One morning I received a telephone call from Beverly Everton, the police officer assigned to the Family Court for juvenile matters. She told me that Judge Filley had assigned me to represent Bonnie, a 15-year-old girl from Averill Park. Her parents had filed a PINS petition alleging that she was incorrigible.
I went to Family Court, which was less than a block away from my office, and Beverly gave me a copy of the PINS petition. I asked to interview Bonnie, but Beverly told me that the parents did not know where she was. Beverly had some information that led her to believe that Bonnie was with some Puerto Rican males in an apartment building at Hutton Street and Fifth Avenue in Troy. She suggested that I try to find Bonnie.
During the 1960s Troy had a small Hispanic population. I drove there and parked my new Oldsmobile hardtop in front of the address that Beverly had given to me. There were three young black men standing in front of the building entrance. I went to them and asked where the Puerto Ricans lived. They eyed me suspiciously, as I didn’t look like a policeman, but one of them pointed to a first-floor corner window.
With some trepidation, I entered the dingy building and went to the corner apartment. I could hear a lot of men laughing and speaking in Spanish. I took out my stub nose Colt Cobra .38 Special revolver and knocked on the door. When it was opened I just walked in holding the gun out in front of me and told the four or five young men to get back against the wall. They understood and immediately complied. One of them spoke fairly good English. I told him that I was looking for Bonnie and she was supposed to be in the Family Court on Third Street. By then the black men had come into the building to find out what was happening, but they kept their distance in the hall. The man that I spoke to continually translated the conversation to the others in the room, and they had some animated discussion in Spanish. He told me that they didn’t know who Bonnie was and hadn’t seen her. I asked him where there were other Puerto Rican men, but he professed not to know of any other Puerto Rican men in Troy. I told him that Bonnie would be found, and if she was found with any men, they would go to jail for a long time. I left the apartment, given a wide berth by the black men, probably since I was still holding my revolver.
I drove back to my office. An hour or so later Beverly called to report that Bonnie was waiting for me at Family Court. She had been dropped off at the Courthouse and tearfully told me that her boyfriend said that he couldn’t see her anymore or he would go to jail. Bonnie spent a few days in the County’s juvenile detention center and then was reunited with her parents with a direction for family counseling.
Note: Like several other attorneys, I was talked into purchasing a handgun by a Troy police officer (who just happened to work at a local gun store). Concealed weapons permits were not readily given out since New York had very restrictive gun laws. Usually, in the absence of a compelling need, handgun permits were usually given out only for hunting and target practice, or to business owners who demonstrated a need. The licensing officer in upstate counties was usually the county judge. When I applied for my permit, John Casey, the former district attorney, had been elected county judge, and he took with him his confidential secretary, Kay James. Judge Casey gave Kay a stack of signed blank permits and left it to her discretion as to who would get permits and the restrictions on the permits. Kay readily gave me an unrestricted permit, and I carried the gun in a belt holster under my suit jacket for many years, including when I appeared in court, including the Appellate Division and Court of Appeals. Sometime after that, I was assigned to represent a man from Bennington, Vermont, who had bought a new Smith & Wesson Airweight .38 Special to kill his wife, who was then living in Troy, and hired a taxicab to take him to Troy. Before seeking out his wife, his cab driver suggested that he temporarily leave his weapon at the Troy Police station and going out for a couple of drinks to discuss his plan. When he went to retrieve his gun he was arrested on a felony charge of possessing a concealed weapon without a license. I was assigned by the Troy Police Court judge to represent him, and I got the case dismissed on a technicality. Normally the gun would then be sent to the Sheriff's Office to be destroyed, but even the assistant DA agreed that it would be a shame to destroy the brand new gun. We explained the matter to Judge Casey, who then entered an order transferring ownership to me, and amended my concealed weapons permit accordingly. I sold the Colt Cobra to a friend and still have the Smith & Wesson Airweight.
