“The law is no respecter of persons.” These words come from the old Fifth Circuit Pattern Jury Instructions. They may now strike some ears as archaic, and may even have gone the way of the Latin Mass.
I recall them now not only because I often heard Judge Boyle speak them to juries, but also because I saw with my own eyes, and must now bear witness to, how deeply he believed them.
They were a kind of aesthetic principle for the Judge, who had a sharp distaste for pretense and ostentation. I myself have a taste for purple prose, which I would from time to time insert in a draft opinion. Whenever I did that, Judge Boyle would call me to his office. We would share a quiet chuckle. Then he would say, “Son, you have some beautiful language here on page 12 of this draft opinion. Take it out.” The funny thing is, I always knew what language he was talking about without his having to point it out.
But the formula, “The law is no respecter of persons,” is meant to remind the jury that all people are equal at the court of justice. I encountered this passion for dispassion early on in my clerkship, when I drew the assignment of handling all habeas corpus appeals to our section from the magistrates. On this occasion, Judge Boyle walked back to my office. He said: “Son, a man has no right more precious than his freedom. You will review every habeas appeal with attention and care. You may find most of them unmeritorious. You may even find that many of them are frivolous. But you will always be alert for the one that deserves to be granted.”
This spirit of equal justice suffused Judge Boyle’s work. I ran a Westlaw search yesterday. I punched in “opinionby Boyle.” The computer spat out 105 reported opinions, including a handful from the Fifth Circuit where Judge Boyle sat by designation. All of these opinions are marked by craftsmanship, attention to detail, and sheer hard work. Judge Boyle believed the law to be a high calling, and he imposed high standards on himself, on his law clerks, and on the lawyers appearing before him.
But there is more. Judge Boyle held himself to high standards not only in law, but also in life. I saw with my own eyes, and must now bear witness to, the courage and grace with which Judge Boyle confronted the infirmities that began to bedevil him in 1989, the last year of my clerkship. The last memorandum I did for him, he asked to be blown up to as large a magnification as the copy machine was able. And even at that, the Judge used a magnifying glass to read the material.
He never complained about this, and he was very much not interested in pity. He even kept a lively sense of humor. The last time I got him to go out to lunch was St. Patrick’s day. There’s a surprise. The Judge negotiated his way gingerly through the restaurant. We sat down. The waiter handed us menus. The Judge glanced perfunctorily at his, and then closed it. He smiled and said, wryly, “Son why don’t you tell me what’s good here. I’m not familiar with this restaurant.”
So today I am grieving but grateful for the life of this splendid man.
Mrs. Boyle, I extend my deepest sympathy to you and your family.
I pray for the repose of his soul.
I owe Judge Boyle more than I can ever recount, let alone repay.
He will always be my hero.