Lawyer, Comedian, Crime Buster, Judge

It never occurred to me that Bob Schwartz would, could die.

Those of us who knew the audacious judge, former district attorney, columnist, comedian, crime adviser, mayoral candidate, justice correspondent and public utility commissioner often used the “larger-than-life” cliché in reference to Schwartz. In his case, it was completely valid.

Larger-than-life people don’t die. At some point far down the line, they go out in that gloriously hyperbolic Hunter S. Thompson way of skidding in broadside in a cloud of smoke.

They don’t die like normal people do.

Yet there we had it in the breaking news that blipped on our cellphones and laptops Monday night: Judge Schwartz dead at 62, in a Rio Rancho hospital, of pneumonia, after breaking his leg doing yardwork.

What? No.

But yes.

This week, I pulled out my old “Judge Bob” file filled with notes, old articles, Schwartz’s résumé and letters of recommendation from when he applied for the 2nd Judicial District bench in 2008. Among those listed as his references are some of the heaviest hitters in the local legal circles: Attorney General Gary King, former state Supreme Court Justice Joseph Baca, nearly former state Supreme Court Justice Paul Kennedy, former chief public defender John Bigelow, powerhouse attorney Randi McGinn and prominent civil rights attorney Mary Han.

Also in the file is a rough draft of a Sunday feature piece I wrote about Schwartz’s first month on the bench nearly five years ago, a job many thought he hadn’t the temperament for, given his penchant for off-the-cuff quips and legal grandstanding.

But he was proving most of his critics wrong, and in that month he had settled into the robes with a newfound austerity, still ruffling some feathers, of course, but largely keeping himself in check and on script.

“Ad libs are dangerous,” he told me. “You have to try to do things of the book, by the book and for the book.”

My Sunday piece was supposed to run in April 2008 but was canned after editors decided it was too close to the June primary and might appear to be favoring him over his competition.

(Schwartz won the primary and the general election without my inadvertent help.)

He still went off script now and then, most notably when he threatened to hold prosecutors in contempt for coming to court unprepared and without proof that victims’ families were notified of the proceedings. In 2010, he was reprimanded by the state Supreme Court for failing to recuse himself from cases involving an assistant public defender whom he had dated and given a sexually explicit book in jest.

He struggled sometimes with the demons of depression and the medications that kept them at bay, but mostly he maintained his usual wit and wow, though the “wow” he saved for his time off the bench.

Now that he is suddenly gone, not just from the bench but from this world, and because some of you asked, I thought I would share a snippet of that Sunday story I wrote about Schwartz’s early days as judge.

This is how I will always see him. It’s a good way, I think.

What About Bob

Judge Bob Schwartz swoops into the courtroom in a billowing black robe too big and too long and too concealing of his smashing gold-striped tie.

That just won’t do.

He spreads the neckline of the robe – a borrowed one from the much taller state District Judge Stan Whitaker – so that it flays open like a double-breasted business suit.

The tie emerges, and all is right again in Schwartz’s new world, singular and stylish as ever.

Style, not just in the fashion sense, has always been part of Schwartz’s flamboyant shtick. For years he’s nurtured a fondness for the limelight, maintaining his high profile – and high, ethereal plume of gray-white hair – with a clever turn of phrase, a controversial stance or, at least once, a drag queen costume.

That panache hasn’t always made him the darling of the status quo, though that has hardly seemed to matter to him.

“I always seem to have the need to do things differently,” he said.

Already, he’s instituted policies in his courtroom that have both exhilarated victim advocates and exasperated the very District Attorney’s Office he once ran.

“I have a pesky habit of wanting to know the facts of the case,” he said.

Sometimes that recognition of his former life as district attorney leads to a defendant asking for another judge. Schwartz gladly offers that option.

“It’s the ethical thing to do,” he said.

But he said he thinks people are realizing he doesn’t sit on one side of the courtroom.

“People are surprised at how nonpartisan I am,” he said. “They don’t look at me and see the aura of a prosecutor in my decisions. They look at someone who is very evenhanded.”

Which is not to say he is always light-handed.

He has a rubber stamp, made when he took the bench. It reads “NMC,” short for “no more chances.”

So far, he hasn’t had to use it.

UpFront is a daily front-page news and opinion column. Comment directly to Joline at 823-3603, jkrueger@abqjournal.com or follow her on Twitter @jolinegkg. Go to www.abqjournal.com/letters/new to submit a letter to the editor.
— This article appeared on page A1 of the Albuquerque Journal