Coastal Voices Guest Opinion: Carole King, lemonade and Thanksgiving

A great songwriter named Carole King once wrote, “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. And each time you choose between the two.”  As long as I’ve known him, Bedsworth, who doubles as presiding justice on the Fourth District Court of Appeals and a goal judge for the Anaheim Ducks, has made a third career out of inspiring the folks around him to make lemonade out of life’s lemons, as he calls it. And therein lies my thought this Thanksgiving.

Awhile back, I awoke to a howling wind and driving rain. The heater was broken and I uttered some coarse words upon exiting the shower.  Looking at a long day in court, I walked out only to find my left rear tire flatter than the Rams’ offense. Jammed for time and the spare dumbly left in a friend’s garage, more soap-worthy language spewed.

I recalled someone saying how good the people at Les Schwab were about backing their tires, so I called. A kind voice apologized, saying it would take almost 20 minutes for them to get there with assistance. I hung up the phone, reverting to the vernacular of my Carolina dockworker past.

I made a few apology calls and began walking to the courthouse only to run into a Les Schwab tow vehicle, which had arrived in less than 20 minutes. The driver refused to accept any pay or a tip.

Fifteen minutes later, I was crossing 5th Street when the wind ate my new umbrella, sending me back into grudge mode, cursing this place, its mercurial weather and cultural dearth — only to run head-on into my friend, resident curmudgeon and law librarian extraordinaire, Dick Edgar, who never fails to lift my spirit with his love of civil liberties, great music and storage of revered quotes of everything from Sir Thomas More to William O. Douglas to Bob Dylan.

I left the library, looking at a heavy day with more than its share of seemingly hopeless cases involving good people who made bad choices. Only to run into a young girl who two years ago, in a meth haze, couldn’t string two sentences together or ever hope to get her children back when George Mavris asked if I’d help on her case, while on his vacation. The young lady that greeted me dug deep and turned things around. She was dressed immaculately, had a good job and the week before got her daughters back, whom she proudly introduced. She thanked me and George for believing in her and politely averted her eyes to avoid noticing the mist in mine.

The day was a bear and I left court around 6 p.m., then remembered promising two of my clients I’d make a jail visit. Pulling up my collar, I headed into the rain and back down the street grumbling. After waiting two to three minutes, my thoughts were interrupted by the sergeant behind the glass who politely asked which of my clients I wanted first and remarked he was sorry I had to work late. This bizarre interaction between defense attorneys and jailers, traditionally more akin to mongooses and cobras, once made me question what was in the Crescent City water supply — until a couple years of consistent courtesy reminded me that this is how decent people treat each other.

I left the jail somewhere around 9 and begin walking the two blocks back to the car. It was pitch black and a large, beat-up sedan pulled toward me and the curb. My stride hastened until I realized it was a lady from the supermarket I shop at nightly, reaching out to wave. A block later, I arrived at my car, standing in the wind and rain, looking at my left rear tire and realizing what a great day I’d had.

A month later, I flew to Spain to see Bruce Springsteen, whose life and performances for me are a never-ending testament that joy, love and that dance on Mr. Keat’s urn defies the manmade manacles of language and culture barriers. In September, I watched a friend in Orange County defy the odds as his cancer went into remission and weeks ago was blessed to sit with another as he peacefully and painlessly departed on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, surrounded by loved ones. Earlier this month I watched as a young man, beating his battle against drug addiction, was given a second chance to reclaim his life through a good job with Amtrak, because a compassionate prosecutor believed in second chances.

Mr. Dickens had it right when he wrote of the best and worst of times, seasons of light and darkness and a spring of hope and the winter of despair, because for each of us, they exist. However, I believe that the true joy of giving thanks comes not from what we receive happenstance, but rather from what we choose to create or acknowledge and thereby make gifts unto ourselves. And so, upon this day, my thoughts are with Carole King, my dear friend Bedsworth and all of you, to whom I bid Happy Thanksgiving and pass the lemonade.

Jon Alexander is a Crescent City attorney.