B ack in 1996, when I decided to take a crack at an appointment to the California court of appeal, I walked over to the courtroom next to mine to talk to Dick Weatherspoon about it. I was trying to figure out which of my fellow superior court judges was likely to be competition for the job, and since "Spoon" had already beaten me out for a municipal court position in the mid-’80s, I knew him to be a formidable adversary.
I’ll never forget his response when I asked if he was going after the seat. He looked at me for a moment like I’d suddenly begun speaking in tongues, and then bellowed, "Court of appeal? Are you kidding me? Who would want that job? Billy, if I could quitclaim you my rights to an appellate court position, I would do it in a heartbeat."
