What do you call a failed attorney? 

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Senator! 

I know the vast majority of lawyers are honest, hardworking and respect their clients but, I’ve seen my fair share of “bad actors.” 

Two decades ago I became a Missouri Supreme Court appointee, selected to hear cases against attorneys for the Office of Chief Disciplinary Counsel (OCDC). I’ve heard over 600 cases mostly brought by irate clients. 

The three-member panel could rule in favor of the attorney, publicly admonish the lawyer, suspend their license or recommend disbarment to the Supreme Court. 

You would not believe some of the predicaments lawyers got themselves in and out of. 

All hearings are open to the public and public record so, I’m not talking out of school.

But as Joe Friday liked to say, “the names have been changed to protect the innocent and to cover my rear.” 

First of all, the arrogance and cockiness a few accused lawyers displayed at hearings was stunning. As if they were perturbed to even be there. How dare the Bar ask them any questions? 

Then there were the extremely nervous defendants, they were used to putting other people on the spot, now the tables were turned. 

To tell you the truth, the attitude of the accused did play a role in our decisions, remorse went a long way, conceit worked the opposite. 

Mr. and Mrs. Slimeball 

At that time in Missouri if you were a lawyer and executor of an estate, you could hire yourself to do legal work for the trust. Kansas has since changed their law, but this ability in Missouri is rife for abuse.

Mr. Slimeball was a partner in a major firm. He not only hired himself but recruited his wife to join in the plundering of an estate. The trust was in the name of a nursing-home-bound 90-year-old lady who was confined to a wheelchair. She could not see or hear and had no descendants. 

One of Slimeball’s most egregious acts came at tax time. The estate received a refund of $90,000 from the IRS. The attorney took that check, endorsed it for the estate, then wrote payable to the IRS, his name and Social Security number on the back. In other words he directly used the trust’s refund check to pay his own personal income tax. 

Two younger partners of Mr. Slimeball were also at the hearing. They slid a check for $660,000 across the table made out to the estate as a conciliatory gesture, trying to keep the firm’s name out of the proceedings. 

Mrs. Slimeball wasn’t much better. She would roll out the wheelchair bound beneficiary for personal shopping sprees. Then once a month the attorney’s wife got 15 to 18 of her Slimeball friends together to join the little old lady at the Bristol on the Plaza for a brunch, all paid for by the estate. 

Both Slimeballs were indignant on the stand, with Mrs Slimeball proclaiming, “I was her only true friend.” 

When the Slimeballs started, the estate had roughly $9 million in assets, now it was down to $3 million. By the time Mr. Slimeball got to his car after the hearing, he could no longer practice law. 

Mr. Scammer 

The Smiths had a tough marriage. Mr. Smith wasn’t right. 

After divorcing, Mr. Smith’s bitterness and resentment towards his ex-wife hit a horrifying level. Picking up their two children for his weekend, they never returned. You have to be severely mentally ill to murder your own children, but that’s what happened. 

The community and normal people everywhere were sickened and wanted to do something in the memory of those kids. 

Mrs Smith’s divorce lawyer started a fund to build a public playground in the children's name. Quickly $500,000 was raised and the project was a go. 

Mr. Scammer said, “I gave the money to my wife to invest.”

Mr. Scammer’s wife contends she gave the money to a friend of a friend.

“He swindled us and we lost all the money!” 

At the hearing, the mother of the children walked in with two large buttons with the faces of her late children pinned to her blouse.

She was very pleasant, but on the stand she asked her old attorney, “how could you?”

That’s what we wanted to know.

Mr. Scammer was defiant, playing the victim card, blaming a tall Italian guy he never met and they now could not find. Our hearing concerned the lawyer's action, not the crime itself. Last I heard the heartless Italian got away with it. 

The community was outraged. The city moved forward in building a new playground commemerating the children. 

We had seen Mr. Scammer before facing other enraged clients. We called his type "frequent flyers.”

The legal establishment had seen enough of this jerk. He lost his license to practice law that day and moved out of town. I hope he’s cleaning out septic tanks somewhere. 

In several cases the clients just wanted someone to hear their story, many guilty attorneys took their money and abandoned the client, leaving broken promises and shattered dreams. 

It was my “give back” to hear these cases, allowing the grieving party a place to air their life-altering plight.

No matter what action we took, hopefully, it permitted the injured clients to move on with their lives. 

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Bob Ford’s History will appear in each edition of the Weekender, Midweek and Corner Post. To find more of Bob’s work go to his website bobfordshistory.com and videos on YouTube, TikTok and Clapper.