A cruel and unusual divorce

* EDITOR’S NOTE: The Daily Pilot has agreed to republish The Verdict,

the ever-popular column written for many years by retired Corona Del

Mar jurist and historian Robert Gardner, in exchange for donations to

the Surfrider Foundation. This column was originally published March

26, 1994.

I can recall the days when divorces were called divorces and not

dissolutions. (Is a divorcee now a dissolutionee?)

In those days, before one could secure even a default divorce, it

was necessary to corroborate the testimony of the plaintiff.

So, every morning before starting our regular cases, we judges had

to listen to a few plaintiffs tell their stories of acts of cruelty

on the part of their spouses and then listen to friends or neighbors

corroborate that testimony.

It was silly, but the law demanded it.

Most of the time this sort of thing was boring. But there was one

memorable case. I shall call the parties Smith.

“Smith versus Smith,” I called.

“I will call Mrs. Smith as my first witness,” the attorney

intoned.

He grinned at me and turned his head.

“Mrs. Smith, come forward, please,” he said.

I almost went into shock because petite Mrs. Smith was not. I

don’t mean to be cruel, but if King Kong had needed a mate, central

casting couldn’t have done better than Mrs. Smith. She was gigantic.

She lunged across the courtroom and fitted her large rump into the

witness chair. There she flexed her muscles and glared out at the

world through angry eyes.

I was completely intimidated. I would have granted her a divorce

right then, with or without corroboration.

Her attorney put on his case. Did Mr. Smith drink to excess? Yes.

Did he gamble away the family money? Yes. Did he stay out late at

night? Yes. Was he financially irresponsible? Yes. The litany of

domestic horrors went on.

Usually, when hearing my calendar of default divorces, I was able

to put myself into a state of suspended animation. Friends of mine

received default divorces in my court, and I didn’t even know it. Not

this time.

Mentally, I was in Mr. Smith’s corner on each of the allegations

of what we called “extreme cruelty.”

Then came the clincher.

“Did Mr. Smith ever use physical force on you?” asked the

attorney.

He was one of those careful lawyers who wanted to be sure he had

proved his case.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Smith through gritted teeth.

Mentally, I nominated Mr. Smith for a Congressional Medal of

Honor.

Mrs. Smith then pried herself out of the witness chair and her

lawyer called the necessary corroborating witness, a close neighbor.

She testified that Mr. Smith was a no-good lush, a thoroughly

worthless addition to the Smith household, maybe even to the human

race.

Then came the classic line, one that I had Lecil Slaback, my court

reporter, write up for me and which I treasured for many years.

Attorney: “Are you aware that Mr. Smith once used physical

violence on Mrs. Smith?”

Witness: “Yes.”

Attorney: “Did you actually see the incident?”

Witness: “Well, not exactly. I got there right after Mr. Smith hit

Mrs. Smith and just before they took him to the hospital.”