The Amazing Crespo!

"You're out of order!" bellows Qualmann, an Orlando entertainment attorney.
"Not true!" Crespo sputters. "You have to allow the public to participate...." He blurts out a state statute by section and paragraph number. Qualmann repeats his instructions, and, as board members take care to not even look in the direction of Crespo, the meeting continues. "They just violated the fucking law," Crespo snarls under his breath, lips quivering, arms folded tightly. "This is probably going to end up as another count in my lawsuit. He has to at least ask the other board members if they want to recognize a question from the floor."

During a recess, Crespo stomps over to Qualmann who looks up from the conference table, smiling tolerantly. They toss tenets of the public law back and forth. As the meeting reconvenes, Crespo remarks over his shoulder, "I have never lost in the court of law, at least not in public policy. I've lost substantial criminal charges, but not public policy." Throughout the rest of the three-hour meeting, Crespo spends much of the time with his hand aloft in the air, fruitlessly waving it around like an eager schoolchild, occasionally snorting in disrespect and scorn.

On the drive home, Crespo is again reflective about his cause. "Irreparable public harm has been done," he insists, quietly angry in the waning daylight. "These are violations that have impacted on the very fabric of the state. It just doesn't seem that the law really means all that much to these people."

He won't be home until well after nightfall, but the following morning he's up early. By noon he has drafted a new motion in his lawsuit against the commission (adding two new counts based on Saturday's proceedings), written several letters to people in the industry, made a round of phone calls, and even found time to design a Christmas card that he will send to his colleagues -- friends and enemies alike -- throughout the state. By fax, of course.

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