It was 1973. and Babbie and I were in an apartment in Santa Monica, while I attended my second year of law school. There was a billboard in the hallway at UCLA Law, where notices were posted. I saw one from the City of Ketchikan, Alaska, advertising for a legal intern to work for the City Attorney’s office. It would last six months, from June through December, and the law school would grant academic credit for the quarter I would be gone, if I got hired.
I was going to Alaska, anyway, as soon as I graduated, so this would give me a head start. Plus, instead of paying tuition, I’d make a little bit of money. Babbie was game, so I got hired and she got to see Alaska for the first time.
I was welcomed by the lawyers of Ketchikan, most of whom took a shine to me. Part of my job was as City Prosecutor, and when the city cops made an arrest for drunk driving, I got the case.
I looked over the police report and the guy looked guilty as hell, so I charged him with DUI. He was the President of the Moose Club and hired the most prominent and successful lawyer in town, State Senator Bob Ziegler, a great guy. Bob calls me to get the charge reduced to reckless driving in a plea deal. But I didn’t want a deal. I wanted to go to trial. It would be quite a feather in my cap if I could go back to UCLA to finish law school and have a jury trial under my belt.
Bob explained that all DUI’s in Ketchikan got settled in a plea deal. That’s just the way it was done. I told him I didn’t see any justification for reducing the charge and we were going to trial. It sort of pissed him off, but the fact was that no Ketchikan jury within the living memory of man had ever convicted on a DUI. It was a hard drinking town, on an island with about 15 miles of paved road, and pretty much everybody drove around with a buzz on. Bob’s client had absolutely nothing to worry about.
All the lawyers in town thought this was great. The young hotshot from California was going to get a lesson.
And, of course, I did. After the verdict, the forewoman of the jury leaned over the rail, gave the defendant a hug, and said, “Oh, Paul, I’m so glad you got off.”
But I didn’t make a fool of myself, thanks to gracious treatment by Bob. He could have made me look really bad, but he knew it wasn’t necessary. I have always been grateful for that to Bob Ziegler.
Ten years later I met him again in Juneau, after I got elected to the Senate from South Anchorage. Bob was a blue dog Democrat who was disgusted by the corruption in the Democrat Senate Majority. He didn’t want to be complicit in their betrayal of his values, so he joined the Republican Senate Minority.
Bob was famous for his correspondence with constituents. When one would write to ignorantly criticize something he’d done, he’d send a response, advising the voter that some fool was sending letters to Juneau with their name on it. He’d sign it “Sweet Old Bob.”
One day he comes into my office and shows me a bill he’s carrying. It’s a Joint Resolution, calling on the United States Congress to call an Article V Convention of the States for the purpose of proposing an amendment to the Constitution for fiscal reform. At this time the national debt had just reached $1 trillion, and people thought that was outrageous.
I looked at that bill and couldn’t believe my eyes. I had a degree in Political Science from Cal, and I had been politically active since Goldwater in ’64. Article V? How come I’d never heard of this? This is totally awesome! To hell with Congress, we can get around them. We can amend the Constitution ourselves. What a concept!
Bob told me to calm down, and when the bill comes to the floor, don’t say a word. He had the votes, and didn’t want me to queer the deal.
Well, here I am 41 years later, and I’m still working on Article V. Babbie looked it up, and she says I have 8.8 years left to live.
Never say die!
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