opposed to this on principle, but no. I had spent thirty minutes in the shower and another twenty driving downtown to the federal courthouse trying to figure out the best way to drag religion smack into the middle of a courtroom.
I was just determined to do it without offending the personal beliefs of the judge.
In the parking lot, I called the ChutZpah and reached my mother on the first try.
'What kind of name is Haig?'
'You mean like the general?'
'Yeah.'
'Sounds German, maybe,' she mused. 'I don't know. Why?'
'I was talking religious affiliation.'
'Is that what you think I do?' my mother said. 'Judge people on their last names?'
'Does everything have to be an accusation? I just need to know before
I go into chambers, so that I can tailor what I say to the justice sitting on the case.'
'I thought the whole point of being a judge was being impartial.'
'Right. Just like the whole point of being crowned Miss America is to promote world peace.'
'I can't remember if Alexander Haig is Jewish. I know your father liked him because he supported Israel...'
'Well, even if he is, that doesn't mean that my judge is. Haig isn't quite as easy to figure out as someone named O'Malley or Hershkowitz.'
'Your father once dated a Jewish girl named Barbara O'Malley, for your information,' my mother said.
'Hopefully before he married you...'
'Very funny. I'm just saying that your theory isn't airtight.'
'Well, you don't meet many Jewish O'Malleys.'
My mother hesitated. 'I think her grandparents had their surname legally changed from Meyer.'
I rolled my eyes. 'I've got to go. No matter what his religion is, no judge likes a lawyer who's late.'
I had received a call from my secretary when I was meeting with
Warden Coyne about Shay's protection in the prison-Judge Haig wanted to see counsel in federal court the very next morning, a mere four days after I'd filed my complaint there. I should have realized things were going to move blisteringly fast. Shay already had an execution date scheduled, so the court had put us on an expedited trial calendar.
As I turned the corner, I saw the AAG from the appellate division,
Gordon Greenleaf, already waiting. I nodded at him, and then felt my cell phone vibrating in my purse with a text message.
GOOGLED HAIG-ROM CATI1. XO MOM
I snapped the phone shut as the clerk arrived to lead us into Judge
Haig's chambers.
The judge had thinning gray hair and a distance-runner's body. I peered at the collar of his shirt, but he was wearing a tie: for all I knew, he might be wearing a crucifix, a star of David, or even a rope of garlic to ward off vampires. 'All right, boys and girls,' he said, 'who can tell us why we're here today?'
'Your Honor,' I answered, 'I'm suing the commissioner of corrections of the State of New Hampshire on behalf of my client, Shay
Bourne.'
'Yes, thank you, Ms. Bloom, I already breathlessly read your complaint from cover to cover. What I meant was that Mr. Bourne's impending execution is already a zoo. Why is the ACLU turning it into a bigger one?'
Gordon Greenleaf cleared his throat. He had always reminded me of
Bozo the Clown, with his tufted red hair and allergies that left his nose red more often than not. 'He's a death row inmate trying to delay the inevitable,
Your Honor.'
'He's not trying to delay anything,' I argued. 'He's just trying to make amends for his sins, and he believes this is the way he needs to die in order to reach salvation. He'd be the first to tell you you can execute him tomorrow, as long as it's by hanging.'
'This is 2008, Ms. Bloom. We execute people by lethal injection.
We're not going back to a more archaic form of execution,' Judge Haig said.
I nodded. 'But, Judge, with all due respect, if the Department of Corrections finds lethal injection impractical, the sentence may be carried out by hanging.'
'The Department of Corrections doesn't have a problem with lethal injection!' Greenleaf said.
'It does when Mr. Bournes First Amendment rights are being violated.
He has the right to practice his religious beliefs, even in a prison setting-up to and including during the moment of his execution.'
'What are you talking about?' Greenleaf exploded. 'No religion insists on organ donation. Just because one individual gets some crazy set of rules into his head to live-or die-by, that doesn't qualify it as a religious belief.'
'Gee, Gordon,' I said. 'Who died and left you God?'
'Counselors, back to your corners,' Judge Haig said. He pursed his lips, deep in thought. 'There are some factual issues here that need to be fleshed out,' he began, 'but the first of these is, Mr. Greenleaf, whether the state will agree to hang Mr. Bourne in lieu of giving him a lethal injection.'
'Absolutely not, Judge. Preparations are already in place for the method of execution that was specified at his sentencing.'
Judge Haig nodded. 'Then we'll set this down for trial. Given the very real deadline we're working under, it will be an expedited hearing.
We're going to pretend that there's no such thing as federal discovery; we're going to pretend that there's no such thing as summary judgment motions-we don't have time for them. Instead, I want witness lists on my desk in a week, and I want you prepared to go straight to trial in two weeks.'
Gordon and I gathered our belongings and stepped outside chambers.
'Do you have any idea how much money the taxpayers of New
Hampshire have spent on that death chamber?'
'Take it up with the governor, Gordon,' I said. 'If the rich towns in
New Hampshire have to pay for public education, maybe the poor towns can cough up the funds for future death row inmates.'
He folded his arms. 'What's the ACLU's game here, Maggie? You can't get the death penalty declared unconstitutional, so you use religion as a fallback position?'
I smiled at him. 'You do if it helps you get the death penalty declared unconstitutional. See you in two weeks, Gordon,' I said, and I walked off, leaving him staring after me.
Three times, I picked up the phone and dialed. Three times, I hung up just as the line connected.
I couldn't do this.
But I had to. I had two weeks to get the facts; and if I was going to fight on Shay's behalf to donate his heart, I needed to understand exactly how this was going to work-and be able to explain that in court.
When the hospital switchboard connected, I asked to speak to Dr.
Gallagher's office. I left my name and number with a secretary, fully anticipating the fact that it would take some time before he returned my call, during which I might actually develop the courage to speak to him. So when the phone rang almost as soon as I put down the receiver, I was shocked to hear his voice. 'Ms. Bloom,' he said. 'What can I do for you?'
'You weren't supposed to call back this fast,' I blurted out.
'Ah, I'm sorry. I really should be less punctual with my patients.'
