Call me Greg. I’m a Civil Rights lawyer; my number is 212-334-7397. I’ve been practicing since 1994. I was raised in Connecticut and attended Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois; my law school was NYU. I worked for two different, prestigious law firms before flying away on my own. Had I not, I would not have achieved what I have, nor enjoyed it nearly as much. Solitude can be a minus, but there are no office politics when you’re your own boss.
The attorney-client relationship is grounded in trust; therefore, you should know something meaningful about me, and me about you if I take your case.
You might be on a phone now, so if you can tell me why your civil rights have been violated, call (or just click) 212-334-7397. After, please come back and read more about how I’ve come to enjoy what I do.
Solving legal problems colors my world.
Here’s a story about me: It starts 1984, a decade before I became a lawyer. It gets longer and longer, so feel free to skim, but it tells the story of how I’ve become who I am.
I remember a moment in college when you could say my adult life began – about a decade before I became a lawyer. I was reading a memoir by Frank Conroy, deceased now – the type of guy you called a writer’s writer. He inspired others and wrote in Stop Time that once he heard someone say, “I’m a novelist.” Just those three words of cocktail banter Conroy heard and thought, “My God, what a beautiful thing to be able to say.” Conroy became a novelist. How easy it sounded. Yes, this was the answer. I wanted to tell the world I did something that was – if not “beautiful” in the conventional sense – very cool. I wanted to say, “I’m a novelist.”
I recommend the book, if not the plan. My creative writing was respected, won me awards and my teachers thought I understood the human condition – a quality needed of a decent writer. The truth is I think I do: I enjoy the simple pleasures of people watching, and divining their motivations, what’s on their minds. I’m nosy. I’m interested in conflict. I’ve lived in New York City most of my life, worked to solve human problems. I have learned much traveling to about 90 countries, including Cuba, about which I actually corresponded with President Obama (I kept this a secret until he retired). I also saw North Korea, where I took photos of Pyongyang (and wrote a travelogue that I promised not to publish, but is dated by now in any case). Finally, in 2016, I made it to Alabama, my 50th state – if you count the short slip between Massachusetts and Maine through New Hampshire on the I-95.
Yet, there’s so much more I feel I must do. I’m curious to learn what’s hiding in my neighbor’s attic. (That’s metaphoric: he doesn’t have an attic.) There are so many books to read, places to visit – though I doubt I’ll write a novel, even if I was told I had “promise”. Maybe, I’ll find the energy and time to write a book; maybe my “promise” will be realized onto the page. I have nascent ideas; I just have to pick a topic, organize, put fingers to keyboard and publish. But this is easier said than done, especially when I love the law which provides a decent living. Life isn’t fair. So many books have had so much impact on the world, yet all but few writers are paid but a pittance. But back when I heard “Novelist,” I decided, somewhat naively, that this moniker was mine: I would be a great one. So I gave fiction writing a decent effort for a year after graduation. Soon, however, it became clear that the lonely life of an artist, so dependent on luck, did not sustain the stamina and patience required: a young man’s idea – not a plan – was dashed soon after he stepped into the reality show known as Life. I refused to enroll in an MFA program; the best writers didn’t get MFA’s, so why should I? (It’s still a hotly debated topic, but at least it forces you to write.) Thus I succumbed to a common default, law school, as so many have. I took the LSAT without even taking a prep course – a reckless idea in retrospect, though I was struggling with Proust that summer; maybe the literary challenge in reading all of those long, dense sentences and big paragraphs helped. I got a decent score and held onto it.
Then, after a few years, applied and was admitted to NYU when jobs for lawyers were abundant. I saw those obscene starting salaries. Eric Holder called law school a “haven for the undecided.” I agree, but those starting salaries – mon Dieu! – I was not undecided about those, especially for a recent college graduate: my first job was in child welfare and I was lucky to have a job paying $30,000 annually in the late 1980’s. I warmed to the idea of studying law after starting law school; my teachers were good. Those classes didn’t make me love the study of law, but I learned it. I passed the bar. I took one of those high-paying jobs, but despite the money, I wouldn’t have remained a lawyer, and come to really to love the profession, on most days, if I hadn’t done it my way, applying my understanding of life in choosing exciting cases.
I approach lawyering with a contrarian streak. I believe that the misfortune of others is often the product of oppression and inequality – including that of the legal system, which can work if approached with the insights, perhaps, of a novelist, a very probing and careful one. I’m polite about it, but I won’t kowtow to “conventional” wisdom. I can say that I love the judicial process – that is, as it is supposed to work. But I’d rather be a rebel than a slave. If the process is not working properly, I massage it gently, try to get an acceptable outcome, and if not, turn up the heat, and continue to wait for the desired result. There’s always a trip to the appeals court if a judge errs. But even so, the appeals court is looking for an error that could have changed the outcome and brought to the attention to the trial judge. Thus, when I try a case, I want to win, but I’m thinking about the long haul – making no mistakes the other side can exploit on appeal, and watching for those I can.
Perhaps no one will remember me when I retire; I do not aspire to be “High Profile” – just to do my very best. So in the end, I can say with pride that I am not just a lawyer: I am a Civil Rights Lawyer. I am a Trial Lawyer. These are beautiful things for me to say. That’s what I have to offer: skills, not badges. Nor do I seek out the press – it usually comes to me, only rarely the other way around. I’ve learned these skills by experience and by following my heart rather than what sounded like a good idea, or the promise of a fat bonus by putting in stultifying hours on business disputes involving questions that might not make a difference in life. You can damn me with faint praise and call me “a good lawyer,” but please don’t call me “litigator.” It so happens that litigation – navigating the rules in court, filing papers, appearing for conferences – is what I do, but going to court is usually no big thrill unless stands before the jury or argues the law before one, three, or even multiple judges. (Or settl
ing a case, or seeing a judge you like.) But litigator: please – if I’m going to keep your hopes alive, I must see myself as more than a plumber’s tool of the legal system.
I try to choose cases carefully, and most of the work I do takes place while I’m away from distraction. I think about arguments and writing – how they sound, in which context, and whether they look logical on paper. I almost always get other opinions and have a few lawyer networks for that purpose. I want and need to make money, but I care more about the law’s aligning with what I think is right. Show me a case where there’s only money to be made, and I don’t want it. Show me where money and justice are at stake and I want it – that’s where creativity comes into play, and if we’re lucky – and luck is involved, to be sure – we win. Sometimes, however, the simplest solution is the best one at hand, and luck has nothing to do it.
What matters most is evidence of illegality, the magnitude of unfairness, and a decent case for damages. You don’t need cell-phone video of police misconduct or a recording of a bigoted boss to vindicate your rights. Those things are nice, but sometimes even they won’t even carry the day, and your testimony alone does the trick. Proof of injustice must be put together piece by piece. The story comes from documents and precise questions of witnesses to tell a cohesive narrative. I like to play detective, stringing together the bits, as you would a popcorn garland for a Christmas tree, then opening my arms and presenting the result to a judge and jury. I never stop reading and training in lawyering, writing, and communication. I’m always open to compromise a dispute. I attended the Harvard Law School Mediation Program in October 2016. As proud as I am to say that, without the skills to take your case to trial and appeal, I have less leverage to get you a good settlement.
I limit my practice, proudly representing victims of employment discrimination, or other civil-rights violations (wrongful arrests, wrongful prosecutions, police brutality aka “excessive force”). I also stand with people who haven’t been paid salary in accordance with federal and state rules. On a rare occasion, I take clients harmed by people to whom they have entrusted their lives: neglectful or dishonest lawyers, and individuals who have ruined people by illegal means. Business is a good thing – I’m in business – and so is law enforcement. But neither the corporation nor the cop needs to break the law to achieve its objectives. Some New York City cops are out of control – am I the only one who’s noticed? I have represented hundreds of individuals against some of the biggest companies and most major law firms, as well as agencies of the City and State of New York. You can see the results and publicity that I have obtained in many of my cases on my Victories page. There are limits to what the law can achieve, however: Read the whole of my Areas of Practice page to get an idea of what the law does and does not allow you to complain of in court, and the hoops you need to jump through if you don’t settle. The word “harassment” means less than what you think; it makes my job harder at the level where I’m telling someone why I must turn his or her case away. Many think they have more rights at work than they do. This is unfortunate for them, perhaps society, but I’m just one man trying to enforce the rules that do exist.
Honorary Badges: In 2015, the profession awarded me a very high rating, “AV Preeminent” by Martindale-Hubbell®. That same year, I won the right to call myself one of the “Best Lawyers in America.” Since 2012, I’ve been named a “SuperLawyer.” What do these “honors” mean? There are over 160,000 lawyers in New York State, and about 6,000 are SuperLawyers. The methodology of these emblems are opaque, but, I think, involve nominations by other lawyers and judges. The organizations also market me with materials, some of I’m ashamed to say I buy. I’m proud to have been recognized by the profession this way, but I don’t think any client has chosen me because of these recognitions. Please judge my or any attorney’s work by his results and, more important, her dedication before you assume that an officially conferred adjective means a thing. I’d rather convince you of who I am, what I’ve done and what I stand for; I want you to pick me as a lawyer for those reasons, rather than for you to assume honorable mentions are evidence, in themselves, of anything. I’d rather win a fantastic case, honestly.
I’m not a teacher but have given educational sessions for lawyers on issues like opening statements, direct examination, punitive damages, LGBTQ discrimination, police misconduct against transgender individuals, and Ethics and the Constitution.
I got my JD from NYU in 1993 and was honored there to be elected to Law Review – a little feather in my cap based on grades and a writing competition. I was lucky to get into NYU, a great law school, let alone to make it onto Law Review. In my courses, I studied under some legal luminaries who shaped my mind with methods of practice and unique views of the profession. At Northwestern, I earned a B.A. in the History of the Americas; I took the first ever Gay American history class in my last semester. History, I have found, was a good preparation for learning how to try a case: the ultimate question in history, as at trial, is how did we get from one situation to the next, and why. Debate honed my ability to think on my feet and speak in public, and taught me how to organize documents – a mundane task one needs to know in order to win. I won many debate awards in high school and college. High school debate is probably what taught me best how to speak and argue in public. I hated high school, but it gave me the gift of learning how to argue. I had a great writing teacher in college who made me see writing, literature in a different way and better recognize the hypocrisy of life.
In college and after, and maybe even still, I wanted to be a writer, and regret I may never achieve the honor of seeing my name on a book. I haven’t given up the possibility, and I think about taking a sabbatical to write something. Yet the process of creative writing stultifies me, whereas argumentative writing comes out of the mind and onto the page with fluidity if you excuse the typos that I inevitably miss. I’m criticized by some for flaunting my words for the practice of law, but to hell with them: I know how to tell a story.
So, after giving up my writing “career,” and before law school, I moved to New York to find something to write about, and took an unusual gig, traipsing and plodding as a child-welfare caseworker for some two years. I worked with many low-income families trying to stay together, and to arrange for the state to provide them services to do so. It didn’t always work out wonderfully, but I lived a middle-class childhood, so the job gave me the gift of seeing how the government often mistreats the poor. After child welfare, I went to NYU, coincidentally remaining in the same apartment as before. I did three internships, one with a (now) retired federal judge in San Francisco – stupidly turning down an internship with a well-known, highly dedicated death-penalty abolitionist – another with the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Brooklyn, and one the Federal Criminal Defenders in Manhattan. I sat through a trial with a talented criminal lawyer in 1992, watching him successfully defend a surely innocent man. He did a brilliant and daring job. He’s famous now and I won’t mention his name, but it was that trial where I realized that the practice of law can be fun and achieve the objectives of justr8ce. The judge is now retired, but showed me that justice may be had.
I passed the bar. I didn’t know how precisely to achieve my career goals, so I worked in the litigation department at a large law firm – one of the biggest. I was proud to be there and grateful for the brief exposure to what they call as “BigLaw.” I won an award (and obtained publicity) for my Pro Bono work, of which I did a lot. But given my desire to advocate, I felt like an expendable widget in a giant machine. I wanted more – and not more money. So I left of my own volition and saw the other side of the legal profession at the Legal Aid Society, Juvenile Rights Division, practicing in Family Court in the Bronx and Manhattan. Family Court can be an unhappy place – abuse, neglect, kids in criminal trouble are the nightmares of its jurisdiction. But it is in that court where I had the fortune of learning how to stand up to a judge, all of whom were busy, some unpleasant who played favorites, rubber-stamping the decisions of government actors. Kids arrested were detained, then taught how better to be criminals in lock-up. Struggling parents, some of whom were unfit, had their children taken away and never provided the training to get them back. The New York Times a few years after I left reported that less than 2 percent of these parents ever overcame the testimony of a caseworker – a college graduate with no specialized degree and three weeks’ training before going into the field with the power to remove children from a home. In 2017, the foster care system was indicted as a system known as “Jane Crow.” The Pulitzer Prize Winning website propublica.org devotes a whole page to Family Court, describing how functionaries, including judges, rely on the repetitious, pro-forma reports of supposed “experts” to take away parental rights.
This abhors me. I was one of those flunkies with a college degree. It seemed like an appealing challenge, and when I graduated law school, even more so. But before the Times exposed them, some judges were happier not to be challenged. They did not like that I went an extra half mile to question their decisions – including taking them on appeal and succeeding in getting children released from illegal custody. Some of these civil servants just lost their way and didn’t like that a mere twenty-something tried new strategies – there’s more than one way to practice law, but some judges and lawyers succumb to the conventional. When I was a caseworker, the worst thing I could do was separate a family and only did it if there were no alternatives. I was questioned for providing resources to keep families together. One judge yelled at me for not removing children from a woman who was a not a hoarder, but just overwhelmed and kept a sloppy home, as I tried to find a heavy duty housekeeper. When I found myself back in that court, another judge threatened not to assign cases to me if I lodged too many objections; she later accused me of “running to the Appellate Division” – the appeals court. She was not reappointed to the bench – though I had nothing to do with that; others came to the conclusion she lacked the proper temperament. Another judge hated me for no reason I can understand, except perhaps gossip from other judges. I remember objecting at a trial once, and, in response, his picking up the rules of professional responsibility, flipping through it and saying, “Let’s see….” as if to send me a warning that I was doing something unethical. He put down the book, overruled my objection, but I would have violated my path were I not to object. He, too, was not reappointed and was found to have committed judicial misconduct. Again, no one asked me for my opinion of him. The judges in that court at the time: a few, very good and patient ones; others were just mean and awful. I thought about becoming a judge – never in Family Court, for sure – but I have the mind of an advocate. This includes cooperating with adversaries and assisting in the settlement of cases. This is where my heart is. But I’m also a court of last resort for people who think they have a case and some who must be told they have one that’s not winnable. I wear many hats. One is to give honest advice.
In Manhattan Family Court, I made at least twenty-five appearances before Judith Scheindlin, aka Judge Judy. She never yelled at or embarrassed me, as she does the pre-chosen loser on her show, but I saw her do it to others. It’s not as if she liked me – she told me once to get my “nose out of the law books.” I think, quietly, somewhat, she respected my intentions. She said to me once, as we waited for a case to be called, not to “be a Kunstler-like obstructionist.” I nodded silently in response, and her advice was a gift, the best she could have given: be a zealous advocate, but not an unpleasant one. I believe William Kunstler was not an obstructionist. Many loved him, and history remembers him as one of the greatest. He was a criminal lawyer who knew how far he could go to protect his client, occasionally pissing off the powers. I took Judy’s advice with a large grain of salt, but I cooperate with the bench as much as possible, choosing my battles; judges are people too. So hers was good advice, but I have always admired attorneys like Kunstler who go as far as they can to win for an unpopular client. The trick is to practice like Kunstler but under the radar. I can’t do this anymore but did for many years. Indeed, soon after Judy left Family Court for Hollywood, I quietly got her reversed on appeal: she had made a simple but reversible mistake, and I knew I could use it to get my client’s charge dismissed or reduced. (It was, after appeal, converted to a misdemeanor, a win for a difficult “buy and bust” criminal drug sale, which is usually a cut and dry case for the prosecution.) Matter of Efrain R., 228 A.D.2d 303 (1st Dept.1996). Judy, the highest paid TV personality, wouldn’t care less about this, but the truth is appellate courts rarely reversed her because she usually couched her legal arguments in common sense. So I’m proud to have caught her mistake because I wanted the legal community to know I could win, even on my own. If I had to choose between being named SuperLawyer ever again or keeping my reversal of Judge Judy, it would be a very easy decision to make.
My experience to that point finished with what I perceived as injustice in which my experience was almost entirely in Family Court. Was that what practicing law was to be like? My mindset almost made me leave the law, or at least take a break. I applied to and was accepted at The Wharton School of Business graduate MBA program at the University of Pennsylvania. But then I had second thoughts. I turned my back on Family Court and found the practice not so nasty. I deferred my admission for a year. I tried some new tricks. Am I bragging? Yes, how can that not be a brag, but the point is that I considered the idea, had the chance to get an MBA at a top school but persisted for the people and for civil rights because I prefer helping people to the acquisition of wealth (though I ain’t saying the latter is all that bad). Wharton is a great school, and being admitted an accomplishment. In some ways, however, this is an admission of guilt. I felt kicked around by the legal profession for the first few years and needed the validation of having the choice to take a Wharton MBA or move to “bigger and better” things. It wasn’t me to have done so, but it made me feel confident after having been a little mangled in BigLaw and being branded a trouble maker in Family Court. It took a year and some months to make the decision, plus two $500 deposits, but ultimately after a short conversation with my father, a lawyer himself who sees the obvious – who had seen how dissatisfied I was in BigLaw – asked me why I wanted a sabbatical so that I could get another job that I hated similar to – as he aptly named it – “The Other Place.” I heard him; I knew whereof he spoke. So I remained a lawyer. I also found that I was respected by judges like the one I saw give a fair trial to a man while I was in law school. Stars coalesced. To mix metaphors and paraphrase Yogi Berra, I got to a fork in the road, and I took it.
I started to file cases that interested me, and I did better than I expected. I won several jury trials just before and after 9/11. In 2003, I wanted to learn what lawyers rarely learn in law school, if in their careers: how not just to argue, but to communicate with a jury. I had many trials in Family Court, but they were always before a judge. In 1996, I attended the National Criminal Defense College and learned, most of all, how to conduct a sifting and thorough cross-examination. In 2003, after applying once and being rejected, I was honored to be selected to attend The Trial Lawyer’s College, a three-week seminar, followed by graduate programs, in DuBois, Wyoming for plaintiff’s and criminal-defense attorneys. This College changed me in so many ways and was founded by Gerry Spence, among the best trial lawyers of our time. It was there that I understood why I was the lawyer I want to be. I’ve also studied with some of the nation’s best advocates and jury-communication experts and students of performance – including at the Upright Citizen’s Brigade Theatre Improvisation Skills Program and a class in Solo Performances at the Stella Adler School of Drama. Improv teaches you to be quick on your feet – a skill important for the courtroom. Some other important qualities are memory (of course legal knowledge), a deep understanding of the client’s situation and a passion for one’s cause. The hardest thing about what I do is understanding the perspective of a poker-faced opponent who doesn’t let her guard down. Fortunately, not all of my opponents fit this category – we do get often along – but lawyers have a bad reputation, in part, because of the rancor between them. I’ve been disparaged by some lawyers for my “passion,” once in open court. That was a way to condescend to my dedication, and on the backside disparage my legal position. This won’t happen again. My passion is not an audition, a false cloak I put on for court. It’s the feeling I’ve absorbed from the client and his case to communicate to the jury.
Trials are hard and sometimes it’s better to settle. In October 2016, I attended a 5-day program on Mediation at the Program on Negotiation at Harvard Law School. A lot of cases can and should settle; some do early. I do not hold back any case so I can showboat in court – we settle if it’s best. Most cases are not tried, but I admit I crave a case that will go to the jury. As a case arrives in my office and crawls into life; if it doesn’t settle, I think about how a jury will perceive my client and how the evidence tells a story. I imagine a closing argument, develop themes, and learn to love the case. I usually can, and usually the client as well. Between 1998 and 2015, I had two hung juries, but of the cases that didn’t settle and went to verdict, every jury rendered a decision for my client more favorable than what he, she or I expected. This favorable streak stopped in 2015 when I lost a hard-fought discrimination case for a gay man whose case I tried even though he perished in a diving accident before jury selection. To try a case when my client was dead – this was a totally unusual situation. In retrospect, I might have thought about it for more than a second, but when the heirs called and asked me to continue, I was quick to say yes, knowing that justice had been denied: my now-deceased client got canned for telling a customer he was gay. My adversary had also been so unpleasant, so I would not give up. I could have bowed out, settled for peanuts, but despite the disadvantage of having nothing but a transcript to read to the jury. I would have preferred to have won, but even as the loser, it was an edifying experience – trials don’t happen often even for living clients, and I knew I was on the side of right. The defense wanted to insult the estate with a monetary pittance, and we would have none of that; we would have settled for the right price, but this challenge was an education in itself. My client had lost his career and identity over this termination.
The trial didn’t go as well as we hoped and we apvictpealed. But the case, Zarda v. Altitude Express, will be reargued in a rare en banc hearing in the 2nd Circuit. The ACLU, Lambda Legal Defense Fund, the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission the Attorneys General of three states, 4 members of Congress the National Education Association, and a compendium of 5o Employers joined us as amici; Attorney General Jeff Sessions opposed us. The case asks the court to find that sexual orientation discrimination is sex discrimination already prohibited by law. Previous cases have held this not the case; others have. The day my client came into my office, I had my eye on that prize: to bring sexual orientation into federal law. I wasn’t sure I would get there, but there was an open question and I did everything I needed to do to preserve the issue. How will the appeal come down? I don’t know, but if I had given up after my client died, I would never have forgiven myself. Win or lose, some things are more important than money.
No longer will I keep score about a win-loss record. You’ll never know how hard were any of the cases I won, whether I got lucky or the other side got screwed or made a mistake. Close cases go to trial. Appeals are mostly affirmed. I’ll win and lose again, but to keep score is meaningless in comparison to keeping up with the imaginative use of skills in an environment that is supposed to be fair. “Fair” is subjective; “fair” takes work; “fair” is a concept can be stretched to fit results.
Traditionally, I have represented plaintiffs of modest means. I’m glad I left BigLaw and Legal Aid: I am needed elsewhere and cherish my freedom. Civil rights laws are routinely broken and those that break the law usually get away with their misdeeds. But if you think you always have a right to a jury trial because you believe your rights have been violated, don’t be so sure. You well might, but a motion for summary judgment is the tool the defense uses to try to prevent that. I have won the overwhelming majority of these motions when opposing them for my clients seeking a trial. (I have lost about six; some were tough cases, and at least one is on appeal. No attorney can win them all.) On four occasions, however, I won them for my clients who wanted to hold the other side legally responsible without the jury’s input – a much more difficult result to achieve, especially in the areas of law I practice.
I only take cases where I am at least confident there’s been an injustice, a strong chance the case will survive summary judgment, and there are reasonable damages. But the sad thing is that people are fired all the time and think they have rights that they don’t. Termination is usually not an illegal act, even if it’s unfair and a complete surprise tendered without explanation or even a bad one, done in a nasty way. The same is true of arrests resulting in no conviction. Not all wrongs have a legal remedy. I explain that to people at least a few times weekly. For the few cases that have facial merit, however, I file and almost uniformly find more facts to support the case. I don’t have ESP, but it’s often been my experience that cases become stronger after filing, rather than weaker. (Fewer times I’ve been surprised the other way around.)
I am experienced in appeals; you can see some of my wins (and losses) on my “Victories” page. I usually don’t take an appeal where another attorney has lost a trial unless I’m pretty sure I will win or if there is an interesting question of law to explore. I would love to argue to the U.S. Supreme Court someday and almost got there once. But if you lose at the trial level and it’s a toss-up on appeal, even if you pay me to complete it, if you lose, we both lose. I only appeal my own cases if I am mostly sure I will – or should – win, or we can’t settle on appeal.
I practice in New York City but am willing to make an exception for a plaintiff who can’t get local counsel in a great case (and I’m especially inclined to make an exception for an out-of-state appeal on an interesting question). This has happened once so far, in Connecticut, but I’m also admitted in Chicago and can practice anywhere if I can get out of state counsel. I also know New York Criminal Law and Procedure and will take a criminal case occasionally, but I don’t market myself as such with so many former Assistant District Attorneys and public defenders who do it exclusively. I get few cases. I also don’t practice federal criminal law – a highly specialized endeavor. However, I am admitted to all federal bars in New York City, as well as in Chicago, Connecticut and the Second Circuit Court of Appeals, where I have briefed and argued about twenty cases. I am a member of the U.S. Supreme Court Bar – and not just for show; I’ve filed papers there twice and, again, almost got to argue a case on what’s known as a Circuit Split. Once, I argued to the New York Court of Appeals (New York’s highest court), after which all seven Judges ruled for my client. The video of my argument is on the top on my Victories page, as are links to the audio records of two other appeals I’ve argued, one of which was unsuccessful, rightly or wrongly.
In my free time, I read, follow politics, try to enjoy or escape the City, use my cameras, and waste time listening to podcasts and oral arguments while updating this story, which might be the template for a book.