by Alan Sears
Chapter Twenty-Eight
EVER SINCE MIKE Alden’s report on the Madisonians had circulated through the DOJ, John had been working overtime to bring the full weight of the government down on Scott Freeman, Larry Jordan—especially Larry Jordan—and their associates at the Alliance. As Alden had said at the outset, Alliance lawyers and Madisonians were everywhere, especially in D.C. and New York. John was shocked to see how many cases the Alliance had won over the years, how they had dethroned the once-invincible ACLU, and how often they had stymied his own litigators.
To turn the tide, John wanted to launch an all-out campaign to evict them, not just the ones inside the DOJ, but in Congress, the Blaine administration, and the media. He wanted to go after their pro-bono lawyers scattered hither and yon, and he wanted their licenses pulled. He met privately with like-minded colleagues in other agencies and departments to flesh out his plans. His internal PR team began transmitting sensitive tips and news leads to their contacts in the media, to make sure the word got out about what the Alliance had been doing. “By defending religious bigotry,” John said, “these people are undermining the most basic guarantees of a free society.”
THE ORCHESTRATED ATTACK and flurry of new challenges from the government and the press had an immediate impact, and suddenly funding for the Alliance’s legal work became a major concern. Some donors were scared off by rumors in the print and broadcast media that the group’s corporate charter was being challenged, along with a half-dozen allied 501(c)(3) public interest law firms. Donors feared being targeted for their contributions to an organization that was suddenly in DTED’s bulls-eye, with the ACLU and other watchdog groups breathing down their necks.
The Alliance board of directors stood strong under the pressure, but some members who served on the boards of other ministries expressed concern.
Larry Jordan frequently spoke to his boss by phone but had begun to wonder if John Knox Smith had the phone tapped. He preferred to fly to Chicago and meet with Scott Freeman, head of the Alliance. It would be good to share a meal with his mentor and friend, but Larry’s case load kept him rooted in D.C. A phone call would have to do.
“Several groups are facing the same threats we are,” Freeman. “They’re having trouble staying afloat. The costs of litigation, not to mention staff salaries, keep going up, up, up.”
“Contributions are drying up?” Larry sat at the wide but simple maple desk in his office. The window shades were drawn. He had learned in college that he thought better in a darker environment.
“Contributors are getting nervous and there’s a rumor floating around that groups like ours are losing our status as a corporation. I’ve spent the last week sending out e-mails to our largest contributors, pacifying grant providers, praying with some of them, and trying to keep cash flowing.”
“Are you hearing anything back?”
“Everyone thinks it’s an uphill battle and that we’re slipping down the slope.”
“Of course it’s an uphill battle,” Larry sad. “When hasn’t it been uphill?”
“I’m holding telephone conversations with key people around the country. We talk at least once a month. I’m doing a fair amount of teleconferencing.”
“I hate to sound paranoid, Scott, but phone and video links are not all that secure.”
“I’m being careful. Some things have to be handled face-to-face.”
“Well, I’m still handling cases here in D.C. Every day seems to bring a dozen new requests. Truth is, Scott, I need a lot more money and a lot more help.”
Scott Freeman fell silent for a moment, then Larry heard him sigh. “Here’s the real reason I called, Larry. You know the IRS paid us a visit recently.”
“I heard.”
“They took six years’ worth of files. Our books are clean so they won’t find anything to make trouble about. All the money spent on the outside auditors is paying off. Still, it is eating up my time. And—I hate to admit this—I’m going to have to let some of our staff go. We can no longer pay everyone. Some of these people have been with us for twenty years. We are not crushed, Larry, but we have been knocked back on our heels. I can’t give you any more resources.”
Freeman’s words were a body punch to Larry. “I pray for you every day, Scott.”
“And I pray for you. We have not been beaten nor will we give up. I’m prepared to fight until God takes me home.”
“I’m with you, Scott.”
“I know you are. In the end it may be two old birds flapping our wings at what’s going on, but we will be heard. How goes the Preston case?”
“Slow. Much too slow. The man is being punished and he hasn’t been convicted of anything yet. I’m working with Matt Branson, who represents Preston. He’s a good man. Sharp. Dedicated. Money is a problem for him too.”
“Money is always a problem. I’m afraid there isn’t much more we can do financially for the man, not until things turn around. Do you think Branson will stick with the case?”
“I do,” Larry said. “He left his job in the DOJ to take the case. He’s committed. He’s trying to build a private practice while helping his friend. He let it slip that his father is providing financial assistance to keep him off the street.”
“Is he married?”
“He is, and has a young daughter. His wife has taken part-time work to help out.”
Freeman groaned. “I wish we could do more.”
“So do I, Scott.”
TO MATT, PAT’S situation looked impossible except through the eyes of faith. He had been indicted and jailed pending trial; his lawyer had only been given the barest disclosure of facts. Matt couldn’t find out even a fraction of what was going on, and he was getting desperate. The Alliance had given him all the help they could, but with the donor base on the verge of drying up, the resources Scott Freeman and Larry Jordan could offer were of little use. They had other cases to worry about, and Matt couldn’t hope for much more. At least several allied lawyers were doing legal research and writing on a volunteer basis. Pat’s case need all the help it could get.
At the point of Matt’s deepest despair, something amazing happened. A distinguished older gentleman had gone to the federal detention center in Arlington, Virginia, and asked to see Preston. Because of his former stature in the justice system, officials granted him permission to visit Pat in his cell with an officer present. After that short visit, the gentleman placed a call to Matt and asked for a meeting to discuss the structure and strategies of the defense team.
It was an unusual situation. While Matt, Larry, and the small group of Alliance lawyers were doing their best to prepare for trial, they discovered they would have the assistance of a former jurist who not only had substantial personal wealth but also the motivation to help field a proper defense. When Matt put all the pieces together, he concluded it was nothing short of a miracle.
Judge Nestor Holloway was forthcoming about himself. The elderly man was the first federal judge to refuse to wear the sign of equality on his robe. He made no waves with his dissention. He gave no interviews. No one knew why he stepped down. He just retired, and many assumed that given his age, health issues were involved. Matt learned that his decision went deeper.
Matt did his research before meeting with Judge Holloway. According to lawyers who had tried cases before Judge Nestor Holloway, the judge was the kindest, gentlest, most considerate man on any bench, unless you got on his bad side. If an attorney failed to respect the office of a federal judge, he would come to regret it.
Through his fifty-year career, Judge Holloway had relied very little on law clerks. He did most of his own research. He had several library tables in his private office, all of them covered with good, old-fashioned printed books. He read voraciously and was a fountain of legal knowledge, with an encyclopedic grasp of jurisprudence. He had lectured on the history of Western law at George Washington University, and could quote passages from the writings of Livy and Tacitus in English or Latin, the Magna Carta
, the Charter of New England, the Constitution, the Federalist Papers, and dozens of Supreme Court rulings, at great length and with remarkable humor.
Matt thought of Judge Holloway as a brainy Renaissance man who could have been an actor had he been so inclined. He had some interesting habits that amused the young lawyers who visited his chambers. Holloway always had a dozen or more books on his reading table, each marked at the place where he had stopped reading. One attorney Matt interviewed told how he went into the judge’s chambers to argue a point of law with opposing counsel when he noticed several blue stubs protruding from the pages of the books. When Holloway had to step from chambers for a few moments, the lawyer opened one of the books to see what the judge was using as a bookmark. He saw Judge Holloway’s government paycheck. He counted ten uncashed paychecks stuffed into the books on the table and was amazed to know the government still actually issued paper checks.
Another attorney Matt interviewed claimed the judge was so old-fashioned that he loved the look, feel, and smell of books, and had kept a complete set of leather-bound Supreme Court decision casebooks in his study, even though no practicing attorney had used anything but digital resources for case law research in years.
Holloway was Ivy-League educated and had relished his position of influence, but, as he confessed to Matt, he didn’t need the job. Judge Holloway had inherited a substantial fortune. He was a wealthy man before he finished his law degree, but continued his education and the practice of law. With every passing year he became more impatient with government nonsense. He detested the pride and arrogance of the politically correct young law clerks coming to him from all the “hot” schools. The recent order to modify his judicial robes was more than he could take, and he chose retirement at the pinnacle of a long and distinguished career.
“What I’m about to tell you, young man, I’ve never told anyone else.”
Matt and the judge sat in an upscale coffee house a few blocks from Matt’s new, but tiny, D.C. office. The placed buzzed with activity, but soon the hubbub faded behind the words of the elderly man drinking an espresso. Matt didn’t intimidate easily. He had studied under some of the finest, wisest, most experienced professors in America. At the DOJ he labored alongside brilliant attorneys. But just a few minutes with Holloway made Matt feel inferior. Holloway was a legal Titan.
Matt sipped his coffee. So far the meeting had been little more than small talk, but Matt could almost hear the gears in Holloway’s mind turning, meshing, increasing in speed.
“When I retired, I tried my hand at golf and playing cards with friends,” Holloway said. His voice was smooth and even. “It’s all nonsense and a profound waste of time. Three weeks into my retirement I was awash in boredom. Have I told you about my wife?”
The sudden change of subject threw Matt. “No, sir.”
“Betty. That’s her name. The most organized person I’ve ever met. When we first met she was working in a law firm doing filing and organizing official regulations and legal updates. I guess that’s where she became so enamored with organization.”
“It’s not a bad quality, sir.”
“I suppose not. I was in my library a while back searching for something to feed my mind. I came across a series of binders on the shelf. They held newsletters from the Alliance—the people helping you with the Reverend Preston case. It seems my wife has been sending them money for some time.”
“Without your knowledge, sir?”
“Yes, but that’s no problem. She has her own money and she is free to do with it what she wishes. That’s not my point. I began reading the newsletters. She had collected a decade’s worth of them.” He chuckled. “She’s a collector, that one.” He took a sip of the strong coffee. “Anyway, I spent hours reading the material. Of course, it’s illegal to send newsletters like those now.”
“What do you think of the Alliance’s material?”
“It disturbed me greatly. Not because they were writing about such things, but because such things needed to be written about. Do you follow me?”
“Yes, sir. I believe so.”
“I came to see that, as part of the system, I had been involved in the suppression of free speech. I didn’t see it that way at the time, but my thinking has cleared and I’m old enough to look my mistakes square in the eye.”
“Not many men can do that, sir.”
“I’ve never been a religious man, Branson. Never took it seriously, but those articles stirred up something in me. I became curious. I’m still searching, still learning, but one thing I know: It’s time I became more involved in fighting the new injustices. I want to help you and Preston.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir.”
“Understand this: I’m not here to take the case from you. I offer my experience, influence, and money. I assume you could use more money for the case.”
“Yes, sir, we could. The Alliance has been generous but they’ve gone as far as they can.”
“My name still carries a lot of weight in this town. Don’t be afraid to use it. Maybe when this is all over, we will have a little more understanding about the meaning of truth and human dignity.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sure we will.”
Something warmed in Matt. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Hope.
