Jim Jones' Legal Blog

Forty-five years after its introduction, the Ford Mustang stands alone as the sole survivor of the muscle car era.  The Chevrolet Camaro, Pontiac Firebird and the Dodge Challenger have all gone the way of the dodo bird.  Not that the Mustang didn’t have some narrow escapes itself.  The suits in charge of marketing at Ford wanted to kill the car back in 1992 but when word got out, the company received over two hundred thousand letters from former and current owners protesting the decision.  Instead, the car was re-designed in 1994 with an updated body style and more potent engines.  Sales increased and the car was refined over the next few years until the 2005 model.  This car was the first new-from-the ground-up re-design since 1978 and it is the best one yet.  The suspension is tauter, the engine gained thirty more horsepower resulting in a faster, better handling car while retaining the classic styling cues of the original.  It has been the most popular sports car sold in this country for the past twenty years.

            The GT model‘s 4.6, 24 valve power plant produces a respectable 300 horsepower right out of the box.  Fuel consumption averages 20 city and 27 highway, exceptional mileage for a V-8 engine.  There is a billion dollar per year industry that produces performance products strictly for this car.  Companies such as Carroll Shelby, Steeda and Saleen take that performance to a new and higher level with a variety of engine, suspension, tire and other modifications, resulting in a car that rivals some the Europe’s most illustrious names.  It is not unusual for this small engine to be modified such that it will produce over 500 horsepower.

            The first car I ever really wanted was a 1966 fastback coupe.  It was red with white interior and was sitting in a car lot along Route 30.  Imagine my dismay when it was purchased by some doting father for his son, a kid I went to school with and thoroughly disliked.  Now I really hated him. A few months later, this same wonderful father replaced the Mustang with a brand new 1969 Z-28 Camaro and sold the Mustang to another kid that I hated even more that the first.

            I went on to own other performance cars such as a Triumph TR-6, a Corvette, 1970 Chevelle and two Fiats but never forgot that Mustang.  I bought my first one in 1996 and have owned five overall, counting the 2006 GT currently sweltering in our parking lot.  For the money, it is the best buy in a performance car you can get and depending on how much you want to spend, it can be a truly world class competitor.

            A while back, one of my colleagues referred to me as his “favorite malcontent”.  It took me a minute or so to digest this comment and although I’m sure he didn’t mean it to be complimentary, I consider myself in good company.  With the recent July 4 holiday just past, it seemed to me that this country was founded by a bunch of like-minded malcontents.   John Paine, John Adams, and Ben Franklin were among the most fervent malcontents of their day.  After they lost their faith in the English system of justice, they became dedicated revolutionaries.     

            Adams defended the British soldiers accused of murder in the so-called “Boston Massacre” and won an acquittal on all counts, only to see the English invalidate the jurisdiction of American courts over Englishmen accused of a crime.

            One of the foremost malcontents of all time must be Martin Luther.  He was unhappy with certain practices of the Catholic Church so much that he took on the only real global power in existence at the time and sparked the Reformation. 

            A disproportionate number of malcontents have been lawyers. Mao Tse Tung, Gandhi and Fidel Castro are some examples of over-achieving malcontents whose discontent changed world history. 

            And all I wanted was to go some place different for lunch.

With Memorial Day upon us once again and our troops still in harm’s way in Iraq and Afghanistan, I thought it appropriate to blog on this subject.  It is certainly proper to honor those who have fallen in the defense of our country.  Those of us who were teenagers during the Viet Nam era will remember friends and neighbors who died there.  Looking through family photographs, there are the faces of family members who served in conflicts from the Civil War up through WWII and Korea. 

I am especially proud of the photograph of my great, great uncle William Cross Bell who served in the Union Cavalry during the Civil War.  He looks to be about twenty in the picture, sitting there erect in his blue uniform holding his saber at his side.  Family lore says that he gave two good horses and one leg for the Union at battle of Second Manassas.  My grandmother who was born in 1876, used to tell stories of his recounting war time experiences on the front porch, wooden leg propped up for comfort.  My great grandfather served in the infantry and would turn his chair and harrumph when these tales began.  Apparently there was some rivalry between the cavalry and the infantry that outlasted the war.

Next is my uncle Roy Claussen, a mere boy of 15 in his WWI uniform holding his Springfield ’06 rifle at “present arms”.  He lied about his age and my great-grandmother signed for him to join the Army. He was killed in the Argonne Forest just a couple months before the Armistice on November, 11, 1918. My mother’s family was German and they even Anglicized the spelling of the family name to read “Closson”.  This was done by many German families to show their patriotism during this period.

He was the first one killed in that war from our little town and they named the local VFW post after him.  There used to be a parade down Fourth Street every Memorial Day with the usual cornball mix of junior high school bands, local politicians and horses.  My Uncle Jim used to dress up like a clown and drive his old West Stagecoach pulled by a pair of mules named Ham and Gravy in the parade.  My grandmother was one of the “Gold Star” mothers who rode in the front of the parade, usually in a Cadillac convertible.  Gold Star mothers were those who lost sons in the war.  She never spoke of it but kept his service photograph over the piano in her living room until her death in 1965.  We donated the photograph to the VFW post where it hangs today.

There’s my cousin Tommy in his spiffy WWII lieutenant’s uniform, hat cocked to one side just like the guys in the war movies.  I think he was the first Jones in the 200 years that we’ve been here to earn a college degree on the GI Bill.  He stepped on a land mine in France and carried a piece of Krupp steel in his leg until the day he died.  He never could walk right and limped along for many years after that day but never complained. 

Finally there’s Paul Rugh in his fighter jock flight suit standing in front of his F- 80 Shooting Star, grinning ear to ear.  He was married to my older sister and flew combat missions in Europe in a P-38 Lightning fighter.  He stayed in the service after the war and flew combat in Korea, one of the very first jet pilots.  He got through all of that but was killed in a training accident in Georgia.

So let us continue to observe Memorial Day and drink a toast to these brave men.  Lest we forget.

       Those who have read my blog entitled “Caveat Emptor-An Ebayer’s Tale of Remorse” will recall that when we last left our hero, he was wistfully romanticizing about the day that he could once again take flight on his two wheeled magic carpet.  Well, that day, or night actually arrived earlier this week about 9:30 p.m.  It was a carefully crafted and calculated event, planned to avoid law enforcement and scheduled to occur during the shift change for the local constabulary. 

While the Duc is equipped with the latest advances in stealth technology, i.e. a radar/laser detector-jammer, it does not obscure the current lack of a license plate on the rear.  Oh yeah, I know, not supposed to ride without it but I just couldn’t wait any longer.  So as the sun set in the western sky, I rolled the Duc out onto the driveway, engaged the choke and pushed the start button.  Instantly, the two Italian cylinders roared to life and settled into a growling idle as I waited for the engine to warm up.  I patiently performed the usual pre-flight check, turn signals, brake lights; head light, high beam until the oil temperature gauge read sixty degrees Centigrade.  The dry plate clutch, a Ducati hallmark, whirred and rattled as I eased the choke off.  I had checked tire pressure before and found exactly 31.6 psi in the front and 35.1 psi in the rear, just as the manual prescribed.

I pulled my helmet on, got aboard, engaged the clutch and pushed the gear changer down into low gear.  A little throttle, smooth release of clutch and we were off down the cul de sac.  One trip around to test brakes and throttle and I moved out onto North Millbend Drive.  Knowing how the Monster likes to raise its front wheel with the application of too much throttle, I eased through the five speed gear box and turned onto Grogan’s Mill Road, a major thoroughfare.  Practically deserted at this hour, I downshifted into third gear and coming out of the turn, goosed the throttle about half way.  I was instantly rewarded with sudden roaring thunder from the dual exhaust and the rush of acceleration as the 750 cc engine responded.  As I shifted into top gear, the speedo read 90 kph (kilometers per hour) and I twisted the throttle further, wind howling though the open face of the helmet.  The road was deserted but not wanting to test Newton’s First Law of Motion any further, I signaled a left turn and headed back toward the house.  NO!  NO! Not yet my child-mind screamed.  Obliging it as I sometimes do, I passed the turn-off to the house and headed for the Woodlands Parkway.

 OK, no law in sight, I ‘ll just ease through this light and turn left onto the Parkway.  Oh, so this guy in the Porsche thinks he can beat me down the ramp.  Sorry Bud, power to weight ratio all in my favor.  I rip the throttle open in second gear and just as the front wheel comes up, I shift into third and leave that fine example of Teutonic engineering behind.  Speedo reading 95 kph as I merge onto the Parkway, empty now except for me, white headlight bobbing.  It’s a perfect night for this outlaw ride, cool, no bugs, smell of jasmine and lake as I cross the bridge.  Dark on this stretch of highway but I can see a red light up ahead.  Better head back now, downshifting into fourth, then third, second gear and making the U-turn back to the house.  Winding back up through the gears, exit right, lean into the turn and back on the throttle.  Right turn again and into the driveway.  Turn off the key, all quiet except for the tree frogs, Duc’s hot exhaust ticking as it cools down.  Put the side stand down, pull off the helmet.  That’s better-back in touch with my inner lawyer.

        Often we encounter situations where the child has gone to live with the non-custodial parent.  Naturally, the non-custodial parent wants to halt payment of child support.   He does so without complaint from the custodial parent until four years pass and he is served with a petition to enforce the non-payment of court ordered child support. 

            Result:  The Court does not find the father in contempt but orders payment of all unpaid support and awards the mother attorney’s fees.   To satisfy the first prong of the father’s affirmative defense to non-payment, he has to prove that the mother “voluntarily relinquished” possession and control of the child for a period in excess of the father’s court-ordered possession.  The Court found that the mother had not voluntarily relinquished control of the child within the meaning of the statute, Section 157.008 (a) (b), Texas Family Code.  There must be a formal agreement by the non-custodial parent; mere ‘acquiescence “ or “toleration” to the change in the child’s residence is insufficient.

            The Court reasoned that any lesser standard erodes the sanctity of the trial court’s order. Anytime a change of residence such as this is contemplated, one should consult a competent family law attorney to avoid such pitfalls.