Stoddard v. Donahoe (CA1 4/6/10)

An interesting but troubling opinion on the contempt power.

During a sentencing hearing, Stoddard, a detention officer, took papers out of defense counsel’s file while she was standing at the bench. She demanded them back and the hearing stopped. The judge held a hearing on Stoddard’s acts and found him in indirect civil contempt, ordering him to purge it by apologizing sincerely to counsel at a news conference in front of the courthouse.

Rather than do that, Stoddard went to jail and filed this this special action. He challenged the penalty, not the finding of contempt. He argued that his contempt was criminal, not civil, and that the court violated his due-process and First-Amendment rights.

Civil and criminal are controlled by statue and there is also a rule on criminal contempt. A civil contempt is a violation of a court order as well as the in-the-courtroom, “obstruct-the-administration-of-justice” type of thing. The latter is “direct” contempt, the former “indirect.” The court can act on direct contempt immediately; indirect needs a hearing.  Statutory criminal contempt is, basically, a criminal act that violates a court order.  Criminal contempt under Criminal Rule 33 is contempt that isn’t itself a crime. A criminal contemnor is entitled to trial. Sanctions for criminal contempt are to punish; civil sanctions are to enforce the court’s order – the contemnor can avoid jail by obeying it.

(Lacking that handy primer, this court got confused and found a direct contempt “indirect,” as the opinion footnotes.) 

Stoddard claimed that his contempt was criminal because the trial judge’s minute entry apparently made it sound like a contumacious sort of thing – which word Rule 33 uses – and because it happened during a criminal hearing. But the sanction was civil in nature – Stoddard could get out of jail by making the apology – so it was civil contempt.

(Well, actually, it was civil contempt after the judge modified his order. At first he ordered Stoddard jailed unless he made an apology that counsel was satisfied with. In other words, he wasn’t in jail until he agreed to do something, or until his sentence was up, but until counsel decided that he’d done enough to go free. That’s called enslavement, not contempt, which apparently occurred to somebody because the judge changed the order, dropping the counsel-satisfaction part.)

Stoddard’s due-process argument was based on the court’s refusal to let him use as evidence  the papers he took from counsel’s file. They were privileged letters. But the trial judge reviewed them in camera and Stoddard admitted that when he took them out and read them they did not indicate a security threat or future crime, which is what he said he had been worried about.

Stoddard claimed that forcing him to make an apology violates the First Amendment. The Court of Appeals avoided the constitutional issue by finding the apology an abuse of discretion. A civil contempt sanction “must be designed to coerce the person to do or to refrain from doing some act.” Apologizing after the fact didn’t do that. The judge should have ordered Stoddard to get additional training in courtroom decorum, or to explain to the judge that he knew he goofed and how he would do it better the next time, or some such thing.

Why is this troubling? Because contempt is not rocket science. It should be part of a trial judge’s basic fund of knowledge, not something hazily-remembered that he messes up when the time comes. Indirect for direct? An apology on the courthouse steps? This particular judge read up on contempt a couple of years ago – and got it wrong then, too. But presumably he’s not alone. We thought those COJET things talked about contempt once in a while. Its time for another session.

McCloud v. Kimbro (CA2 3/23/10)

Here, for a change, is a plaintiff trying to argue that the defendant was not within the course and scope of employment and a court trying to find that he was. But this intro may spoil the court’s surprise; it drops a couple of early hints but waits until page 8 of 10 to make this clear.

Kimbro was a Phoenix DPS officer on temporary duty in Cochise County, where he rear-ended McCloud’s car while driving to lunch. McCloud promptly gave notice of her claim against the state, DPS, and Kimbro but then blew the one-year statute of limitations. So everybody but Kimbro got out and she was reduced to arguing that he wasn’t working for the state after all.

The rule elsewhere is that travelling employees are in the course and scope even when eating and sleeping, unless on distinctly personal business, but the Arizona precedent for that was in workers comp cases. This opinion adopts the rule for civil cases. Kimbro was working for the state, the claim against him was barred, summary judgment for him affirmed.

McCloud argued that Kimbro was covered by state insurance at the time of the accident. The court counters that under the Administrative Code having state insurance doesn’t create liability. The response is correct but unfortunate. It is an endlessly tempting idea that the scope of insurance shapes the scope of liability rather than the other way around. The courts should squash it definitively rather than by citing a line or two in the Risk Management regulations – but they won’t, since it is occasionally useful to them.

Our own endless temptation is to charge the windmills, so let’s try to improve opinion-drafting:

“Kimbro, as the moving party, is entitled to judgment as a matter of law.” That’s an unfortunate way to phrase it, no doubt an inadvertence, since summary judgment can also be granted against the moving party.

“Under Arizona law, “[a]n employer is vicariously liable for the negligent or tortious acts of its employee acting within the scope and course of employment,” the court explains, and cites a case for it. Please next time remember also to explain what “employer” and “employee” mean. Lawyers who benefit from that sort of thing will also appreciate a review of the the order of the alphabet and a primer on the tying of shoes. And cite cases.

Is it really necessary to include footnotes to discuss the things the court has decided that it doesn’t need to discuss?

Finally, please do remember, honestly, that the insertion of headings and sub-headings is not a substitute for organization, its a crutch for the organizationally-challenged.

(link to opinion)

Aqua Management, Inc. v. Abdeen (CA1 3/23/10)

This discusses how costs, fees, and interest affect the question of whether an appeal from arbitration is 23% successful.

AMI sued Abdeen; the case went to compulsory arbitration. The arbitrator gave AMI an award plus costs and fees but denied prejudgment interest. Abdeen appealed; after a bench trial the court awarded AMI slightly less principal, denied costs and fees, but added prejudgment interest. AMI then moved for fees and costs under Rule 77(f), arguing that Abdeen hadn’t beaten the arbitration award by 23%. The trial court denied the motion, ruling that the fee award doesn’t count toward the comparison. AMI appealed.

(We simplify somewhat. The trial court got mixed up about which party had appealed, didn’t say whether it had taken prejudgment interest into account, and thought it had jurisdiction to rule on a substantive motion after the Notice of Appeal. And the final judgment didn’t add the numbers up correctly, which nobody but the Court of Appeals noticed. This all makes the opinion a bit tedious and confusing, which could largely have been avoided by better drafting but wasn’t much, what else is new.)

So, do the attorney’s fees count? A case called Vega (199 Ariz.) had said that everything counts, which is what the rule clearly means (“at least twenty-three percent (23%) than the monetary relief . . . granted by the arbitration award”). Vega meant that costs count. This case holds that the same analysis means (1) that fees count and (2) that prejudgment interest counts, too.

The case also holds (3) that post-judgment interest on the arbitration award does not count.

(link to opinion)