This article first appeared in The Bakersfield Californian on Saturday, May 21, 1977, the day Morris Chain was buried. It was written by Eddie Griffith, Editor.
"Never spit against the wind."
This was one of many robust maxims Morris B. Chain often employed in conversations and, to the uninitiated, it may have been construed as one of his philosophies in life.
Nothing could be further from the mark.
Morris Chain went through life spitting against the wind. And with a remarkable degree of success.
I first witnessed Mr. Chain in courtroom action in the early months of 1941 when I joined the old Kern Herald for a reporting career that budded, bloomed and withered in a few short weeks. I did not know that the fragile morning newspaper was a terminal case.
Even so, within that span I twice watched Mr. Chain bounce into Superior Court in his role as criminal defense attorney and twice win victories in cases where the prosecution evidence assembled against his clients appeared insurmountable.
Mr. Chain was then in his mid-30's and acquiring the seasoning of experience. His greatest years lay ahead.
Ten years later when I returned to Bakersfield, Mr. Chain was still a one-man show. But, not for long. Helen Banducci became his secretary, Albert Noriega researched law and Leonard Winters tackled full-time investigation. Milton Younger, grass green from law school, came under the master's tutelage.
They formed the nucleus of what was to become one of the largest and most prestigious law firms in the southern San Joaquin Valley.
"They wouldn't hire me for free," Morrie was wont to recount of other attorneys when he recalled his efforts to make a nickel with his newly-won law degree during depression days. "I had to become a lone ranger or starve."
"I starved anyway," he would say, black eyes snapping in amusement and with a wry half-smile which was a Chain trademark.
As in the case of many successful men, Morrie was an egoist but he had the rare ability to fun himself.
His political affiliation was Democratic and he was a power in that cause for a number of years.
His party allegiance, however, was humanitarian. He despised bigots and could spot a hypocrite from here to the nearest dirty book store.
Mr. Chain had unbelievable ability in "reading" a jury which would tend to be favorable to his usually hopeless-appearing case. I think this stemmed from his continued life-long interest in the "little guy" and the problems of the downtrodden, generally.
Anyway, by the 1960's, Mr. Chain had achieved a state-wide reputation which can be summed up in a popular Civic Center saying of those days:
"If you want to commit murder and get away with it, be sure to hire Morris Chain."
Mr. Chain was flamboyant in the courtroom. He was dramatic, witty, entertaining and exciting to watch. But his performance always was firmly anchored to the logic of the law.
Edith, his wife of 37 years, once said she overheard a newsman remark after seeing Morrie in action:
"He's the Rembrandt of the courtroom."
Only his staff knew how many hours he (and they, since he was a stern taskmaster in this area) spent in the service of his client. It was often 18 or more consecutively and for as many times as Morrie thought necessary.
There will not be another to replace Morris Chain. His death truly noted the end of a remarkable era in criminal law practice.
Morrie and I said good-bye at Greenlawn yesterday. His death has left an irreplaceable gap in the thinning ranks of my friends.
Morris B. Chain