How an understanding court clerk saved lawyer with dementia from humiliation
“Even as my dad had many lucid days, I felt as though I was freefalling in preemptive grief and then felt guilty over my childish inability to stay strong for my dad,” wrote Andrew Bloomenthal in a personal essay for the magazine Boston. “I started coming home to Boston a lot more often.” (Image from Shutterstock)
The signs of a retired lawyer’s decline were subtle at first. Sometimes he was at a loss for words. His “dad jokes,” delivered as a volunteer at a Veterans Affairs medical center, started sounding rehearsed. His behavior changed.
A neurologist diagnosed the lawyer with Parkinson’s-related dementia, the lawyer’s son, Andrew Bloomenthal, wrote in a personal essay for the magazine Boston.
“In the weeks that followed, even as my dad had many lucid days, I felt as though I was freefalling in preemptive grief and then felt guilty over my childish inability to stay strong for my dad,” Bloomenthal wrote. “I started coming home to Boston a lot more often.”
On a visit to the family’s summer home, Bloomenthal’s mother woke him in the morning.
“Dad says he’s due in court today,” she said. “He says he’s scheduled for trial, so I’m taking him into Boston.”
Bloomenthal’s mother said she knows that her husband was retired, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer. She didn’t want him to drive himself, so she was going to take him.
Bloomenthal tried telling his father that the courthouse had called to tell him that the case was settled, and there was no trial. Pressed for a name, Bloomenthal could only blurt out “Susan.” He couldn’t come up with a last name.
Bloomenthal joined his mother as she drove his father to court.
“Somewhere in Quincy,” Bloomenthal wrote, “Mom inventoried Dad’s T-shirt and denim shorts—hardly appropriate courtroom attire for the man who once donned three-piece suits and meticulously blew out his helmet of rusty red hair each morning. After veering off the road and pulling into the nearest goodwill thrift store, it took Mom mere minutes to harvest a dress shirt, khaki pants and a perfectly fitting size 38 Pierre Balmain blazer.”
Bloomenthal took his father inside the courthouse as his mother parked the car. As he was surrendering his cellphone to a woman at a desk, Bloomenthal asked whether his father had a case. The answer was no.
Bloomenthal told his father that his case was later in the day, and they should observe the proceedings in a courtroom. Then Bloomenthal excused himself and found a clerk in an administrative office.
Bloomenthal explained his predicament. The clerk, whose father had suffered from a similar problem, developed a plan. Bloomenthal summoned his father.
The clerk greeted Bloomenthal’s father enthusiastically.
“Counsel! It’s great to see you again!” the clerk said. “Counsel, I just wanted to tell you that today’s your lucky day.”
The clerk said he had just spoken with the judge and learned that the case had been resolved in the lawyer’s favor.
“And his honor also told me he’s never seen such airtight pretrial motions in his entire career on the bench!” the clerk said.
Bloomenthal’s father beamed before he started to ask a question.
“An appeal?” the clerk interjected. “Can’t happen. You won. And if I may add, it’s been an honor sharing these halls with you over the years.”
Bloomenthal’s father extended his hand.
“The honor is mine,” he said.
