Pity: Federal Judge W. Arthur Garritty, Jr., Boston 1974

September 1974 marked the start of court-ordered busing for desegregation in Boston, a lively story that lasted for years.

I often wrote the AP roundup for morning newspapers, based on coverage in the Evening Globe and the Herald and an occasional snatch of original reporting—mostly we didn’t have enough people to send someone to cover a trial, even an important one.

I remember one time the Evening Globe had an incomprehensible story based on a late development in the courtroom of Judge W. Arthur Garrity Jr. To my amazement, he listed his number in the phone book.

I called. He didn’t say hello (I imagine he had a lot of crank calls in those days), so I said “Hello, this is Paul Schindler of the AP.” He said he didn’t generally talk to reporters, and I explained that I was trying to understand the Evening Globe story. He went out to the porch, picked up his own copy of the Evening Globe, came back to the phone and helped me through it.

He didn’t add anything, no comments, everything he said was on background, but he tossed the Globe reporter’s word salad in a way I could understand.

Praise: Federal Judge William H. Orrick, Jr., San Francisco, 1985

I was covering the Data General Corp. v. Digidyne Corp. antitrust case for Computer Systems News, I wrote an article highlighting the excellent writing of Federal Judge William H. Orrick, Jr. The controlling case was an antitrust action against a movie studio by a chain of theaters that defined the concept of tying—forcing a customer to buy an inferior product in order to get a desirable one.

 Or, as Judge Orrick put it, “The question before us is: if Data General’s operating system is Gone with the Wind, is its hardware Getting Gertie’s Garter?”

The article appeared on Monday. The next hearing was held on a Wednesday.  I was early for the session, the only reporter present.

Judge Orrick’s clerk came out and asked loudly, “Is Paul Schindler in the court?” I admitted it and was led into chambers. Nervous as I walked in, I feared a trip to the woodshed because of some egregious error. He couldn’t punish me, but he could chew me out, or even toss me out of the courtroom. I sat down.

Orrick said, “Nothing I say here can be published, and you may not ask me any questions about the case. Do you understand?” Since he died 23 years ago, I feel safe in saying I followed all his other requirements.

In front of him was an open copy of that week’s Computer Systems News,my then-employer. It was a controlled-circulation publication, given away but only to people in the computer business. Since I don’t think he was in the computer business, I don’t know how he got it. In any case, seeing the paper turned to my article did not settle my nerves.

The story contained a paragraph in which I complimented him for the Getting Gertie’s Garters analogy. I offered some other examples of good writing as well.

He said “Thank you,” and then was kind enough to say, “I enjoy your writing as well, since you seem to be able to render the issues understandable to your audience.”[1]

There were a dozen reporters from various publications who covered the trial on a regular basis. They arrived as I walked out. Think of the facial expressions of cartoon characters when they are surprised and you have an idea of the reaction of the Fourth Estate.

Best of all, I told them, “I can’t tell you what we talked about,” which had the added charm of being true.

Because of the differential nature of memory (and because most of the other reporters died years ago), I don’t imagine that day was burned into the memory of my colleagues. It was certainly burned into mine

[1] I don’t think he knew who my audience was