointing at the bag of potato chips. Quinn shook his head and Sax leaned across the desk and grabbed the bag.
"You look down in the dumps," Sax said as he wrestled the bag open.
"It wasn't easy sentencing a fellow judge to prison."
"That's why they pay us the big bucks."
Sax popped a few chips in his mouth. He chewed for a moment. Then he said, "There's something I want you to think about."
Quinn waited while Sax popped some more potato chips into his mouth.
"You gonna drink all of your Coke?" he asked.
Quinn opened the tab. As he handed the can to Sax, he asked, "Do you want my sandwich, too?"
"Thanks, but I ate already." Sax took a swig from the can. "Katherine Rowe is moving over to domestic relations from the homicide rotation. Craig Kittles was supposed to take her place, but it looks like he'll be getting the U. S. magistrate appointment. That leaves me a judge short."
It took Quinn a moment to catch on. In order to develop expertise, the judges in Multnomah County were assigned to rotations where they heard particular types of cases for set periods of time. Judge Rowe was transferring to the panel that dealt only with divorces, adoptions and other family matters. Some judges heard civil or criminal cases exclusively for a year or two. There were three judges who handled only homicide cases. The rotation was for one or two years, based on the judge's preference. Homicide was the most prestigious and demanding rotation and was usually reserved for judges with years of experience.
"You want me to go into the homicide rotation?" Quinn asked incredulously.
"You catch on fast. That's what I like about you. You're also not afraid to do what's right. You need brass balls to handle a death case. Not everyone can drop the hammer. You showed me a lot today."
"I'm flattered, but I've only been sitting as a judge for three years."
"Don't go modest on me, Dick. I've heard Frank Price say that you were giving out legal opinions on your daddy's lap when you were three, and you don't make partner at Price, Winward without getting a little bit of experience along the way. You're smarter than any other judge in this county with the exception of yours truly. Plus, and this is a big plus for someone who's going to deal in matters of life and death, you wanted to be a judge for all the right reasons. You didn't take this job because your practice wasn't going well or for the prestige or the power. I've been watching you. You're Pat Quinn's son, all right."
Sax paused. He ate another chip. While he chewed he looked Quinn in the eye.
"You want it, it's yours."
"How soon do you need to know?"
"Take a day or two to think about it." Sax stood up. "Don't let me down. And stop feeling guilty. If it's any comfort to you, I would have given Gideon the whole five years. So would your dad."
[3]
Francis Xavier Price, the Price in Price, Winward, Lexington, Rice and Quinn, had been a major force in Oregon legal and political circles for almost fifty years. He and Alan Winward had founded the firm in 1945, as soon as they were discharged from the army after serving with distinction in World War II. Both men jumped into the political arena at the same time they were forging their legal careers. Alan Winward became a state representative, a state senator and governor, while Frank Price maneuvered behind the scenes. By the mid-fifties, Roger Lexington, Bill Rice and Patrick Quinn were name partners. By the sixties, the firm had over one hundred attorneys and its political connections and its list of lucrative clients made Price, Winward the most powerful law firm in Oregon.