Seeing Home, page 18
The judge asked us all to stand as he delivered his decision. The words still burn a hole in my heart. “It is the opinion of the court,” he stated in a monotone, “that Mr. Lucas, as a blind man, is unfit to be a single parent. His children are approaching the teen years, and I have no confidence that he will be able to handle them properly. I therefore find it in the best interests of those boys to avoid a trial and to place them permanently in their mother’s custody, no later than five weeks from today. Mr. Lucas will be granted one weekend visit per month.”
Outrage consumed me as I shouted, “How is that fair, your honor? I’ve been raising these boys all by myself. You didn’t even hear from anyone that I brought with me. I’d like a trial. That can’t be too much to ask, can it?”
Unmoved by my plea, the judge gave me an ultimatum. “Mr. Lucas, you have two choices. You can either agree with my ruling, giving your boys to their mother, or you can resist it and request a trial. If you choose the second option, I will immediately have your sons named wards of the court. The boys will be split up and placed in separate foster homes until a decision is reached, and that could take months. Which road would you like to go down, Mr. Lucas?”
I was anguished. Then I remembered the biblical tale of King Solomon, from the first book of Kings, chapter three. The king, in that passage, showed his wisdom by offering to mediate a dispute between two women who claimed to be the mother of a particular baby. Both wanted the infant for their own. When King Solomon ruled that the child should be cut in two so that each could have their own half, one of the women said, “No, just give the baby to the other so that it won’t be harmed.” King Solomon immediately knew that she was the true parent. She was willing to make a tough sacrifice for the sake of her child. I had to do the same for the boys.
With a heavy heart, I swallowed hard and agreed to the judge’s ruling. He asked if anyone in the courtroom wanted to voice their objection. My relatives and friends desperately wanted to, but stayed silent out of respect for me. With that, the judge said, “Thank you, Mr. Lucas. This court rules in favor of the plaintiff. Case dismissed.”
Two months after Dee had filed, it was over. The boys would be moving in with her just after the holidays. I was disconsolate. Eddie and Chris were just as upset. They put up a brave front, but I could hear the sorrow in their voices as they prepared to leave home.
A few weeks later, I was at a Lions meeting. By then word had spread among my fellow Lions about what had happened in the trial. After the meeting was over, a few of us stayed in the restaurant to chat. Don MacAteer said emphatically, “Ed, what happened to you isn’t right. The judge railroaded you, and that lawyer you had was useless. You need to appeal the decision.”
I appreciated his sentiments. “I’d love to appeal, Don, but I don’t even know how to go about it.”
He was quick with his reply. “You need to get a good custody lawyer. In fact, you need the best!”
I asked, “And who is that?”
Don answered, “I have no idea. Starting tomorrow, you and I are going to search.” Within a week, we found him.
Howard Danzig had a thriving family law practice in Morristown. A few years earlier, he had lost custody of his own child and was determined to help other fathers who might be facing the same fate. The courts in New Jersey overwhelmingly favored mothers in custody disputes. The same was true throughout the United States. Cases like mine, which involved an appeal, were mostly uphill battles. The chances of winning were minuscule. If he agreed to work with me, Howard was going to be the guy coming up in the bottom of the ninth with the bases loaded, down three runs, with two outs, hoping for a miraculous game-winning grand slam.
He was just the man for the job.
DON DROVE ME out to meet with Danzig on January 8, 1980. His first words to me were, “Tell me your story, Ed.” I went through the whole day in court for him.
When I mentioned that Father John was in the row behind me, Howard stopped me and said, “Wait—a priest was there?” I told him that I’d known John since our days in college together. “Father John heard everything the judge said to you, even the part about you being unfit because you are disabled?”
I said yes. For the next two hours, we went over my relationship with Dee from the first meeting at her sister’s apartment until our last in court. Howard took pages of notes.
When he was done, he stood up and said, “I’ll take the case!”
I paid his retainer so that we could get started, but secretly worried that I might not have enough to cover his one-hundred-dollar-per-hour fees over the long haul. Howard didn’t seem concerned about that; he wanted to get started right away on the appeals process.
Howard went to Hudson County to meet with the judge in person to ask for a change in the ruling. As expected, he was summarily dismissed. The judge insisted that we had no reasonable grounds for appeal. Howard disagreed. He claimed that I had been unfairly discriminated against, because my blindness was cited as the sole factor in the verdict, without a word of testimony from either side being heard. He then said that he’d be taking my appeal to the superior court.
The judge laughed at him.
This appeal was quite a gamble. The superior court was not in the habit of tossing out rulings in family law cases unless they involved abuse or harm to the children. Dee would certainly never harm the boys. Her request was the same as mine. We both felt that the children belonged with us. All my lawyer was asking for was a fair hearing, with testimony and expert witnesses.
In early February, Howard told my story in front of three New Jersey superior court judges. He was persuasive enough to get their attention. They removed the original judge from the case and asked Hudson County to assign another judge, with instructions to have a bench trial that included testimony. They also ordered psychiatric evaluations for me, Dee, and the boys.
Howard had done it! And this was only the first step. At least now I’d be able to make my case in open court. Howard wasted no time in getting to work. He asked me for a list of everyone that I’d known since Dee and I met. He wanted to interview and take depositions from as many friends, coworkers, and relatives as he could. If I was going to testify that the boys belonged with me, Howard wanted to present as strong an argument as possible.
Eddie and Chris were now living with their mother in Bergen County. My house, and my life, felt empty. The only solace came from where it always had, my faith. Prayer strengthened me, giving me a peace and hope that would otherwise be lacking. There was no guarantee that my prayers would bring the outcome I wanted, but they did promise that I would not be abandoned during my ordeal. That was a great comfort.
I continued to ask the saints in heaven to pray for me. I also turned to a living saint.
In 1917, three shepherd children in Fatima, Portugal, saw the apparition of the Virgin Mary on a hillside. The visitation became world famous, the subject of several inspirational books and movies. My mother and father were particularly attracted to the story of Our Lady of Fatima. One of the children on that hillside, Lucia, became a Carmelite nun and was living in a convent in 1980. I wrote a letter to her, which explained my story. I asked Sister Lucia to pray for me.
To my amazement, she wrote back. It was a nice note, encouraging me to honor God and to wait patiently on His timing. She assured me that all things would work together for good. Sister Lucia also enclosed a special set of rosary beads to assist me in my prayers.
This was a very touching gesture on her part. I continued to write to her over the years, and she would write back.
It was a special correspondence that lasted until her death in 2005.
The appellate trial was scheduled to begin on September 15. The new judge had a reputation of being fair, but this was still Hudson County. The likelihood of his changing a verdict already rendered by one of his colleagues was slim. But at least we were being given a fighting chance.
Rather than travel all over New Jersey and New York trying to get depositions, Howard decided to set up one day in which potential witnesses could come to him. We held the meetings at my house. My mother had it catered. From 9:00 a.m. until 9:00 p.m., more than fifty people came by to talk to my attorney. Between that marathon session and his many phone calls to my friends in the Lions and in baseball, Danzig had gathered enough testimony to more than vouch for my abilities as a single father, disabled or not.
I was thrilled with the amount of work he was putting in, but still worried about the looming bill. Every time he told me that he’d spent another hour or two on my case, I heard a silent meter running in my head. Howard had been focusing almost exclusively on this trial, so his income was largely dependent on me and the timely payment of his fees.
The pressure was getting to me. I called Howard in the hopes of working out a payment plan. Even if it took me decades, I would find a way to pay him all that I owed him and more. He’d certainly earned it, win, lose, or draw.
The moment he answered the phone, I said to Howard, “I need to talk to you about my bill.” I didn’t want to waste any time with small talk, I wanted to address the big issue. I had anticipated every answer that he could give, except for the one that actually came out of his mouth. “Don’t worry about it, Ed. Your bill has been paid in full.”
I dropped the receiver. Surely I had heard him wrong.
He repeated, “Your bill has been paid in full.” I said, in disbelief, “Paid by whom?” Howard said, “The easier question to answer is, who didn’t pay? My mailbox has been flooded for weeks with checks. Once I began making calls asking for testimony on your behalf, people started sending me money for your legal fees. Most of them asked me not to tell you that they did it.”
I wanted to cry. I still want to, recalling all their kindness.
“I can’t name names,” Howard said, “but almost everyone that you’ve met in your life has pitched in to help you out. The Lions, alumni and teachers from Seton Hall, Holy Family, PS 22, and the New York Institute, county workers, your dad’s union—even Mr. Steinbrenner and the Yankees!—players, writers, and broadcasters from all over baseball, all of them and more have contributed. You’ve touched and inspired a lot of people, Ed. These are your true friends, and they are showing you just how much they love you.”
Just like George Bailey in Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life, I guess I had an angel watching over me—in fact, a whole team of them. My life was indeed wonderful, no matter how the trial turned out.
BY THE TIME we arrived in court, Howard had devised an excellent strategy. Rather than calling witness after witness, he selected five representatives from five areas of my life, each of whom would testify to a different aspect of my parenting.
Bernie Pryor spoke for my fellow Lions, explaining that I often involved my boys in our service activities, giving them firsthand experience in contributing to the community and being productive members of society.
Dr. Cardiello testified about the physical health of my sons. He proved that they were not neglected and had a well-rounded life. My mother took the stand to bear witness to our close-knit family life.
Phil Rizzuto represented the Yankees, speaking to the judge about my ability to balance my job in baseball with fatherhood, a lifestyle that he and other players and broadcasters knew all too well. “I’ve spent the better part of my life away from my family,” Scooter said on the stand as his voice broke with emotion. “It was hard missing all of those special moments because I had to be at the ballpark. For six months a year, my kids followed me through the TV.” He stopped for a moment to compose himself, then continued. “What Eddie has done—and I think he’s been incredibly successful at this—is to make his boys part of his team. He spends as much time as he can with them, not because he’s required to, but because he wants to. Eddie really enjoys being with his children, and everyone can see that, including them. In my scorecard, I’d definitely mark that as a home run. I hope that you do, too, your honor.”
The most effective witness was Norma Kreitzer, the wife of my first trainer at the Seeing Eye. She was the director of the New Jersey Commission for the Blind. Norma was also totally blind herself. Norma had children of her own, so Howard asked her many questions about the capability of a blind person to be a parent. Even under cross-examination Norma never wavered, offering strong and compelling arguments for our side.
Howard wanted me to take the stand on my own behalf. This presented him with a unique problem. One of the many effective tactics in a lawyer’s arsenal is to set up visual cues with clients before they give testimony. A stroke of the chin, for example, or the crossing of arms, might indicate that the lawyer wants his client to stay silent on one point, or elaborate on another.
It was just like the signs that coaches give to players in baseball. But visual cues would be lost on me. We did consider verbal ones, but a cough or a loud tap isn’t as subtle or as easy to cover as something that can be seen with a sideways glance.
We decided to prepare as much as we could by going over the probable lines of inquiry from the other side, relying on that role-playing exercise to put me at ease on the stand.
Dee’s lawyer, surprisingly, didn’t ask that many questions in cross. He also called very few witnesses for her. She testified. So did Burt, and some of her sisters, but that was it.
Essentially, both of us were making the same case. We wanted to have our children live with us. Neither of us could prove that the other was unfit, or that the children would suffer in the other’s home. It was a toss-up.
The puzzling question was still why Dee chose to seek custody now, after all the time that had passed. Eddie was thirteen and Chris was eleven. If she’d just waited another few years, they would both be old enough to make up their own minds about who they wanted to live with, and the courts wouldn’t have to be involved at all.
Howard seemed worried. When we broke for lunch, he took me aside and confided that he couldn’t tell which way the judge was leaning. We’d done our best, but that might not be good enough. He said, with great worry in his voice, “To my knowledge, a father has never won custody of his children from the mother in New Jersey. No judge wants to break precedent.” That was gloomy enough. He then added, “From what I understand, a disabled person has never won custody from a nondisabled spouse in the United States. I just want you to be prepared for the worst, Ed.”
I felt bad for a second, then I reflected on that word: never. It was a word that I’d heard many times. “A blind person will never amount to anything besides begging on the streets.” “A student has never graduated Seton Hall with a guide dog.” “There’s never been a successful disabled sportscaster.” “Someone that lost their sight will never hit a baseball, ride a horse, or play golf.”
So many times, with God’s help, I’d blown right past all of the nevers. I had completely erased the word from my vocabulary.
I was fully confident that through His strength I was about to do it once again.
The final pieces of testimony that the judge needed to hear did not come in open court. He wanted to talk to Eddie and Chris before making his decision. The psychiatrist had evaluated us a few weeks before. He gave us a passing grade, but the judge wanted to get to know my boys beyond what was on paper or said on the stand.
Nobody was allowed to be in there when the conversations occurred. They would be off the record. Each boy would go in by himself. Eddie was first. To put him at ease and to break the ice, the judge spoke about baseball and football before getting down to the question of where Eddie preferred to live. Even that wasn’t asked directly. The conversation revolved around daily life after school and the differences between Jersey City and the suburbs. Eddie was in there for over an hour and a half.
When it was Chris’s turn to go in, the judge used the fact that he had a grandson born the same week as Chris to set the tone. They chatted about TV shows popular with Chris’s age group at the time. The conversation gradually drifted from Batman, The Dukes of Hazzard, and H.R. Pufnstuf back to where Chris wanted to live. Like Eddie, he spent more than ninety minutes inside but also came out smiling.
If either one of them realized what they just said would have a direct impact on the judge’s decision, they didn’t let on.
The trial concluded just a little over a week after it started, on September 23. By then, it had made news in several national and international papers. I was getting calls and cards of support from all over the globe.
Two days later, on Thursday, September 25, which just happened to be Scooter’s birthday, we were notified by the court that the judge had reached his decision. We were asked to reconvene in his courtroom at 1:00 p.m. Eddie and Chris were in school, so they wouldn’t be in court when the verdict was read.
A big crowd gathered inside. The tension was thick. The judge’s words seemed to come out in slow motion as he spoke. “Having found no legitimate reason to deny Mr. Lucas the right to bring up his children, and having found no evidence that his disability would render him in any way incapable of carrying out his responsibilities as a parent, I hereby overturn the prior ruling and order that his children be immediately returned to his custody, which I am awarding to him on a permanent basis.”
All I can remember from the moment after that was the deafening roar that went up from the assembled crowd and the bear hug that Howard gave me as he shouted, “You did it, Ed, you did it! You made history! You beat the odds!”
As I was saying a quiet prayer of thanks, I heard, through the chaos, a familiar noise. It was my mother, sitting behind me crying tears of joy, just as she had every other time I’d gotten past an impossible barrier. We embraced, and I joined her in the flow of happy tears.
