Reno Gazette-Journal from Reno, Nevada • Page 6

6A Reno Gazette-Journal Sunday, May 23, 1993 Judge a prepared im her coiirt wees: IB 7-rsm ft -r i -7 vA HOME TIME: Deborah Agosti and her husband, Mike Walsh, prepare a salad and angel-hair pasta dinner. Lisa J. ToldaGazetteJournal Attorney disagrees with Agosti By MikeSion GAZETTE-JOURNAL Reno lawyer Kent Robison who butted heads with Agosti over female membership in the Reno chapter of the American Board of Trial Advocates says Agosti is an excellent trial judge. However, he has a "fundamental disagreement" with Agosti about the ABOTA controversy. In December 1 99 1 Agosti received an invitation to an ABOTA dinner.

Included was a membership roster. It was Agosti says she wrote back asking if the lack of women members was a coincidence, for if the bylaws exclude women, it would be unethical for her to attend. She says Robison wrote back that women would be asked to join, and she attended. But she later claimed that ABOTA held a meeting and blackballed the only woman candidate. Agosti says she wrote a letter and sent copies to the chapter's members saying they'd engaged in a de facto course of discrimination.

Someone leaked the letter to the Associated Press, and the controversy was covered in the state's biggest newspapers. "I'm here to tell you there is no gender issue in ABOTA," says Robison. But he says Agosti's action did force ABOTA to issue 1 7 invitations to female lawyers. The first woman Margo Piscevich was inducted into the chapter on March 31. "Women should be entitled all classes of people should be entitled to participate as fully at any level of their profession, as they can," says Agosti.

From page 1A considered a prime candidate to someday become Nevada's second female Supreme Court justice. "She's a role model for other lawyers and for young women all over," says Judge Miriam Shearing, 58, the state's first woman on the Supreme Court. But Agosti herself downplays big plans. "I'm accused of having far more ambition than I really do," she says with a trace of Midwest twang. "My reason for being in the district court is because it's my vocation," she says.

"I never considered it as a stepping stone." But Agosti concedes her success in a male-dominated field makes her a torch-bearer for women. "People come to court and get used to seeing me, and it becomes no big deal," she says. "If there were any prejudice there, it's gone." Early days on bench It wasn't always that way. In 1 985, Agosti and Robin Wright became the first women judges in Washoe County District Court, and the youngest elected in any of the state's district courts. Wright was 31 Agosti was 33.

The rapid rise surprised even her. Agosti was a justice of the peace who'd won by 65 percent to 35 percent the election for Department 3, besting Reno lawyer Chan Griswold, 47, who'd practiced law 23 years. Agosti had gotten to the Justice Court in an upset; she'd finished a distant second to Reno City Attorney Patricia Lynch in the primary, but won the general election. At the time she became a JP, Agosti was a deputy Washoe County district attorney. Before that, she was a staff attorney for Washoe Legal Services, her first job in Nevada after serving as a deputy public defender in her native Ohio.

But being on the district court bench was the real eye-opener. "I know for a fact that 1 had to spend a great deal of my first few years on the bench proving myself," says Agosti. "And I know there were several reasons why. And one of them was because I was a woman." Reno being small, gossip filtered back to her. Yes, some lawyers bandied about the b-word.

While she was still in the justice court, one attorney sidled up to the court clerk and referred to Agosti as a "she-judge," a variation of she-wolf that left her to wonder, she says, "Geez, should I have really long fingernails?" "After those first few years of really having to prove myself, lawyers who I know opposed my election and endorsed my opponent, have full confidence in me now," says Agosti. "And that I'm so proud of." She ran unopposed in 1 990. Kosach who unseated Robin Wright said there was no way he would' ve taken on Agosti's record. Consensus: She's fair-minded While it's difficult to get any lawyer to speak negatively about a sitting judge, the consensus of those speaking on and off the record is that Agosti is extremely well-prepared and fair-minded. Washoe County deputy public defender Maizie Pusich and deputy district attorney Jenny Hubach who try an average of 20 cases a week in front of Agosti say she's never given a sentence outside a reasonable range.

"If they deserve to get clobbered, they do, and if they deserve to get a chance, they do," says Pusich. Pusich also lauds Agosti's decorum. "She addresses everyone as Mr. or Miss. She's not real maternal.

Some of the otherjudges are sort of paternal. 'Come on, son what are you doing here, why have you gotten in But Pusich says unprepared lawyers try Agosti's patience. "The ones that get in trouble are the ones who try to bluff." She's seen Agosti refuse to accept a guilty plea and send a case to trial because the counsel didn't properly advise the defendant the maximum time he could face. Agosti asks pointed questions to lawyers to ensure they've done their homework, says Hubach. "She has read the pre-sentence report, she has read the file, she does very thorough canvassing of the defendants, and when written motions are filed, she will have read and reviewed them prior to hearing oral arguments," she says.

"I've seen some judges that just don't do that. They read them while they listen to the arguments." "You have to be prepared when you go before her," says lawyer Graham Galloway, who's lost two personal-injury cases before Agosti. "It's a pain in the neck for us, but it's good. She moves the case along, and generally does not put up with a whole lot of the typical lawyering or posturing that sometimes burdens a case." Likes her reputation "I know that I have a reputation for requiring the attorneys to be prepared," says Agosti, sitting in her fourth-floor chambers late on a Friday afternoon. "It is a reputation that I am certainly not at all ashamed of.

I think that my style enhances the ability to address the issues. If a lawyer is mistaken on a point in my court, that is no sin. But if a lawyer is unprepared in my court, then sometimes we have a problem." Piles of papers cover her desk: phone messages, memos, Supreme Court advance opinions. Like its owner, the desk is busy. Ceramic Disney figurines crowd a corner.

An empty Mickey and Minnie Mouse coffee mug sits next to a large, empty Burger King cup. Facing Agosti are family photographs, including her second husband, real estate attorney James "Mike" Walsh, 42, and their two children. It's a comfortable office in the newer wing of the 83-year-old Washoe County Courthouse. And Agosti's proud of the furnishings. One of her first items of business after taking office was redecorating the spartan room that retired Judge John Gabrielli had occupied for 22 years.

"Judge Gabrielli was an extremely humble man who would never make big demands on the county for anything" says Agosti. But his lack of, decorating funds left her with electrical tape covering holes in a garish red carpet. "I lived with Judge Gabriclli's stuftfor kyear, and it was sad" says Agosti. "There was blue couch it was great! It was cheap blue, like Holiday Inn-style of the '50s, kind of boxy. The two Chippendales (chairs) were green Naugahyde leather.

So we had a blue couch, red carpeting, light-green chairs and then two other also Holiday Inn-looking chairs that were brown, that muste come with the awful couch." She lowers hef breath. "It was awful." But the county came through with a rare $3,000 for judges to refurbish their offices. Agosti reupholstered the Chippendales with a peach covering, found a $300 couch, a coffee table and two area tables, put up a gray wallpaper with mauve pattern, added a light-gray plush carpet, brought in ivy and philodendrons and rearranged the desk to just inside the door, so those entering the Agosti hasn't become jaded. Even when she realizes almost every criminal case before her is related in some way to substance abuse. "I know that it is possible sometimes for someone to change their stripes," she says.

There was a 25-year-old found guilty for cocaine possession. Agosti gave him a deferred sentence. "He was real motivated to take advantage of the chance. Really impressed by the system," she says. "He was scared, which you always want to see, a little bit of fear, because sometimes that can be a very powerful motivator.

Even the supervising probation officer and the drug treatment counselor were impressed with this guy, how he just did what he was supposed to do. "And when he came back to court and said, i know that drugs are no longer a part of my life, and you will never see me again in this I did believe him. I don't often believe ones like that, but I did believe him. It was great!" But Agosti says she never looks back on a decision. Otherwise the ghosts of every case, every decision she knows was imperfect, will haunt her.

"You have to be a little bit schizophrenic. You have to be able to address these issues when they're presented, take them in all seriousness, give the parties your full attention, and then when you leave the office, you have to be able to close the door, shut it out, go home and enjoy your family, and not think about this place." Nevertheless, Agosti's workaholism contributed to a near-fatal bout of bacterial pneumonia a year ago. She was hospitalized 10 days. "It's probably true that because of her work ethic, she worked on the bench longer than she should have without seeking the medical help," says Miriam Shearing. "I think she's learned better." Agosti says her illness did get her to quit smoking.

Now she chews gum in her chamber. But she still occasionally goes to the office on a weekend, says her husband. And a late Friday afternoon might find Agosti on a speakerphone conference in her chambers with counsels working through a civil case, or wading through complex contract law. But it's on the other side of the tall door leading to the courtroom where the real drama happens. Inside the courtroom At 8:45 a.m.

on a May Tuesday, the buzzer sounds and the bailiff tells all to rise. Agosti emerges from her chambers in her black robe and sits at her white marble bench, flanked by the flags of Nevada and the United States. There are a half-dozen cases on the court calendar. One is a sentencing for a Vietnamese immigrant found guilty of cheating at gambling. He is a gaunt man with the beginnings of a bald spot, dressed in dark-green prison garb.

Hand and ankle cuffs are attached to a padlocked chain wrapped around his waist. He is a repeat-offender also facing a probation revocation in Las Vegas. He faces one to 10 years in this sentencing. The PD, Pusich, argues the man conscientiously traveled from his California home to make previous court hearings. He had a difficult background, raised during the Vietnam War.

He had a family to support. And he shouldn't be made an example of, just because some law enforcement reports say stiff sentences should be given southeast Asians to deter a rash of cheating. "I would ask that he be sentenced to a term of four years and that that be run concurrently with the revocation sentence he is facing" with a Las Vegas judge, Pusich says. The DA, Dan Coppa, argues that the man has been involved in cheating since 1 989 and had slugs for slot machines in Reno and Vegas. The parole department rep says it's the man's third gaming conviction in five years, and he did not seek substance abuse or gambling counseling.

The man himself testifies, in an accent that muffles his English, that he was trying to send money to his ailing mother in Vietnam, and could only make extra money by cheating. He says he had been clean for two years until the latest offense. And he says, in effect, he'd learned his lesson this time. Agosti orders him to pay a $25 administration assessment fee. "And I order that you be sentenced to a term of six years in the Nevada state prison I'll authorize the service of that term concurrent" to the other term.

She runs through a couple more cases authorizes a bench warrant for an alleged car thief who's skipped her court date and returns through the tall door to her chambers, not looking back. Somehow, Agosti finished ahead of the other no-names to place second and qualify for the general election with city attorney Patricia Lynch. "I figured I was going to win!" Agosti says. "I wasn't politically smart enough to look at the difference. She got like 53 percent of the vote, I got But Agosti hired a consultant.

She replaced her laminated cardboard campaign signs with ones the wind wouldn't blow away. She pounded the pavement and knocked on doors. Her surprise win in the general election was due in part to her campaign promises, which she implemented after the other two JPs elected her chief of Justice Court. Agosti gleaned the ideas from her work in Dayton's clogged courts. She added a night traffic court, and reduced thewaiting period on small claims from eight months to three weeks.

She initiated a voluntary work program to let offenders who couldn't pay fines work for the county parks department. She began a court services officer program to interview indigents and determine within 48 hours whether they merited a public defender, instead of keeping them locked up lOto 12 days. She also had local law enforcement cite offenders under county ordinances, rather than state statutes, to keep fine revenue for the county. Agosti figures her measures saved the county more than 1 00,000. In her second year as four seats became available in Washoe District Court.

Agosti knew such an opportunity wouldn't come again. "I'm a realist," she says. Her solid JP record helped her win in a landslide. Never cut and dried Agosti enjoys her life. She and her husband like to cook fancy foods.

She delves into big historical novels. She intends to retire on her district court bench. But she knows no judge is invulnerable. "A judge is only as good as his or her last decision, and I might make a decision that's completely right under the law, completely just, and completely unpopular." She's suffered one high-profile reversal. In 1986, a jury awarded $6 million in punitive damages to a Sparks man whose insurance company had refused to pay a claim of $9,600.

At the time, it was the highest punitive damage amount ever awarded in a Nevada court. Agosti allowed $200,000 in compensatory damages but set aside the $6 million award. In 1989, the Nevada Supreme Court upheld the award. A "Willie Horton" scenario could also bump her off the bench. "I sure had my share of people, like we all have, that I've put on probation, that have committed another crime while on probation," says Agosti.

"I've even had situations where I've had people on probation where they have committed another crime and I've reinstated them on probation," she says. No case is cut and dried. While she sees all the flotsam and jetsam of the judicial system wash into her courtroom murderers, rapists, petty thieves, drug addicts chambers would see the window with the view of downtown. She also now has a computer, and has finally taught herself to type. "I was too stubborn to take typing in high school, says Agosti.

"I was so determined that I was going to go to college, and the suggestion that I was going to take typing smacked of 'women's Inspiration It was the old "Perry Mason" show that convinced a 1 0-year-old Agosti to enter the bar. "It just seemed that Perry Mason had the better of the deal than (secretary) Delia Street," she says. Her family didn't dissuade her. Agosti grew up in a large, close Catholic family in Toledo the liberal union town whose most famous daughter is Gloria Steinem. It was a functional family.

The children were seen and heard. There were hearty dinner discussions about politics and religion. "My dad was a barber who loved politics," says Agosti. "She once told me, her father always used to talk to her when she was young like she was an adult," says Agosti's school friend, Mary Fackelman Rapinski. "She was one of those smart people in everything.

And she had the guts. She was in debate, and she could always argue with someone intelligently." Agosti says she never had time to learn a "sex role." Her father died of pneumonia when she was 1 1 Her mother, who'd never worked outside the home, got a job as a receptionist and supported the family. It inspired Agosti. She began shelving books at the city library for 55 cents an hour when she was 1 4. While attending the University of Toledo as a psychology major, she worked part-time as a cocktail waitress, a bartender and a pet-store clerk.

One semester she needed dental work, and juggled threejobs. Her part-time job experience got her hired as a deputy public defender in Dayton. Out of law school, Agosti faced a mid-'70s market glutted with baby boomer law-school graduates. "They said, 'Why should we hire They had a lot of other people who had applied for that job. And I told them, 'Quite frankly, because I've been a waitress.

If you're a waitress, you can do anything. I promise you that I can deal diplomatically with people and not waste a lot of Agosti married her childhood sweetheart and followed him to Reno in 1 977, where he attended University of Nevada grad school. They later divorced. Because she hadn't taken Nevada's bar exam, Agosti could only practice law if she worked in legal aid. She found a job at Washoe Legal Services, a brand-new program for senior citizens.

After passing the bar, she joined the Washoe County District Attorney's office. And suddenly, at 30, found herself elected to Reno Justice Court. It was a last-minute decision to even file for the race, says Agosti. Reno Bob Van Wagoner unexpectedly vacated one of the three seats to run for state Supreme Court on the final filing day. Eight hopefuls cast their hats into the ring.

"My reason for being in the district court is because it 's my vocation. I never considered it as a stepping stone. Judge Deborah Agosti.