My dad always had high hopes that his only daughter (me) would follow in his footsteps and pursue a career in the law. Pop had been a JAG officer and enjoyed the work, but found his true calling when he joined the faculty at one of Texas’ finest law schools at Baylor University.

About twelve years after he began teaching, he co-authored a “legal thriller” entitled The Texas Rules of Evidence (yeah, okay…it was a textbook) which was required reading in criminal and evidence courses. I’m not sure how thrilled the students were having to learn all those cases but my dad, who was blessed with a strong sense of humor, decided to help ease the tensions inherent in attending law school.
He tossed in a few quotes between a student's memorization of evidentiary procedure in “Yee-Haw vs. Whoop-di-Do” and added his own set of rules, which his students (along with his daughter and two sons who were fed these rules along with dinner) took to heart.

Pop gave the rules names based on quotes from both famous…and not so famous…people he’d known. For example, there was the pragmatic Walter Cronkite rule: “That’s the way it is.” Which is actually the same as the more colorful Jimmy Durante rule: “Them’s the conditions that prevail.”
I gathered at a very young age that the Cronkite rule is what lawyers must occasionally impart to their clients when facing a losing situation during a trial, and something that all of us in life have to remember when facing…uh…life.

My dad also quoted a rather pessimistic rule attributed to both St. Paul (as in the epistle-writing apostle) and cartoonist William Steig (who grew a bit less cynical as he aged and produced the children’s book, “Shrek!” in 2000). St. Paul’s version was, “All have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” Steig was a bit more concise, blunt…and possibly rude…with, “People are no damned good.”
I personally use this rule when scrolling through certain social media sites, listening to politicians make and break promises, or watching the idiot in front of me weaving his car across no-passing lines while talking on his cell phone (and yes, I tend to use Steig’s verbiage more often than the good saint’s, along with adding one or two comments that are doubtless not sanctioned by the Bible).

A more optimistic and colorful rule came from Mr. Tom Jenkins, who had been a successful wrestling coach during the years my dad attended West Point Academy. Jenkins was fond of telling his team, “For every holt there’s a guard agin it and there ain’t no holt what can’t be broke!” In legal terms, “there’s a loophole for every law.” In life terms…there’s always another way. You have options. I like to remember that rule when I find myself in a tense situation (or, when writing a mystery or romantic suspense, stick my characters into one) and start fretting about what will become of me (or my fictitious protagonist).

My all-time favorite rule (and I have a strong suspicion it was also Pop’s) originated from one of the judges in the JAG office…one Colonel Gunn. A simple rule, really, and rather poetic in that simplicity.
“The s.o.b. Is obviously guilty.”
(I’m pretty sure the good colonel did not use the acronym but went full tilt boogie with language also not sanctioned by the Bible). Colonel Gunn did not use this rule in open court for reasons that were fairly evident and logical, not to mention legal, and designed to avoid having attorneys trot right over to the appeals court, but I gather he’d been known to inform the JAG officers that he was looking at their client in this light…perhaps more often than the defense would care to realize.
I drag this rule out when watching courtroom dramas on TV or (again) listening to politicians try to explain why they were caught in that hotel room with their pants down next to someone whose business card reads “Escorts-4-U!” I also channel Colonel Gunn’s words when I’m stuck trying to decide who my killer is going to be to remind myself to avoid the obvious. I don’t want readers quickly pointing to the murderer while unintentionally quoting the wise colonel, thus ruining what I’d hoped would be a perfectly mysterious mystery.

I did not become a lawyer. As a theater/dance major I simply wasn’t convinced any jury would find my arguments credible if I were doing grande jetes (leaps) around the judge’s bench while giving a summation or belting out a show-tune that sounded semi-legal, such as “Step Into the Bad Side” (Dreamgirls) or “Razzle Dazzle” (Chicago) or “Damned for All Time” (Jesus Christ Superstar) or just saying “to hell with it” and imploring a jury to be merciful by singing a little Sting with “Set Them Free.”

Pop didn’t press me to get a Juris Doctorate. Where he imposed his beliefs, his will, his opposite of Steig-thinking was in making me determined to pursue justice. Not the “law” necessarily…but justice. My dad really had the ability to see both sides of a conflict or issue and channel Atticus Finch by stepping into another man’s shoes and walking around in them. He passed these beliefs on to me.
It’s one reason I make sure any mystery or romantic suspense I write comes with a “completed” ending that’s a good one. I want the killer caught.
I want any evil “holts” on my heroine to be “broke.”
I want the obvious and non-obvious sons of female canines to be found guilty.
I want the “conditions that prevail” to be conditions that end in truth and justice.
That’s the way it is.