Resounding waves of shock and sadness swept over the Chattanooga area following the early-morning death of Judge Bob Moon on Thursday and it was during this numbing loss of a friend, a mentor and “a fellow struggler,” that I was told a story. I was sitting with one of our dearest mutual friends, a man who Bob knew had been once been wronged by our imperfect but still ever-glorious legal system.
“Bob told me that I had to make a choice,” the man said. “Judge Moon said that I could be mad – and that everybody would understand it – but that it would make me sick for the rest of my life. Or, he told me, that I could be disappointed and, if I did that instead, I’d get along just fine. It was one of the best pieces of advice I have ever gotten. It made a difference in my life.”
Don’t you love that? It is so typical of the way Bob Moon embraced our world until he was found dead in his study early yesterday morning, the victim of what authorities believe to be a massive heart attack. Acid, as Judge Moon knew only too well, will eat away any vessel that contains it, but disappointment carries with it so many opportunities, so many ways to turn its scar into a star.
I believe the best years of the remarkable 60 that Judge Moon shared on this earth were in his ability to take the very worst of people and dream of ways to make each a star. As a well-respected member of the Hamilton County General Sessions judiciary, he dealt with a mind-boggling parade of problems every day and his goal, although it might not have quite seemed like it at the time, was to help every soul who stood before him.
He was a great source for a writer like myself and I adored the lessons he would share in his office. Once I got twisted up on how the state of Tennessee bonding system worked, this in a particularly vicious case, and sought out his help in grasping it. His common-sense answer, given in a simple way so even I could understand it, boldly illustrated the beauty of the United States Constitution and the way state laws support it and why.
Another time I appeared unannounced in his court late one morning for a dose of his wisdom and guidance. His bailiff whispered he’d be just a minute and then called the last case – a prostitute who tried to soften the judge’s stance by hurriedly blurting she’d gotten a full-time job just the afternoon before. What she didn’t know was Judge Moon had purposefully moved her case to the last before lunch.
Dealing through her previous files faster than a Vegas card handler, the judge rattled off four different court appearances by the days where the court had only fined the woman but then boomed, “We haven’t been able to help you yet! Here you are again and I’m horribly disappointed. I’m also sorry for the people who hired you because you aren’t going to be able to get to work for awhile!”
The woman pleaded and cried, the scene as typical as you might imagine. “I’ve got to get your attention,” the judge spoke boldly. “Until I do, you won’t understand the importance of changing your entire lifestyle. I think you can be somebody – a lot of people do -but, unfortunately, you are the only person on this earth who can make that happen. If you don’t, you are going to get killed. If you do, I’ll help lead the parade but, until you’re ready to make a real decision, let’s see if jail can help get your attention!”
Whew! I almost forgot what I was going to ask about but the judge, in scant seconds, was warm and jovial and, as always, we had a delightful time together.
He was born in scrappy East Lake and became a brilliant jurist, a great conservationist and had more hobbies that anybody else I know. He was constantly studying, questioning, learning and his greatest attribute, in my eyes, was his intense compassion for his fellow man.
He talked about the threat of gangs to our city a good two years before others noticed. Time and time again he’d stress the importance of an education to anyone and yearned for ways to stamp out truancy, hunger and crime in neighborhoods where he had once grown up. The reason was so simple it was startling in its clarity – Bob Moon cared.
He’ll be sorely missed, joyously remembered and always revered. Bob Moon made a difference in a lot of lives before he died too soon. Oh, that the rest of us could do only half as much.
royexum@aol.com