A name on a building

The nostalgic mood that has permeated this year's columns continues. My thoughts have turned to past notable California Supreme Court justices, who in clear, concise prose made significant contributions to the law in California and other jurisdictions throughout the country. I need not recount the many decisions from California that were adopted by the U.S. Supreme Court. California continues to be a leading jurisdiction, but with the current majority on our nation's high court... let's leave that topic for another day.

It is regrettable that some young lawyers and judges know Justice Stanley Mosk only as the name of a building that houses the Los Angeles Superior Court at 110 N. Grand Ave. Brief aside about the courthouse: It was built in 1958 when I was... a... give me a moment... a junior at UCLA. Yikes! It was a gleaming state-of-the-art piece of architecture designed by the noted architect Paul Williams. Today it is showing its age. Something I can relate to.

In the 2012 edition of Judicature, a publication of Duke Law School, Stanley Mosk's son, my good friend and colleague, Richard Mosk, who is no longer with us, wrote an engrossing account of his father's remarkable life. I commend this article to you. Like his father, Richard wrote in a clear, lucid style. Guarantee you will not be able to put it down.

I was fortunate to experience the aftermath of a significant case decided by 31-year-old Los Angeles Superior Court Judge Stanley Mosk in 1947, then the youngest trial judge ever to sit in California. WWII ended two years earlier. I was a kid then and more interested in my Captain Marvel ring, inside of which was a secret code, than a superior court hearing. The aspirations of kids my age at that time were to become firefighters or airplane pilots. The ones that wanted to be doctors, lawyers, or the President were usually ostracized. My aspirations at the time were less lofty. I didn't have any.

The case involved Frank Drye, a decorated war veteran, who bought a house in Los Angeles near what is called the Mircale Mile. Drye and his family moved in, but within a few months, his neighbors filed a lawsuit against him. Oh, by the way, Mr. Drye was Black. That was the gravamen of the complaint, that Mr. Drye was Black. One of the plaintiffs was a pastor. Heaven help us. Needless to say, the neighbors were white. They sought to enforce a "Caucasian only" restriction in the deed. Drye filed a demurrer to the complaint, and the matter came before the young Judge Stanley Mosk. This was a year before the United States Supreme Court in Shelley v. Kramer (1948) 334 U.S. 1 held that the enforcement of racial restrictive covenants was a denial of due process and equal protection under the Fourteenth Amendment.

Judge Mosk sustained Drye's demurrer without leave to amend. In his minute order, he wrote: "There is no allegation, and no suggestion, that any of these defendants would not be law-abiding neighbors and citizens of the community. The only objection to them is their color and race. ... We read in columns in the press each day about un-American activities. This court feels there is no more reprehensible un-American activity than to attempt to deprive persons of their own homes on a master race theory. ... Our nation just fought against the Nazi race superiority doctrines. One of these defendants was in that war and is a Purple Heart veteran. This court would indeed be callous to his constitutional rights if it were now to permit him to be ousted from his own home by using 'race' as the measure of his worth as a citizen and a neighbor. ... The alleged cause of action here is ... inconsistent with the guarantees of the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution."

When Mosk later became California's Attorney General, he persuaded the PGA to delete its racial exclusion bylaws. He also persuaded attorneys general in other states to do the same, and they were successful.

The Dryes stayed in the house and raised their son, whom I will never forget, not because he and I share a first name. I met Arthur Drye on Nov. 5, 2010. I attended the ribbon-cutting ceremony at the then-new Stanley Mosk Elementary School in the West Valley.

One of the speakers was Arthur Drye, who became a teacher and school administrator. He asked the students to think for a moment about their heroes. He asked them if Superman or Spiderman were heroes. I was relieved to hear the kids roar in unison, "No!" When he asked if their parents and teachers were heroes, they yelled, "Yes!" Drye spoke of his heroes, his father and mother, who had the courage and character to fight for their rights, and his hero, Stanley Mosk, who made it possible for him to live in the neighborhood of his parents' choice. He spoke of the jeers and taunts he suffered in school because of his race. But, like his parents, he refused to be defeated and became a teacher and school administrator. His message: "A hero stands up to bullies. We succeed by not encouraging bullies. Bullies only win if we let them."

It was an extraordinary experience to hear Arthur Drye, standing on the auditorium stage of the Stanley Mosk Elementary School, inspiring and encouraging the students, 63 years after Judge Mosk's decision. I had lunch with Arthur Drye after the ceremony. Felt like I had known him years before. So you can see how fitting it is that the downtown civil courthouse in Los Angeles is named the Stanley Mosk Courthouse. Oh, and one other thing about the courthouse. I mentioned earlier in my column that the architect who designed that courthouse, reputed to be the largest in the United States, was Paul Williams. Paul Williams was Black. He was awarded the American Institute of Architects gold medal... 37 years after his death.

Supreme Court Justice Stanley Mosk swore me in as a municipal court judge on Labor Day, 1975. Through his example and my association with him, he has been my mentor. Arthur Drye and I have something in common beyond our same first names. For us, Stanley Mosk is a hero.

And I wish to remember an extraordinarily brilliant attorney and good friend, Roger Diamond, who passed away this past February. A vehement anti-smoker, he ran for City Attorney on an anti-smoking campaign way before there was public awareness of the harmful effects of cigarette smoke. He was a passionate defender of First Amendment rights, and no matter the difficulty of the case, Diamond found undiminished joy in litigation.

Roger was a passionate football fan and his allegiance to the UCLA football team was legend. Years ago, I happened to be at a UCLA game at the coliseum and he was in the row behind me. Cannot remember who the Bruins were playing, but Roger analyzed every play nonstop. This included a near-accurate prediction of what UCLA would do in every play. As I recall, the score was tied at the end of the fourth quarter. UCLA had struggled to tie the game. Roger predicted with assurance how they would win in overtime, and they did.

In a recent column, #355, I wrote about Roger's success in my court when I was sitting as a municipal court judge. Municipal courts were abolished in 1998. Ok, I will reveal the title, "Balls in a barrel." The column is too recent, November 2024, for me to cannibalize. Brief summary: Penal Code section 851.8 provides for the destruction of arrest records for persons found to be factually innocent of crimes for which they were arrested. The case involved a concession on the Santa Monica pier. People who shelled out a couple of dollars could throw baseballs into barrels.

Three successful consecutive throws earned the sucker, I mean the customer, a "valuable" prize, like a stuffed Panda Bear. Because most customers were adults with kids, the number of games could go on forever. The young couple who ran the concession were arrested for a Municipal Code violation on the theory that the barrels were fixed to make it near impossible to get three successful throws in succession. The case was dismissed before it got to trial, so no criminal conviction, but still, the record of arrest.

Roger subpoenaed the confiscated barrels and we set them up in my courtroom. My court staff and his minor daughters played the game. No one got three in a row. And then I played the game. Got three in a row. At the conclusion of my third throw, Roger moved for relief. My reply, "motion granted." 

Roger Diamond was at the top of his game in his profession. He lived life as a caring human being and he continues to bring joy and goodwill to everyone who knew him.