It hasn’t made it into print, but one of my favorite self-coined sayings is “Why wait for the eulogy?” In other words, it’s far more constructive to compliment folks while they’re still alive, and I’ve generally managed to abide by that precedent, particularly in this case.
To wit, upon a quick review of the First Ward, I duly noted that I’d held out former 16th Circuit Judge William Parkhurst as one the finest examples of the men in black at least four separate times. This column will be the fifth.
Furthermore, but for a brief minor exception, I promise not to turn this piece into a diatribe against those judges who don’t begin to measure up. There’s plenty of time to set that record straight.
So, let’s get on with it.
Bill Parkhurst was appointed as an associate judges in February of 2012, serving out that role in the criminal, family and juvenile divisions, the three most difficult propositions on the planet. It would be more than safe to say he never took the easy way out.
Once installed, Bill rapidly developed a reputation for patience, kindness, humility, dedication, and for applying a unique brand of judicial wisdom that became the basis for his tough but fair decisions. I’ve never borne witness to a judge with a better temperament as evidenced by the fact that, in the over 300 emails I’ve received on our judiciary, he didn’t register a single complaint – not one!
I never heard one publicly, either, which is quite the feat in the quagmire we call our legal system where judges tend to disappoint half of the people who appear before them.
It was my immense good fortune to have run into Bill on three separate occasions.
The first was when he presided over the case involving the juveniles who pled guilty to firebombing my pickup truck in 2016. Dealing with the adult prosecution was a nightmare, but Judge Parkhurst understood what I was trying to accomplish and he made sure I was a partner in making that happen.
Though his trademark patience and humanity clearly set the courtroom tone, when the Judge looked those two boys squarely in the eye and said he didn’t want to see them in his, or any other courtroom again, no one doubted his resolve. And those defendants haven’t been back.
My second and favorite meeting with Bill took place some years later when I was graciously provided a tour of the Juvenile Justice facility. When my public defender guide asked if I wanted to say “hello” to Bill, I leapt at the opportunity and we had a fascinating 15-minute conversation in his chambers.
Bill wasn’t one for compliments, but considering my capacity to critique his peers, I got the impression that he actually appreciated mine. At least I hope he did. I tried to get him to explain how he maintained his stellar courtroom comportment and his answer ran along the line of his upbringing and that he couldn’t imagine approaching the job in any other way.
Our final conversation came shortly after I learned of his cancer diagnosis some eight months ago, and I’m not so sure Bill truly appreciated my faculty to ferret out a story and acquire the appropriate cellphone numbers. I didn’t fully understand and appreciate just how private and unpretentious Bill really was to the point where he insisted on no obituary, no wake, and no public funeral.
I’m sure I made him feel uncomfortable, but I have no regrets about offering my support and letting him know that everyone was pulling for him. Bill simply asked me not to make his diagnosis public.
Cancer is a tricky thing, and I don’t want to assume facts not in evidence, but I can’t help but think that his untimely death at just 61 was partly the result of his time in juvenile, and particularly, family court. Most judges deal with that rank brutality by becoming tyrants and reflecting that anger back at the litigants, but if done right, presiding over a family courtroom will eat your heart and soul away millimeter by millimeter, and some juvenile cases are just as horrific.
Not only have I observed my share of family court proceedings, but most of my black-robed friends have done their tour of duty there and the stories of the evils people can perpetrate on someone they purportedly once loved can be incomprehensible.
Let’s just say that, given a mulligan, I’d take this journalist role over that possibility without a second’s consideration.
Aside from his exceptional disposition, I firmly believe that Bill’s wide-ranging legal background had a major impact on his courtroom kindness. He started out as law clerk for a Michigan federal magistrate before moving to Geneva, Illinois, and opening a successful private practice in 1991. But it was his tireless volunteer work for legal aid agencies like Administer Justice and Prairie State Legal Services that set the tone for his unique judicial perspective.
As you might imagine, the Parkhurst accolades have been pouring in, many from his peers who’ve referred to him as “the best of the best.” My humble suggestion to those attorneys and judges would be that the best way to honor Bill is to make a renewed effort to live up to the courtroom and personal standards he so doggedly set. I understand that’s no small task, but if Judge Parkhurst could make it look easy…
I do have a bone to pick with the Judge, however. As my mother used to say, “Wakes and funerals aren’t for the dead, they’re for the living,” and when you consider the innumerable lives he touched, as a final kindness, those folks should’ve been granted the opportunity to say goodbye and celebrate an amazing life.
But while Judges get that final courtroom say, I get the last word here. And since I’m no longer under any judicial restraint, I have a few things I’d like to say.
Bill! You were the kind of remarkable individual that most of us will run into once in a lifetime. I am thrilled to have seen you at work and privileged to have called you friend. If half of the people whose lives you impacted lived up to just a quarter of your example, this world would be a much better place. And if the central question to this existence is whether our brief presence here improved this planet or not, then you, sir, are the answer.
Judge Parkhurst, you will be missed.
