San Antonio Defender

VOL. XVIIII ISS. 2 | MARCH 2017

DEFENDER

SAN ANTONIO

IN MEMORIAM:

Van G. Hilley A DUDE REMEMBERED

SACDLA OFFICERS Michael McCrum

Loraine Efron

Trisha Morales Padia

President

Secretary

Editor-in-Chief, DEFENDER

Don Flanary

Loraine Efron

Jennifer Zarka

Vice President

Treasurer

Executive Director

Steven Barnett

John Hunter

Jodi Soyars

Adrian Flores

Pat Montgomery

Robin Teague

John Fox

Angela Moore

Chad Van Brunt

Roland Garcia

RC Pate

Arlene Gay

Tiffany Shockley

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Trisha Morales Padia

ASSOCIATE EDITORS

If you would like to submit an article to be considered for publication in The Defender, or see about how you can help or become involved with and contribute as an Associate Editor, please email Padia.Trisha@gmail.com.

BOARD OF DIRECTORS Robert Barrera

Justin Fischer

Angela Moore

Philip Bozzo

John Fox

Kristen Mulliner

Deborah Burke

Ray Fuchs

Miguel Najera

Anne Burnham

Roland J. Garcia

Trisha Morales Padia

John Carroll

Paul Goeke

Joel Perez

Andrew del Cueto

Juan Carlos Hernandez

Christopher Simpkins

Christine Del Prado

John Hunter

Robin Teague

Mario Del Prado

Blakely Mohr

Chad Van Brunt

Joseph Esparza

Pat Montgomery

Michael Young

DIRECTORS EMERITUS Charles Butts (Deceased)

Anthony Nicholas (Deceased)

PAST PRESIDENTS Patricia Jay

John “Bud” Ritenour

Ernest Acevedo, III

Warren Wolf

Adam Kobs

Ronald P. Guyer

Robert Featherston

George Taylor

Mark Stevens

Jorge Aristotelidis

Stephanie Stevens

George Scharmen

Jay Norton

Jim Greenfeld

Cynthia Hujar-Orr

Michael Gross

Michael S. Raign

Jeff Mulliner

John A. Convery

DEFENDER SAN ANTONIO

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LETTER FROM THE PRESIDENT Michael McCrum

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR Trisha Morales Padia

TRIBUTES TO VAN HILLEY 11 - S. Mark Murray 14 - Gerry Goldstein 19 - Cynthia Eva Hujar Orr 22 - Ralph Lopez 24 - Edward Prado 26 - Patrick Peranteau 27 - Don Flanary 28 - Terry Kimball Diane Doege 30 - Mark Stevens 33 - Stephanie Stevens 34 - Michael J. Wodkins 35 - John A. Convery 36 - Demetrio Duarte, Jr. Suzanne Hildebrand 37 - Honorable Sol Casseb III 39 - Terri Curry Peace 41 - Honorable Henry Bemporad 43 - Louis Elias Lopez, Jr. 45 - Kent Schaffer Patrick Filyk 46 - Eric Friedland 49 - Jonathan “Chavy” Chavez 50 - Carlos Solis 52 - Chad P. Van Brunt Anne Burnham 54 - Honorable Fred Biery

A DUDE REMEMBERED Derek Hilley and Kara Mowrey

The San Antonio Criminal Defense Lawyers Association P.O. Box 831 206, San Antonio, Texas 78283 210.501.2916 | sacdla.com

Letter From the President Michael McCrum

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t was one of those mornings where you love walking into a local coffee shop. Cool, brisk morning outside, dark wood interior inside, comfortable chairs, the aroma of great coffee and baked bread, and a hippy-looking young student mixing cappuccinos, lattes and who knows what (yes, I’m old enough to have

earned the right to use the word hippy). Not far from Duke University, I was in Durham, North Carolina, to visit a client who was staying at the local federally-subsidized hotel, Butner Federal Correctional Institution. I noticed the student’s look of disdain as I ordered only a black coffee, feeling once again that I had disappointed the cappuccino and mocha gods. To change the subject, I asked Mr. Hippy the meaning of a latin phrase printed on the T-shirt hanging on the wall behind him – “Esse Quam Videri”. Proudly, it seemed, he proclaimed it was North Carolina’s state motto – “To Be, Rather than to Seem”. “What a cool motto,” I thought ... so much more thought provok-

ing than Texas’ single-word motto, “Friendship”. Little did I know when I stepped into that shop that I would be walking away with much more than a cup of coffee. Since that day, Esse Quam Videri has often called me to ponder the breadth of what it means to truly “be”, rather than just “seem to be”. A phrase first expressed by Cicero in 44BCE, I’ve thought of it in terms of my personal life; my faith; my children; my congregation; and how I and all the other players choose to act on any given day within the drama of our profession. The thought again occurred to me when I pondered the passing of Van Hilley, a man who I had the privilege of

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS The San Antonio Defender is always looking for content that serves to inspire, educate and excite our membership. If you would like to contribute, please contact a member of the Defender staff.

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working with on many occasions. I first came to know Van when I was a federal prosecutor in the early 1990s. I had heard much about Van and his partner, Gerry Goldstein, and knew I had better be prepared and ready when they decided to pay me a visit. As they each walked into my office, I noticed immediately the stature that their reputations had forecasted. Gerry, of course, dominated the conversation with his wise, knowledgeable and experienced advocacy. But truth be told, this made me all the more wary of his less vocal partner. Crossing through my mind as I studied them both was the old adage, “it’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for”. True enough, whenever Van spoke I could tell readily it was something I needed to really listen to. In that and all meetings to follow, Van brought a voice of common sense based on solid principles of law, with a touch of wit added in for comfort.

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I always enjoyed Van’s presence in the cases I opposed him. I knew I had a formidable opponent who had studied all the facts of the case, all applicable law, and was fully prepared with his arguments. And while I began to establish my own reputation in federal court, I quickly realized that Van was in another league. I remember one case in particular in the early 90s. I was prepared and confident, and, as is often the case in federal court, I as the prosecutor had the facts and law on my side. We walked into court, and Van greeted me with a friendly handshake and his usual relaxed, genuine smile. When it was time, I made what I perceived to be the convincing argument on a particular point of law, and sat down with all the smugness that a young prosecutor can muster. Then Van stood up. He approached the lectern with a measured walk, evoking class and dignity in an aura of times of old. Suddenly I felt I was facing James Bond. With the force of humility

and grace, his argument not only brought out the obvious factual and legal issues that I expected, but also gently but effectively touched upon that inner sense of justice that we all enter law school with. He truly was being what a lawyer should be, rather than merely seeming to be. The judge feigned a lack of enthusiasm during his colloquy with Van, but we all knew Van was touching upon the soul of the matter at hand. Needless to say, I lost the argument in court that day, but acquired new respect for a class act. I left the Department of Justice in the year 2000, and fortunately my time with Van did not end. As the years passed, Van and I worked several cases together and represented several people and businesses who were the subject of different investigations. Through those experiences these last 16+ years, I was given the opportunity to hear and watch Van from a different perspective. I witnessed how he carefully thought through issues of

strategy, evidence and law; how he deftly made recommendations to better manage the case or investigation; how he spent the time necessary to truly communicate with his distressed clients. One afternoon, high atop the Tower Life Bldg, I was fortunate to be present when he spoke to several concerned businessmen whose careers, liberty and hopes were on the line. His voice was delivered with humility, compassion and understanding, yet with an unmistakable authority and knowledge. As before, he was prepared not only with all of the details of the case at hand, but also with a sense of the client’s perspective. The businessmen were comforted by Van’s presence and counsel, and I was again educated. I observed how Van handled meetings with prosecutors and hearings with judges, where he expertly walked the line in zealously representing his client and anticipating the reactions of his listeners. One characteristic often lost in

courtrooms, he appreciated the significance of the different perspectives of the prosecutor and judge, making him all the more effective for his client. I was privileged to have a first-chair seat as to how he interacted with me and other lawyers in our joint effort in representing our respective clients. Through these experiences, my respect for his integrity, intelligence and common sense only grew. And finally, I had the opportunity to serve with Van on the U.S. Magistrate Judge Selection Committee through the past two magistrate judge selections. Together we reviewed applications, conducted interviews of applicants, and discussed our thoughts on who best should fill these honored positions. Through this unique experience, I was struck by Van’s wisdom and heart for justice. It was easy to appreciate the high degree of wisdom he possessed on the qualities that were needed, as well as to sense his

passion for wanting the best candidate possible. As recent as several months ago, as I witnessed how he handled the illness that had befallen him, my respect and admiration for him grew even more. Van, to me, truly lived out Cicero’s maxim of “to be, rather than to seem”. He was the real deal. Van always strove to offer service to others with integrity, discipline, and wisdom. In an age where conduct by some increasingly floats into a sea of bizarre, irreverent behavior, Van held strong as one of our honored guard. One of our treasures. One of our pillars of what I know I want to always strive to be. And ... he did this all with a touch of wit added in ... you know, to bring us some comfort. I’ll miss you Van ... thank you.

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Letter From the Editor Trisha Morales Padia

First and foremost I would like to thank everyone who sent in a tribute and shared words about the gentleman they knew as Van, Mr. Hilley or the Dude! These words mean a lot to everyone who knew him. When it was suggested to me to do a tribute issue to Mr. Hilley, I thought it was a great idea! This was a perfect opportunity to allow people to remind us about the man they knew. When I heard of Mr. Hilley’s passing, I knew we had lost one of the greats! Unfortunately, the only thing I knew about him was he was the Hilley to Goldstein and Goldstein. After reading the kind words about him I feel like I know

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Discourage Litigation. Persuade your neighbors to compromise whenever you can. Point out to them how the nominal winner is often the real loser—in fees, expenses and waste of time. As a peacemaker the lawyer has a superior opportunity of being a good man. him and I’m sad that I never did. I went to his office in search of photos for this issue and I was amazed at the walls leading up to his office covered in photos, articles and awards … In his office I found the following quote that gave me a better understanding of who he was and how he proceeded day to day:

Never stir up litigation. A worse man can scarcely be found than one who does this.

-Abraham Lincoln

TRIBUTES TO VAN HILLEY

S. Mark Murray

V

an Hilley was my best friend in the world for more than 38 years. We met when we were both very young lawyers and so we “grew up” together in the law practice in San Antonio. When I first met Van he was working with Fred Semaan. Freddie had somehow managed to put together Van, Sol Casseb III, Gary Howard and Sam Bashara in his stable of associates. What an all-star collection of legal talent. Freddie either was the greatest prognosticator of legal horseflesh in history or he was very lucky. Van had actually started his career with the law firm of Bayern, Remy and Patterson, believing after he graduated from UT Law School in 1970 that he was going to be a probate and estate attorney. It didn’t take long for him to figure out that his talents lay elsewhere. Van never met a stranger and so, through the connections he had made during his short tenure in San Antonio he managed to secure a position with Freddie’s office. Although most well-known as a criminal defense attorney, Freddie was of that generation of attorneys who truly were “general” practitioners and, as a result, Van gained a depth of experience in a broad range of the practice of law. Ultimately, however, he was most comfortable as a criminal defense attorney. In 1975 Van was appointed to represent a defendant by the name of Fred Durrough. Mr. Durrough was charged with capital murder and was facing the death penalty. Van felt that he needed help in taking on a capital murder death penalty case and so he asked the presiding judge, whom I believe was Pepe Dial, to appoint someone to help him. The Judge

appointed Gerry Goldstein. Out of this experience was born a friendship and collaboration that would ultimately lead to their law partnership which lasted from 1982 until the time of Van’s death, December 23, 2016. In today’s world it’s difficult to imagine that there could be such a high profile, successful firm that functions for 34 years without a written partnership agreement. It is a testament to the partners themselves. Gerry’s Dad was still alive when Van joined the firm and the firm’s name was “Goldstein, Goldstein & Hilley” and they were, and still are, located on the 29th Floor of the Tower Life Building. I’ve heard a lot of colorful and interesting stories about Gerry’s Dad, Eli, from several people who worked for the firm when he was still alive but my favorite was from Van. One day Van took the elevators from the 29th floor to go to lunch. While he was on the elevator on the way down, apparently someone called their offices on the 29th floor and asked to speak to Van. Eli had answered the phone asked them to “hold on,” opened up one of the windows on the 29th floor, waited for Van to walk outside the building and then yelled down to him: “VAN!! VAN!! TELEPHONE.” Van didn’t know where the voice was coming from and thought he might be having a religious experience until he finally figured out it was Eli hanging out the window of the 29th floor who was yelling down at him. As an attorney, Van epitomized all of the characteristics that I believe that most members of the Bar hold in high esteem. He was smart, affable, honest, caring, ethical and empathic. I’ve given a lot of thought as to what I thinkmade Van so different as a lawyer and as a person. I’ve arrived at the conclusion that

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I think it was his capacity for empathy that set him apart. Van’s faith was very strong (which I think served him very well in the last two years especially) and he not only was a scholar of the teaching of the Bible but, more than most people, he put those teachings to work as a part of the way he lived his daily life and the way he represented his clients. Let’s face it, in today’s world a large part of practicing criminal defense work means trying to work a resolution that both the prosecutor and the defendant can live with. My observation was that Van never sat in judgment of his clients, regardless of what acts they were alleged to have committed. He treated each client with respect and worked as hard as he could to achieve the best result he could for them. He would try to understand not the just facts of the case but the makeup of his client. By doing so, I think he was better able to represent the best parts of his clients and to communicate to opposing counsel the facts that may have led his clients to commit the acts that they did—not as an excuse necessarily but as a reason. By now, I’m pretty sure that anyone reading this is probably familiar with Van’s service to the Bar Association and the Bar in general. In addition to serving in several capacities as officer of the San Antonio Bar Association, including its President, he also served as a Director of the State Bar and for many, many years as the Chairman of the Magistrate Selection Committee by appointment of the United States District Judges. Those accolades, however, don’t really do justice to the real service that Van provided. He mentored enough attorneys in his career to fill a courthouse. He went out of his way to get to know

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personally not just the judges in front of whom he routinely appeared, but all of their staff and he was always willing to give of himself and his time to help them through problems that they might be having. He truly personified the type of “Atticus Finch” style of legal professionalism that is increasingly more difficult to find. His loss is a huge loss to the Bar. As a family man, Van’s demonstrable devotion to his family was undeniable. No matter how busy he was, he always made time for his children. In deference to his now adult children I will refrain from telling any of the highly entertaining stories of their adventures (and misadventures) of growing up but suffice it to say that both Kara and Derek provided high entertainment value to Van, Connie and those of us who got to sit ringside to their growing up. Of course, as many of the readers will know, Derek went on to graduate from law school and he and his law partner, Carlos Solis have officed with Goldstein, Goldstein and Hilley for the last couple of years which was a true Godsend. It allowed Van, after his diagnosis with brain cancer, to continue to practice much longer than he would have otherwise been able. Then there was his daughter, Kara; the apple of his eye. Kara is a beautiful person—inside and out. She also has a very sharp wit. Van and I became so close—closer than brothers—that she began to refer to me as Van’s “Significant Other”. Frankly, I wasn’t even embarrassed about that. Watching Kara “work” her Dad was to watch a true master at work. She played him like a Stradivarius. Van, of course, was completely aware of what she was doing and enjoyed every moment of it. Kara holds

her PhD in Education, but she should also hold a PhD in fatherly manipulation. At the top of Van’s world was his bride of 45 years, Connie. For those lucky enough to know Connie it’s pretty easy to understand why Van fell in love with her. Aside from being a true beauty, Connie Hilley is the one of the most (if not the most) gracious, kind and gentle human beings that ever existed. She told me she fell in love with Van when she was 16 years old. Like Freddy Semaan, she must have had incredible powers of prognostication. Connie also had to be a woman of incredible patience to remain married to Van for 45 years. I’m really, really glad that she did. Van and I took up golf late in life but we played almost every weekend. One of my very favorite stories about Van is when, in the Spring of 2000, he, J.B. Gouger and I were playing golf together. It was slow play and so while we were waiting on the group in front of us to clear, sitting in our golf carts (Van was riding with JB) Van was puffing on his cigar and casually said to me: “How’s your Dad doing?” which seemed like an innocent enough question. The problem was that my Dad had passed away about 3 months before that. Realizing that I had a rare moment to give Van a hard time, without missing a beat I responded: “Well, Van, he died 3 months ago and YOU were at the funeral.” J.B. fell out of the golf cart laughing. Van, completely unembarrassed, looked at me and said: “Oh yeah. That’s right”. I laughed so hard I almost puked. In the summers Van and I would slip away to my cabin in Telluride, Colorado every chance we got for a “boy’s weekend” of golf to escape the unbearable Texas summer heat to the

cool, crisp, clean mountain air. Our days on these trips would consist of eighteen holes (or more) of golf, followed by relaxing in the hot tub, watching whatever game was on television, grilling steaks then retiring to the deck on the banks of the San Miguel River under the incredible Colorado skies, smoking cigars, sharing stories about our respective lives and drinking copious amounts of wine. In that environment it was impossible not to bond. It was also impossible not to get to know the other person pretty well. I knew Van Hilley as well as I’ve ever known any human being. I can tell you that he loved and treasured Connie and his family beyond anything in his life. There are a lot of funny stories about Van. My cabin in Colorado sits literally on the banks of the San Miguel River. One evening on one of the “boys trips”, after several adult beverages, Van went to discard his cigar by throwing it in the river. He disappeared and a few minutes later he came back to the deck and he was soaking wet. He holds the distinction of being the only person to actually fall into the San Miguel River at my cabin. Van was full of pearls of wisdom; What he called “sage advice”. Among those was that he always said he didn’t want to own a house in Telluride, he wanted his best friend to own a house in Telluride. He also wanted his best friend to belong to the golf club in Telluride. Every year for many years Van and I would play in the “Member-Guest” Tournament at Telluride Golf Club in July. We even won second place one year. I will always treasure those memories with him. A man could not have a better friend than Van Hilley. He was my Rock of Gibraltar. He was

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my brother. He was a second father to my daughter, Sydney. He was my hero. He was not afraid to tell me when he thought I was wrong or to support me when I thought I was right. He gave me guidance and advice when I needed it; gave me praise when I deserved it, and criticism when I deserved that. We shared joy, happiness, love, sadness, grief and all of

the things that make up life. He was certainly not perfect but he was perfect for me. I had hoped that we would have many more years to share these things, but I am truly, truly thankful for the time I had with him. God bless you, Van G. Hilley and I hope, when my time comes, you’ll save a spot in your tee time for me.

Gerry Goldstein A REMEMBRANCE OF MY PARTNER VAN G. HILLEY

he complimented me and my practice. Van gave me cover to be a loud-mouthed, Jewish antagonist; to challenge authority when I felt he essence of any successful partnership it was wrong; to stand up for those who were oppressed or being taken advantage of. I like is trust and respect for one another. I to flatter myself into thinking that Van took can honestly attest that practicing law some pleasure in my self-righteous folly, but with Van Hilley was more a pleasure and a what I know is that my long-time partner gave privilege than a profession. Day in and day out, for almost forty years, Van never failed to me what meager respect I was able to garner. earn my trust and respect. More important than Van’s skillful advocacy Perhaps that explains why Van and I never had was his solid temperament and wisdom, which served as constant support to everyone at a written or even an oral partnership agreeour firm. Unlike his partner, Van exuded quiet ment. In fact, we never discussed money or how to divide same. We never even discussed grace and elegance, without pretense. He was a locker-room intellectual, with a wry sense of the fact that we never had a discussion about money. I have more discussions about money humor and an aura of decency, that made him with my wife than I ever had with my law part- a delight to share any barroom, courtroom or classroom. ner.

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Van had a very deep ethical rudder. His counsel was constantly being sought by colleagues, not just fellow lawyers, but judges, politicians, clients and their families. I am not sure that our association did much for Van or his reputation, but there can be little doubt that

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In his own unobtrusive manner, when Van walked the halls of our courthouses, he commanded respect, probably because he showed same to others, as much for courtroom staff and employees as the judges themselves.

Van and I met in 1975, when Judge “Pepi” Dial appointed us to represent Fred T. Durrough, charged with capital murder in a terrible home invasion and shooting death in Olmos Park. In those days lawyers had to meet with their clients in the janitor’s utility’s closet at the old Bexar County Jail. Van and I would spend hours sitting on piles of discarded mattresses with our client, preparing for the first two of Fred’s four jury trials. The first terminated in a mistrial and the second resulted in conviction and imposition of a sentence of death. I will never forget, the two of us, standing on either side of Fred Durrough, as Judge Dial uttered those chilling words: “I hereby direct that the warden of the Texas Department of Corrections pass a current of electricity through your body until you are dead. May God have mercy on your soul!” Van and I successfully argued his appeal in the Court of Criminal Appeals, and I understand that Fred is still tilling fields at a Farm Unit near Rosenberg, Texas. Not long after, Van and I partnered with my Dad in a firm that had a 70-plus-year history here at the Tower Life Building. Our first trial as partners was a federal cocaine conspiracy prosecution against a nice San Antonio Police Sergeant, named Jim Meisner in Fred Shannon’s court. Van spent days prepping a researcher at the new medical school, who testified that there was little probability that the good Sergeant could have overheard the recorded drug-conversations between the snitch and the undercover agents. As a result, our client got both an acquittal and a hearing aid, and our investigator at the time, Sammy

A vindicated Sergeant Meisner, flanked by his young lawyers. Van’s the good looking one on the right!

Miller, got a bride, Meisner’s lovely daughter Jo. A year later Van and I shared a motel room in Cotulla for a couple of weeks, defending Everado Lopez on murder charges stemming from a barroom fight in a small cantina on the outskirts of town. As might be expected, all of the witnesses were in the bathroom when the shooting occurred. Particularly memorable was the bullet hole left in the La Salle County Courthouse wall by an irate brother of the deceased, who fortunately missed our client and his counsel as we ascended the stairs for a pretrial hearing. Van and I spent most of the night after the jury acquitted our client, huddled in the Sheriff’s holdover while the deceased’s family circled the courthouse in menacing pickup trucks. In 1983, Judge Adrian Spears asked Van and I to represent his courtroom deputy’s father, the elected Sheriff in Brady, Texas who was charged with perjury before a State grand jury. After a week-long trial, the jury acquitted Sheriff Weatherman late Friday night. The following Monday morning, Van and I appeared before Judge Spears in his elegant ceremonial courtroom in the old Federal

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Sheriff Weatherman, with Van, me and our investigator, Sammy Miller, celebrating the Sheriff’s acquittal.

In 1987 we were hired by an Eagle Pass developer who was charged with bribing the local School District president to purchase our client’s building with the District’s public funds. Together, Van and I toiled long and hard developing and litigating a challenge to the “pick-a-pal” method of grand jury selection, so prevalent in our fair State at the time. Notwithstanding that our client was a white Anglo Saxon male, after several days of hearings, the indictments were dismissed for systemic underrepresentation of Hispanics on their grand juries, and the case was transferred to Laredo

Courthouse across from the Alamo. Instead of the expected accolades for our pro bono performance, Judge Spears promptly denied our requested continuance, directing us to be ready for trial the following Wednesday. I can still hear my partner’s soft-spoken response on the record: “That’s gratitude for you!” Van and I defended a local Justice of the Peace on federal murder charges before Judge Sessions to a hung jury alongside Warren Burnett and Frank Maloney, who jointly represented Mike’s co-defendant. With all that legal talent in the courtroom, it was my partner who served as the stabilizing force, patiently absorbing, digesting and evaluating every witness’ testimony, befriending the courtroom personnel, and endearing himself to every juror. Van would stay up late coaching me through weeks of difficult examinations, while Warren closed the hotel bar every evening. Not that Brother Burnett was not a better lawyer drunk than any I’ve ever seen sober, but I truly believe it was Van’s honest insight and thoughtful perseverance that insured our client had the pleasure of walking out of that courtroom with his lawyers, when all the shouting was over.

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Our client, Nick Carr, surrounded by his legal team

on a change of venue, much to the chagrin of the local constabulary. As a credit to Van’s hard work, both our families have continued to receive smoked turkeys every Christmas ever since. Before Hippolito “Hippo” Garcia ascended to the federal bench, Van and I represented a fellow lawyer on a Motion to Suppress in his District courtroom. At the conclusion of evidence, Van, correctly sensing that the judge was about to deny our motion, suggested that I argue vigorously. When I began my argument, Hippo stated that he thought he understood the issues and was prepared to rule (after all, it was fast approaching lunchtime, a near sacred ritual in the 144th).

Based on my partner’s advice I insisted on an opportunity to argue the merits of our client’s case. The Judge finally relented and asked how much time I needed. I assured the Court that I would be able to convince him in 10 minutes. Hippo said fine and turned to opposing counsel, asking how much time he needed. The prosecutor stated that he would like 10 minutes, as well. As Hippo hurriedly descended his bench, he turned to his bailiff and instructed in a loud voice: “Come get me in 20 minutes, I’ll be in my chambers.” Not long afterward, Van and I found ourselves again in Hippo’s court, this time representing Dionisio Cruz on a cop shooting charge. Midtrial an argument ensued about the direction of fire, and Sammy Miller, our investigator, had managed to remove the entire door jam from the front of our client’s home. Resisting our efforts to introduce this rather cumbersome item into evidence, Judge Garcia repeatedly refused to rule on my proffer, insisting that I “move along.” Not that I needed additional encouragement, but Van elbowed me, insisting that I was entitled to a ruling on my proffer and objection. Frustrated with my persistence, Judge Garcia motioned for me to approach the bench, and gesturing with his middle finger extended in my direction, he suggested: “Here’s a ruling on your motion!” I sheepishly looked down at Maurice, his court reporter, asking politely: “May I have the record reflect that it appears the Court has overruled my objection.” The Judge, without missing a lick, retorted: “You can have the record reflect whatever the f__k you like, but when I tell you to move along, you move along, counsel!” Years later Van asked Maurice what he had typed when the Judge did those un-

toward things to his partner. Maurice replied, with fingers typing the air: “Denied.” I often watched as Van tapped his fingers on his desk, explaining that “cash on the wood, makes the case go good.” But those who know and have followed Van’s career know well that lucre was not what motivated Van’s practice. Many of Van’s cases were pro bono for friends, relatives of fellow lawyers and judges. Never one to boast about his charitable endeavors, Van was particularly sensitive to those most in need, with the least resources. He was modest to a fault and constantly put others’ needs and wants before his own. The only prideful thing I ever observed about my partner was the love of his family; his bride, Connie, son, Derek, and daughter Kara. But he took special pleasure doting over four very special grandchildren. With his family’s permission we are retiring his jersey and keeping his name, while adding that of our new partner, Cynthia Orr. Our two secretaries, Diane and Terry have been with us as long as Van and I were together and could probably try a better case than either of us. We have also added a new and talented young associate, John Hunter to our firm and are very proud that Van’s able Son, Derek, and his partner, Carlos Solis, continue to share our space. To be sure, Van’s life is a testament to all that is good and worthy about our profession. I am humbled, honored and inspired to have shared so much of my life with such a special lawyer and cherished friend. God speed my Brother. This time I’ve got your back!

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Cynthia Eva Hujar Orr Tribute to the Dude

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an Galen Hilley was born in 1946 and we lost him last year right before Christmas. I imagine that this was perfect, because he would be arriving in heaven right in time for our celebration of Jesus’ birthday here. He earned that by being there and having patience with all of us .We were all his ticket to heaven. I mean it. Van did not like people to struggle. He helped everyone. In our own office there was no personal problem too small, no kerfuffle too minor, and no matter in which he did not have experience. He helped everyone with every problem and very well. He worked everyday to be patient with things he did not understand. He would stand by those that chose to swim up stream, ready to help them when needed. He noticed when others were struggling, and helped them without being asked. So many that he helped never knew that he had done so. That is the man he was. And I miss him because of it. Gerry likes to say that Van gave him respectability. But he is wrong. Gerry garners great respect from others on his own. What Van gave him, what he gave all of us, was humanity. Van saw the good in all of us and shared it with others. He exposed our goodness to those around us, even when we did not see it in ourselves. That brings me back to our being Van’s ticket to heaven. Like so many others, he helped with the very difficult tasks our firm took on. I now imagine that he is just on the other side

of the office from me. I know what he thought, though he seldom told me. He was that kind of man. You just knew what he thought because he lived it. He led by example. As I said in the San Antonio Lawyer magazine, Van lived his faith, he did not advertise it. Gerry expressed our firm’s motto best when he would say: If you have to ask, “should I do it?” you already know the answer. Van and Gerry were so comfortable to work with because their word was their bond. We lived: You can take my word to the bank. I dance with those who brought me. I will have your back and stand by your side. You can count on me, no matter what. And I continue to enjoy Eli Goldstein’s and Van Hilley’s legacies. Their reputations for being formidable and brilliant opponents live on through our firm. Derek Hilley and Kara Mowrey, Van’s children, spoke about “The Dude’s [Van’s] Top Ten” at his memorial service with great love and good humor. We know from Van that patience is always the champion. And, in time, we know that we will all pass away. In the scheme of things we will not be remembered. What counts is who we are to others. No person’s work can be achieved in one lifetime. It is what others carry forward for having known us that matters. Van is in every memory that his wife, Connie; children, grandchildren and close friend, Mark Murray, have of him. He will always be our partner in our thoughts and deeds at Goldstein, Goldstein, Hilley & Orr. He is in our every thought. He is in every moment that we who knew him live.

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Van was human too, in the best ways. He grumped at the office, he did not see eye-to -eye with everybody, and he did not like some of the modern conveniences. I get that. We need to spend more time in proximity to one another. Van was a proximity kind of man. He was always there for us. Always. He was a family man who, unlike so many of us, was present for his family. Really present. His family knew they were first, and so did we at the office. You did not call Van after hours, unless it was an emergency. And he did not leave home often to join us out of town for cases. But we knew, we were his family too. And he was funny, irreverent, and wise. Van could sum up the most complex problem in the simplest terms. He was thoughtful and funny as hell when the situation called for it. I will always remember him purposely skidding our rental car on ice and yelling “weeeeee!” as we arrived out of town for a difficult, uncomfortable hearing. He was great at taking the tension out of a situation. And he could solve the most daunting problems. One of my favorite stories about Van is a good example of his caring for us. From time to time we take firm trips and socialize together. The firm was in New Orleans on such a trip when a file clerk, a very dark complected young man, was over-served at a bar. This was before cell phones. The file clerk called Van at our hotel and Van asked to speak to the bartender. Van told the man that the clerk was his son and that he needed him put in a cab and ferried to us at the hotel. Van persuaded this man, he never had met, that it was his duty to care for “his son.” He persuaded him that the cab driver had the duty to safely deliver him even

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though the file clerk had no money to pay a fare. When the young man arrived at our hotel, Van gathered him from the taxi, paid the driver, and walked the kid in the hotel like he was his son. I think that to Van, he was. Another story has to do with my own maturation. I was a very young lawyer, handling my second death penalty case. And unlike the first, we had not tried it and avoided the death penalty. My client was the youngest person on Texas’s death row. I had appealed the conviction. It was before the internet and I was receiving the opinion affirming the death sentence by fax from Austin. I still do not understand how imperfect humans can deign to stand in judgment upon others’ lives. We get it wrong, and even once is too often. The client, Miguel Martinez, was ultimately exonerated years later and the State of Texas gave its first confession of error in his death penalty case. But that evening, I did not know what would happen. So I was afraid for my client’s life. I felt I had failed him, I felt the court had failed him. As each page of that affirming opinion was delivered to my office, I wept, unable to read the pages through my tears. Gerry came to talk to me about how people who care about the death penalty needed to do this hard work despite the pain. As it grew dark outside the windows of the office, and as I wept—useless to my client—I realized that no lawyer in our office was going home. Each would come by my office with pages of the opinion and their hand written notes about what I could do to defeat it. My office. My colleagues. Van. We help the least among us. We are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers.

Even though Miguel Martinez came within two days of execution, we were able to get him off of death row. Van and Gerry never asked the cost, our firm has spent so much over the years on our pro bono death penalty and innocence work. I am proud to tell people that we did innocence work before it was cool. That we did this work and still do it is the continuation of Gerry and Van’s work in their first case together. We are about justice and believe in making our system of justice work for everyone. Gerry’s dad, Eli, taught me that we do not matter. Our lives are but a fraction of a moment in eternity. He told me that the time it would take a sparrow to grind the tallest

mountain down to its base using its beak is but a moment in eternity. Nobody will ever remember we were ever here. What is important is that we mattered to our loved ones. It is through them that we live by example. We do not live in anyone’s memory, but in our characters, in our morals, in our love for one another. Van accepted and worked on his faults. He embraced his darker side and made us feel better because he was not perfect. He makes us love ourselves and our firm and human family. We will remember him in our lifetimes and in that which we pass on to each other; in what we learned alongside him; and we are the better for it.

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Ralph Lopez

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an Hilley was a wonderful friend and mentor. Losing him hurts a lot.

I met Van in the early 1980s when we both started at what with his arrival became Goldstein, Goldstein & Hilley. I was a 2nd year law student commuting from Austin to work as a law clerk on Friday afternoons and weekends and he was Gerry’s new law partner. I was 24 years old. Van was 37. I guess he had been practicing for about twelve years by then. Van and Gerry were both off-the-charts fun, but in different ways. Gerry was an already nationally distinguished constitutional and criminal defense lawyer. He always saw potential and possibilities and often got amazing results in what seemed like impossible legal situations. Working on cases with Gerry was thrilling even if not always fun (he worked very hard and is exceedingly intelligent and we were expected to keep up with him on both scores). Most of his law practice was in federal courts, often far from San Antonio. Gerry was thoroughly optimistic and inspiring to work for. He had no trouble finding protégés and gaining admirers. Van was always more of a realist than an optimist. It is not that he was cynical, not ever, but just that he was naturally skeptical. He always needed a little convincing. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” But he was cheerful throughout and proceeded always as if we may as well enjoy what we are doing and with whom we must deal --clients, opposing counsel, prosecutors, judges—he enjoyed them all. The quirkier or crankier they were, the bigger kick he seemed to get out of them. Working on cases with Van

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was fun and he made a lot of fun of himself. If something embarrassing happened to Van, he almost could not wait to tell you what a fool he thought had made of himself. (We all know most people cannot bring themselves to do that.). Van did that all the time. He and Gerry seemed to have perfect synergy: what one could or would not do, the other excelled at. Either one was a formidable defender: together they were hard to beat. You could tell they really admired each other and were proud of their partnership. Van had no trouble making friends and gaining trust. Everyone who knew Van trusted him, pretty quickly, even if not from the start. He showed his true self and laid his cards on the table and that always made people open up to him in the same way. Prosecutors would give him more discovery, law enforcement agents and policemen would candidly tell him more, judges would accept his arguments less suspiciously and clients would have less hesitation following his advice than they probably would have with another lawyer. He was trustworthy. I do not know a lawyer who represented more law enforcement agents, policemen or friends and family of formerly-opposing counsel or judges than Van. He was the guy they could trust when they ended up needing help. He was all those fine things and everyone who knew Van already knows that. And good God, was he fun. Within weeks of knowing him, I learned that: • Like Gerry Goldstein, he was an only child.

• His middle name was Galen. (He’s the only Galen we will ever know, I will bet.) • When his father was in the Navy, they lived in Pearl Harbor, but “the Japanese never tried anything while he was stationed there”. • He had a new, souped-up, hot-rod Chevy for his first car (like he said, he was an only child). • He was 176 pounds of “blue twisted steel” (it went up later). • He had gone to high school in Corpus Christi with Farah Fawcett, but “she wasn’t around much: she was dating some older college dude.”

• He liked the way Johnny Cash sang “The Tennessee Stud.” • He didn’t shake hands like a regular guy. He had this multi-move grip/shake that I could never quite remember and I think he changed his moves on top of that.

• Did I want to drive his white, Datsun 280Z sports car? I could take it home for the night if I really wanted to (I did, and I did). • His drink-of-choice was cold pink wine, “the cheaper the better.” About a year after we first met, in his candid, good natured way, he took pity on my lawyeroutfit, a burnt orange color suit from the Johnny Carson line of suits, with a short-sleeved western snap shirt and lizard skin cowboy boots. “Ralphy,1 you really need a different get up for court.” So we walked the few blocks from the Tower Life Building to Penner’s Men’s Clothing on Commerce Street. “Pick a dark blue suit that’s not made of polyester, a white long sleeve shirt, a maroon tie, not a clip on but the kind you tie, and good, courtroom shoes, not Stacy Adams, Florsheims, with real leather soles!” I did, tried the stuff on, got the tailor to come out for the alterations and went to pay for it while Van tried on a pair of Florsheim zip-up boots after looking at the guayaberas. It was over $400 worth of stuff (which got you a pretty decent outfit in those days), but Van would not let me pay for it. He insisted on paying for it. “My contribution to your illustrious career and to get you on your way in fine sartorial splendor.” I had to look up sartorial splendor. And I will never forget how back slapping and happy he was to do that for me. Have you ever heard of a lawyer doing that for a law clerk? I never wore the orange suit again. Van and I tried many cases together. My 1 I hated being called “Ralphy” but there was no stopping Van and as popular as he was it started an awful lot of people calling me that.

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first civil trial (a divorce case against George Mauze), my first court martial (it went badly for my client), and several others in out-ofthe-way counties where Van always took me to the best local steak house that served wine. He always tried to keep me relaxed and prepared, which, of course, is the best way to do good work. And no matter what the facts of the case were or the reception we were getting from the judge or jury, he always saw the humor or absurdity of the day.

his chair and herniated a disc in his back but persisted in the case. Leon’s associate, John Carrol and John’s wife Brenda, had their first child while the trial trudged on. We lost 46 counts of a 48 count indictment. And my own dear mother died about half way through the trial. But for all of that, for all of that, I STILL remember that trial fondly because working side by side with Van was just a joy. Good, hard-fought, proud stressful work, but a joy, because Van was there, too.

We tried one case for 3 months and 3 days. It was a white-collar federal prosecution that went on and on and on and on. One juror had a heart attack and had to be replaced by an alternate. Another had a stroke and also was replaced. The lead lawyer on our defense team, the late-great Jack Paul Leon, fell out of

I wish every young lawyer who reads this and did not know Van had known him. I wish every young lawyer who is out on their own finds a mentor and friend like Van. It made a big difference in my life and in my career to be one of Van’s friends. I miss him a lot. It is hard to believe that he is gone.

Edward Prado

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an Hilley was my mentor and my dear friend. I met Van my first year in law school through a mutual friend. I was lost and intimidated by the whole law school atmosphere. Luckily, Van and I became friends and he took me under his wing. I learned from Van how to deal with the Socratic method of teaching. He impressed upon me the importance of good study habits, preparing well and participating in class, and getting involved in school activities. These are valuable traits that I use to this day. He instilled in me the confidence to succeed. I met Connie, his then girlfriend and wife of 45 years when she would travel up from what was then South-

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west Texas University to visit Van and come watch our intramural football team in action. He adored her. If our conversations were not about law school or sports, Connie was the subject. We weren’t a very good team. Van was not quite good enough to make Professor Charles Alan Wright’s Legal Eagles team, and neither was I, so we started an intramural team of our own. When we would not win Van would go check the eligibility of the other team’s players resulting in several forfeited victories for our team. As luck would have it, Van took a job in San Antonio after graduation. During breaks from

school, and when I would come home, I would visit Van at his office and we would discuss the practice of law and our futures as attorneys. Back then you needed to file a Declaration of Intent to Study Law with the Bar Association when you started law school. It required letters of endorsement from practicing attorneys. Like many, I put it off, primarily because I knew no attorneys. By the time I got around to it Van had passed the Bar and wrote a letter on my behalf even though he had been an attorney for only a few months. I started my career in the District Attorney’s Office and Van by then had moved on to practice law with the legendary Fred Semaan, a prominent criminal defense attorney. We would run into each other in the halls of the Bexar County Courthouse and often have lunch. Sometimes it would be in Fred Semaan’s law offices where Mr. Semaan would invite lawyers and judges to his office to have some of his famous chili. What great stories were shared at those noon hours as we lucky young attorneys would listen to some the best attorneys in town tell about their exploits in the courtroom. Van and I learned a lot on the practice of law in Bexar County at those lunches. When our children got old enough we started taking annual ski trips with our families. We would caravan in our Suburbans to spend Spring Break skiing in Breckenridge, Colorado. John Weber of the now Norton Rose Law firm, Van and I would drive with our families. Once, at a Dairy Queen somewhere in the Texas Panhandle, we stopped for a quick bathroom break. All the kids jumped out of the Suburbans and quickly back in. After we had driven for a couple of miles Van turned

around and the rest of us followed wondering what was wrong. As we got back to the Dairy Queen there was Van’s young son Derek crying in the parking lot. In our haste to get back on the road we had miscounted kids and had left Derek behind. Van always impressed me how he got along with everyone. Both civil attorneys and prosecutors loved Van. He was exceptional at negotiating with the best of attorneys. It was really hard for any attorney to not agree with Van’s suggestions on a case. Even jurors loved Van. Once when he was trying a case before me the jury sent a note in the middle of the trial. It read, “please tell Mr. Hilley to have his client keep his loafers on, his feet smell and it distracts from us hearing Mr. Hilley’s presentation.” Van really cared about his clients and worked hard to get them the best deal he could. We became part of the Judge H.F. Hippo Garcia circle of friends. It included attorneys Joe and Sol Casseb, Mark Murray, David Berchelmann, Steve Allison, Charlie Gonzalez, and Ray Flume, to name but a few. Some of us started a softball team in the city men’s league sponsored by Judge Garcia. We called ourselves the Hippo’s 144th. Unless you were an attorney, you had no idea what the team named signified. We did not win many games but we did have fun. Once we had some makeup games scheduled on Father’s Day. If everyone showed up we had just enough players to play the game. Van wanted to travel to Corpus Christi to visit his Dad but we convinced him that we needed to play the game and he could go see his father some other time. When Charlie Gonzalez showed up a few minutes late the Umpire called a forfeit.

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Van got very upset that he had missed seeing his father on Father’s Day for a softball game that was cancelled. When Charlie showed up Van started running toward him. Charlie could see Van was upset and ran on to the field with Van chasing behind him and the rest of us trying to catch up with both of them. The umpire started chasing all of us to get off the field. Needless to say everyone at the ballpark was having a great laugh at our expense. When the opportunity to be appointed a State Judge presented itself, one of the first persons I consulted was Van. He encouraged me to take advantage of the opportunity. “Don’t be afraid to take a chance,” he said, “if they offer you a judgeship you take it and worry about the election later.” I took his advice. He was a key person in my campaign and together we learned the ropes of politics in Bexar County. I lost but things turned out for the best since I ended up being appointed a federal judge. I always teased Van that thanks to him and a few others, their unsuccessful running of my campaign was instrumental in me becoming a federal judge. Van was on the investiture

committee for my appointments as a District Judge and as a Circuit Court of Appeals Judge. Once, when I was on the bench, I made a ruling that a young lawyer questioned and was not pleased with and showed his displeasure. As he walked out of the Courtroom grumbling about my ruling, Van caught up to him, put his arm around the young lawyer, and I was told later, counseled him, “one thing you are going to have to learn as an attorney is that while you might disagree with a judge’s ruling and think he might not have the authority to do certain things, they certainly have the power and you must learn to respect that power and ride with the punches.” Van has been a dear friend for over 45 years and I will sorely miss him. He was my mentor as I frequently turned to him for advice both professionally and personally. He never once gave me wrong advice. I had a great deal of respect for Van. I, and many others, are better persons because we had the privilege of knowing Van Hilley. There will never be another like Van.

Patrick Peranteau VAN THE MAN

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had the privilege of working with Van Hilley for more than 27 years. He was a great lawyer and I have aspired to be like him. He was also a great family man and I often sought advice from him about my own family matters. Van and his wife, Connie, raised two fine

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children, Kara and Derek. Above all else, Van loved his family. Van and Gerry hired me in May of 1985 when I finished my second year of law school. Ralph Lopez was the senior associate at Goldstein, Goldstein & Hilley at the time and had invited me to visit the firm and then recommended

they hire me as a law clerk. Mark Stevens had recently left the firm and John Convery was leaving when I arrived. Bob Switzer was the new associate lawyer, and L. Eric Friedland and I were the law clerks. Those were the days. We all referred to Van as “Van the Man” because he was the go-to person when you needed help of any kind. In my early years as a law clerk and a young lawyer, Van was always there for me when I needed guidance or sage advice. He bailed me out of more than a few situations when I got in over my head. Van loved practicing law and was good at it. He knew the law and was a good teacher. Like many other lawyers who had the privilege of knowing and working with Van, he was a men-

tor to me, and even though our ages are not that far apart, he was a father figure to me as well. Over the 27 years we worked together, we had only a few differences which we were able to work out and then move on. This is why I call Van my friend. I love Van and miss him. He taught me more about more about being a good lawyer and a good person than anyone I know. He was the heart and soul of a great law firm and the glue that held it together over the years. It has been an honor and a privilege to know him, and he will remain in my heart for the rest of my life.

Don Flanary

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he three most influential people in my life are all lawyers; my father, Gerry Goldstein and Van Hilley. I started working for Van and Gerry at Goldstein Goldstein and Hilley in 2003 while I was in law school and immediately became an associate after graduation. It’s the only home I’ve ever known as a lawyer and up until few months ago I saw Van virtually every single day of my career. He and Gerry taught me everything that I know about being a lawyer. Every question, every issue, every problem I have encountered, I talked to Van. Since becoming a man and going off to college I would only see my father every few months, and in the past 13 years since Gerry was often out of the office traveling, I spent more time with Van learning about life as an adult than

any other person in my life. He was like one of my three fathers. He didn’t just teach me about lawyering, he taught me about how to be a man. He taught me how approach the world and how treat people. He was always so calm and wise particularly in situations of chaos and stress. He taught me how to have relationships with others based on respect. He taught me that our reputation is the most valuable thing we have. He has left an indelible influence on me that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

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Terry Kimball [Legal Secretary to Van Hilley]

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t was 1982 when Van Hilley came into my life and proceeded to make my career so interesting and fun over the next 35 years. Immediately, I could tell that he loved the legal profession, his colleagues, his clients, and he did it with his personal panache. He was a cool cat in a Texas tie. He was full of life’s lessons. He loved his Longhorns, Texas, San Antonio, and his cowboy boots. He wore them all well, not sure in which order, but all equally with the same heart. From what I observed, Van lived his life to the fullest, both personally and

professionally, all done with that special wry smile, and most likely continues that philosophy today. He was a kind and caring boss and a real friend. We shared many of life’s laughs together over the years and enjoyed each other’s company during our weekday lunches. Van holds a special place in my heart and I will truly miss the man. How could you not love a soul who enjoyed Elvis, Rod Stewart and James Bond? If you are reading this Van, “We all do think you’re sexy.”

Diane Doege [Long time Legal Secretary to Gerry Goldstein]

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ow can I write about Van Hilley? This is not easy. First, I loved the man. He was like a brother I never had. Being an only child I had always wished I had a big brother

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and that is what I had in Van. We would talk, laugh, fight, share memories and have our weekly Wednesday lunch at El Mirador. Those times cannot be replaced nor can Van!

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Mark Stevens

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he car turned from Villita Street onto Jack White and stopped just long enough to permit the man standing on the sidewalk to get in. It’s been almost 40 years, but I well remember the first words I ever heard from Van Hilley. Addressing our driver, he said: “Gerry Goldstein. A day late, and a dollar short.” Of course, Van was joking. Mostly. Gerry Goldstein was never (well, almost never) either a day late or a dollar short, and true to form, he managed to get the four of us to Cotulla that morning right on time for a pretrial hearing before Judge Taylor Brite. That was my first time to ride with this driver, and he drove then as he probably still does: At high speed, weaving in and out of traffic with one hand on the wheel, and the other resting on the center console to make some last minute notes with his black Mont Blanc pen and yellow legal pad. Sitting in the back seat beside investigator Sammy Miller, I had the good sense to keep my mouth shut while the three of them talked about the hearing that would be held that morning. As lawyers do, they also reminisced about their representation of Fred Durrough in a death penalty case that had been tried a few years before, and that had just two months earlier been reversed by the court of criminal appeals. I got to tag along that day with the real lawyers because I had done some research on the case scheduled for that morning. It would be my first chance ever to sit at counsel table, and was heady stuff for this second year law student. I could not (and still can’t) believe my good luck being in that car, in the company of those people, when I

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was 26 years old. South Texas bar room murder cases are rarely won at suppression hearings, and this was no exception, notwithstanding the combination of my legal research and the arguments of lawyers Goldstein and Hilley. It turns out that you have to be really, really drunk before your confession is deemed involuntary. Later, though, Gerry and Van would return and win an acquittal before a LaSalle County jury for citizen-accused Lopez, despite the statement that he gave. At the time of the Durrough and Lopez cases, Gerry was law partners with his father, Eli, and Jay Sam and Arnold Levey, on the 29th floor of the Tower Life Building. Van officed a couple of blocks away with Texas legends Fred Semaan and Charlie Butts. By 1982, though, it no longer made sense for Van and Gerry to office apart and work together only occasionally. That year they formed their famous handshake partnership which lasted until Van’s death 35 years later. I was still around and became a young associate at the new firm, Goldstein, Goldstein, and Hilley, and I spent the next two years working closely with and learning much from all three of these superb lawyers. Any time I had a question about anything civil I went to Eli, who had done that work for close to 50 years. When I had a difficult legal question about a criminal case, I went to Gerry, who would invariably dig around in boxes he kept on a shelf next to his desk and come up with the latest case on point. When I had other types of problems – where the questions were more common-sensical than legal, or where they

involved people in the courthouse – Van was my resource, and he always steered me in the right direction. In 1983, I decided it was time for me to see if I could make it on my own. Before I left, one of his long time clients was charged with murder, and Van asked me to sit second-chair. We spent a week before Judge Barlow and we were satisfied with the result. After I left the 29th floor, we continued, from time to time, to work on cases together both in and out of Bexar County, and I always learned from the time I spent with Van Hilley. Although I felt competent to practice on my own and even had managed to save a little money, I really had no idea how I was going to make a living when I opened my first office on January 1, 1984. In those days it was impossible to make a living entirely off court-appointments which paid a maximum of $50.00 a day. (And no, that is not a typographical error.) As a young lawyer with no established clientele, I knew I would have to depend for a while on the generosity of others, and no one helped me more than Van Hilley. He referred me cases enough that I could pay my bills, keep the doors open, and gradually build my practice. A few years later, Stephanie and I teamed up and rented space in the Tower Life Building, and that came with the myriad expenses associated with furnishing and equipping a new office. Van’s timely referral of a few solvent clients helped ease this burden. Looking back now 25 years later, I know there were a number of other lawyers he could have sent these cases to, and we were lucky he thought about us. Van Hilley was a serious lawyer. He handled

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many high profile criminal cases, including the defense of former Texas Attorney General Dan Morales, and he was an indispensable lawyer on the defense team when another Attorney General indicted multiple members of the FLDS church in Schleicher County. Over the years he mentored countless lawyers, including first-rate ones such as Ralph Lopez, John Convery, Eric Friedland, Robert Hirschhorn, Robert Switzer, Patrick Peranteau, Cynthia Orr, and Don Flanary, to name just a few. Whenever possible, Van preferred to fly under the radar. He knew what every smart lawyer does: As thrilling as it is to see our names in the media, publicity rarely helps us win trials, and almost never improves the good standing of our clients in their communities. More than a few of you reading this now know exactly what I mean, because Van was your lawyer, either in court or before the grievance committee. Had he not been so successful– and so discreet – some of you might not be reading this as lawyers today. The murder case we tried in 1983 was a good example of Van’s understanding that publicity is often poison. We picked a jury on Monday morning, worked all week, and got the two-word verdict on Friday afternoon. We walked back to the office together, and there in the lobby of the Tower Life Building a very young lawyer was giving a press conference, surrounded by members of the local broadcast and print media. We stopped to listen and learned that this man had just pled a class C misdemeanor in Municipal Court, had gotten a deferred disposition for his client, and then sent out a written announcement to the media scheduling the press conference he was then conducting. “Amused” is one way

to describe my reaction seeing a lawyer who bragged about copping a deal in traffic court when we had spent all week winning a murder case and had not received any press coverage at all. I whined to Van about this, and he wisely reminded me that, as much as we might enjoy the media recognition, our client was surely happy not to be on the 6 o’clock news, even if it would be reporting his acquittal. The people who really needed to know about our victory, Van assured me, already knew. As serious as Van Hilley was about his profession, he knew that other things were a lot more important. He was a proud Texas Longhorn, he took time most every weekend to play golf with friends, and he was active in his church. And most important of all, he made time for his family. His wife Connie, his children, Kara and Derek, and

his grandchildren came first. As necessary as it is for us to find the time to be good lawyers, we also have to discover the secret of accomplishing that while still putting our families first. Van figured this out and he did his best to teach the rest of us. I don’t think I ever had a conversation with Van of more than a minute’s duration that he did not bring up someone in his family, or ask about someone in mine. We knew each other before I married and had kids, and he got to know Stephanie well. He knew how my family filled a void in my life. Almost every time we spoke, no matter what had caused us to get together in the first place, Van reminded me how lucky I was to have married Stephanie. Not a day goes by in my life that I don’t know this, but he was a great friend for always making sure that I did.

Stephanie Stevens A Tribute To Van Hilley

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first met Van Hilley when Mark and I were moving into the Tower Life Building to start a practice together. I was a brand new lawyer and Van couldn’t have been more gracious. But many people know about how Van selflessly mentored young lawyers. Many people also know about how kind and caring Van was. My friendship with Van may seem like just one more of those many stories you have already heard, but to me, he stood out as someone who really cared about people. Van got me involved in an appeal before the

Fifth Circuit. My esteem for him went up a few more notches when I read the record. The Corpus Christi federal judge was overbearing, rude, and angry. And that doesn’t even begin to describe her. Van held his own and fought hard for his client. He was repeatedly abused by the judge for doing this, but he didn’t let it stop him. Van also encouraged me to raise any error I found, even if was ineffective assistance. He truly wanted his client to win a new trial. Needless to say, there was no basis for alleging that he was ineffective. While waiting for our return flight from New Orleans after the argument in this case, I

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was reminded again of just how caring and gregarious Van was. A very close friend of mine from law school, Rosanne Easton, had asked me to help her find a divorce lawyer for her good friend. Rosanne’s friend was going through a very difficult time and needed someone who was not just good with the law, but also good with people. Naturally, I sent them to Van. This happened probably a year or more prior to mine and Van’s case before the Fifth Circuit. But as we waited for our flight, Van took a phone call that I soon realized was from my friend Rosanne. Van passed me the phone and Rosanne told me

that she had met Van while helping her friend and now she and Van were great friends. Van gave her help and advice with her criminal practice and sent her cases in Austin (where she practices). I realized that to meet Van, meant you were to be friends with Van. I will miss running into Van and talking about his kids, his grandkids, and Connie. He loved his family so much and unashamedly promoted everything they did. Van knew better than most lawyers how to balance a good work life with a good family life.

Michael J. Wodkins A Simple Statement

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friend passed away on December 23, 2016. I had known and worked with him for about twelve years on several cases. He was the attorney. I am a treatment provider who works primarily with criminal offenders. That friend was Van Hilley. I was sitting in my office one afternoon and my phone rang. As is my habit, I looked to see if I recognized the phone number of the caller ... and I did not. So I didn’t answer. The caller left a message and identified himself as Van Hilley, an attorney. He said that I had been recommended to him by a contact in the Department of Adult Probation as a resource for a sex offender evaluation. He asked that I call him back to talk about this issue. I did. During the ensuing conversation, Van told

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me about the case he was dealing with and asked if I would be willing to do an evaluation of his client and discuss the results with him. I consented to do so after telling him my background ... law enforcement. I had never done any kind of work for a defense attorney. And so began a relationship for me that was based on mutual respect for the thoughts and opinions of each other emphasizing a reliance on truth. Van passed away, as I stated earlier, and so I have had time to reflect on the relationship between us and its impact. I have read through the obituaries and accolades thinking how I could best add my own. How could I explain the enormous respect I had for this attorney? How could I express my thanks for the time he spent explaining the legal issues involved in the various cases I was privileged

to work on in my capacity with him? How could I go about describing how Van’s knowledge, professional demeanor, calm wisdom and counsel, and caring for others has led me to a greater appreciation of our criminal justice system as well as a willingness to identify and address some of its shortcomings? How can I possibly explain what my relationship with Van actually meant?

The answer to all of those questions has been a exercise in reflection. And the answer is really very simple. I don’t have to explain any of those things. I can hold those thoughts in my own heart. The reason for that is that for those of us who knew and worked with Van ... we already know. Van is already missed. Rest in peace my friend.

John A. Convery

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entor and friend Van Hilley was a great lawyer and a great guy—more of a rare combination than we lawyers like to admit. I met him as a law clerk at Goldstein, Goldstein & Hilley in the early 1980s. I was fresh out of the Navy and from up East. He was a Texas good old boy Longhorn, in all the most endearing ways. As soon as he got over Goldstein bringing in yet another law clerk for the firm to feed, he took me under his wing and into his huge circle of friends, where I happily remained for nearly 35 years.

The handshake partnership between Van Hilley and Gerry Goldstein was a legendary professional marriage. It was thrilling to be a small part of their lawyer family, and always interesting and exciting just to watch them be great lawyers. Different to be sure, but outstanding lawyers in every way that matters to a client, a court, and a community. I worked on cases with both Van and Gerry last year in federal court, and I will treasure those experiences for as long as I live. To this day Van Hilley represents for me the best, friend, lawyer and Texan.

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Demetrio Duarte, Jr.

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hile his loss is still a fresh wound to my heart, I thought I would share my thoughts with you.

To say Van Hilley was a wonderful lawyer simply states the obvious. What is important is why he was successful. He found success in the technical sense because he was bright, knowledgeable, talented and practical. Van’s true success came because he was honest, charming, pragmatic and sincere. When you spoke to Van, you knew he was telling the truth as it was meant to be told. His sincerity made the truth compelling in his

arguments and his charm sealed the deal. Without being brash or conceited about his skills or accomplishments, Van was a leader in our community and his hard work will not be forgotten. Being a good lawyer is fine and good. But being known as a great man is the true legacy Van left his family and our community. Being blessed with Van’s friendship and shared example is a treasure we should all hold dear as we are touched by his leaving us until we meet again in God’s Glory. Thanks.

Suzanne Hildebrand

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an Hilley was a man I always admired and respected. He was also a man I was honored to call my friend. I first met Van in the early eighties when I asked Gerry Goldstein to represent San Antonio Police Sgt. O.J. Meissner in a federal misprision of a felony charge. From the period of the trial until the last time I saw him some months ago, Van Hilley represented all that was good and honorable in a man and in an attorney. Van’s integrity and professionalism were always beyond reproach. Most of all, he was warm and genuine to all people. For many years, he invited my husband and me—and after I lost my husband, he continued to invite me—to attend the San

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Antonio Bar Association annual gala. We never went and I now regret that. During the Meissner trial our son, who was about 11, came to court several days after school. He was a student at San Antonio Academy so he was always wearing his uniform. Van talked with him several times and never forgot him, nor did our son forget him. Our son went to Van’s funeral even though he had not seen him in over 30 years. He always remembered the kind man who took the time to make him feel comfortable in a very uncomfortable setting. Many believed our friendship was a bit unusual. Ray was a San Antonio Police Detective

who became a District Attorney Investigator. I served as a Commissioner on the Texas Commission on Law Enforcement Officer Standards and Education. We were both extremely prosecution-oriented but we counted amongst our friends several criminal defense attorneys, all men of honor. The common thread being that each did his job with professionalism and honor. Ray and I always had dinner at the Barn Door on Friday nights. I recall one night that a group of attorneys were there having dinner with the late Judge Hippo Garcia. I enjoyed watching them as they were all laughing and thoroughly enjoying themselves. We were sitting across the room and at some point, Van realized we were there. He got up to come say hello and Judge Garcia saw us and came over as well. Then the war stories really began between Ray, Van and Judge Garcia! For the 26 months of my husband’s illness,

there was seldom a week that passed that Van did not call me and ask both about Ray and about me. He always offered any assistance we might need. I looked forward to those calls because Van was a welcome respite. We’d talk about politics, or a particular case but the bottom line was that he took the time to call. Those calls helped give me the strength I needed to carry on. I don’t think Van ever knew how much the calls meant, and how much encouragement they gave me. The last time I saw Van, he, his son Derek and Mark Stevens, all came to a hearing to show support for the late Charles Butts. We had a good visit talking about old times. Just before we all left, he came up to me, took my hand and said “are you doing okay?” Van Hilley exemplified compassion, kindness, warmth and strength of character. I have many memories of our friendship and I miss him terribly.

Honorable Sol Casseb III My Friend, Van Hilley

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ou’re going to read (and hear) a lot of things about what a great lawyer Van Hilley was. They are all true. Also, Gerald Goldstein will likely tell you what a wonderful partner Van was. Again, true. In fact, Van and Gerry practiced together more than

30 years and never had a written partnership agreement! This story deals with a young lawyer who walked into the 12th floor of the Tower Life Building, fresh out of Law School, some 43 years ago. I was that lawyer, and I had just gone to work with one of the best attorneys of

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the time, Fred Semaan. Mr. Semaan was, perhaps, the greatest trial lawyer (or, certainly, one of the greatest) of the day and I had high hopes of learning from him. However, after a few days of his escorting me around the Courthouse, I was left to my own devices. That is, Mr. Semaan employed a group of attorneys who were paid on an “eat what you kill” basis, and I was handed some files and told to go forth and produce! Mr. Semaan, as great a lawyer as he was, wasn’t a teacher. The other attorneys were busy earning a living and did not have the time to teach me how to make a living as an attorney. Enter Van Hilley.

this over and over. While not original with Van, he helped calm me down on numerous occasions when I was in a rush to judgment, and I still think of those words today when I have the need to slow things down a little.

Van was a great mentor to me, and took time away from his own practice to help and develop practical skills that I had not learned in law school. (I went to a law school where students learned to “think.” I needed to learn how to make a living.) Although he was several years older, Van and I became fast friends. There was never a time I could not go to him with a legal question, or a personal issue for that matter, that he did not make time to help me.

It wasn’t long before we were, by sheer coincidence, living in the same neighborhood. We rode to and from work together, went to lunch together most days, and our families became close over the months and years. Our wives took Jazzercise together, and our daughters became best friends, and are best friends to this day! I learned a lot from my “older” and wiser friend. At his memorial, Van’s now grown children presented some thoughts on Van, some of which had their roots in those early years. He always slowed me down with the words: “Patience is the conquering virtue.” I heard

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Van was a great believer in enjoying what life had to offer. He was dedicated to his work and to his clients, but never to the exclusion of his family and friends. Somehow, he managed to find that blend of work and play; some call it “moderation.” I read a great quotation that truly reminded me of the way Van lived his life: “There are two things to aim at in life: first, to get what you want; and, after that, to enjoy it. Only the wisest of mankind achieve the second.”

Van Hilley was, perhaps, the most evenkeeled, even-tempered person I know. It served him well. I often told my wife, when work or life got me down, that I wished I could be more like Van. He never seemed to experience low-lows or, for that matter, high-highs. As I said, he seemed to have found a balance in his life, both professional and personal. Although he didn’t wear it on his sleeve, Van was a devout believer in a great and powerful God. At his Memorial, his wonderful kids, Kara and Derrick, expressed Van’s number-one rule of living life – keep God first and the rest will take care of itself. The kids and Van’s beloved wife of many years gave out bracelets with Van’s favorite saying from Joshua 1:9: “Be strong and courageous – do not be afraid, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” And that is how my friend of 43 years lived his

life, even right up to the last days. He is gone and we, his many friends, are having a hard time coping and adjusting. We take solace in the many young attorneys that Van mentored along the way, and in the wonderful legacy he

leaves behind in his children and grandchildren. Godspeed, my friend.

Terri Curry Peace

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hen I think about the Van Hilley that I have come to know over the past forty- plus years, I am honored to say that much of my professional life has been shaped by having him as a mentor. He shaped my practice of law as well as my character, and for that I could not be more grateful. I went to law school in the 1970’s and decided to do so the week before classes began. There were very few women practicing law in Bexar County at that time. Although I had many relatives who were lawyers, I quite simply knew close to nothing about practicing law. I learned so much from my brother, Bruce B. Robertson and I am very grateful for that. I practiced in his office for years and learned so much from him. He, also, was extremely ethical like Van. I really planned to go to law school and decided that maybe I would practice law at some time in the future. I was equally interested in my family and having children and in my husband’s business. During law school I worked for my husband’s retail business and was somewhat active in the healthy events which surrounded his business and very interested in our children and their lives! My first real job was working for Bexar County Legal

Aid. Over the years, Van Hilley, Steve Takas, Mark Stevens, Larry Souza, George Scharmen, Mike McCrum, Alan Brown, Stephanie Stevens, Judge Pat Priest, Judge John Longoria, Judge Alma Lopez, Judge Sid Harle, Judge Steve Hilbig, Harry Adams, C.E. Cantrell, Michael Sawyer, Royal Griffin, Gerry Goldstein, Oliver Heard and Luke Soules have all been my “mentors”. So were Ron Flake, Barry Snell and Don Krause, of Bayne, Snell and Krause. Barry is actually my brother-in-law and his son now practices with him. I have two brothers and one sister and they are attorneys. There were few women practicing law when I started and very, very few in the law school. That meant that the ladies restroom was always empty and always perfectly ordered and clean. Alma Lopez was one of the few female attorneys in San Antonio. Both before she became a judge and after she was a judge, she always has been a wonderful friend. I did used to follow other attorneys around, as they were assigned out from presiding civil court docket. Van Hilley helped me very, very much. He explained anything I asked him. Sometimes I asked him “What are you doing?” and “Why are you doing this?” and he always explained everything to me. I would often present Van

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with a situation and he would tell me how to do what I wanted to do and also would tell me the ethical way to do things and how it would result in justice. I began after some years, to think of Van as the “go-to” person for ethical and good justice. He was so unbelievably patient and giving and very thorough. Always done the correct way. And the proper way. I called him very many times to ask him about cases that I had and how I should proceed, and he always very generously helped me. He knew that I was “following” him around the courthouse and always encouraged that. He never made me feel that I was a nuisance, which I may have been. I remember watching Stephanie Stevens voir dire a jury in Judge Oscar Kazen’s court just because she was going to do the voir dire and because I knew I would learn from her and I believe I did. Van actually handled a couple of civil matters for me and actually represented me and I am so grateful for that. I am grateful for every-

thing I learned from him and for everything he taught me. His office was a pure extension of himself, and Gerry’s is too. Whenever I had a case that was bothering me a lot because the result didn’t seem ethical enough for me to do it a certain way, I would talk to Van and either learn a different way of doing it and the ethical result or how the way I was going to do it would have an ethical result. I didn’t just learn legal methods from him, I learned how to practice law in an ethical way. That was really what was wonderful about Van. He wasn’t just a wonderful, prominent and excellent lawyer, he was also a truly ethical and just lawyer. To have been exposed to him was one of the greatest and luckiest parts of my life. He just gave and gave and gave because that was the right thing to do. We have all lost a generous, patient teacher, friend, mentor and ethical voice. We lost a wonderful person, but had him for a good amount of time. Weren’t we lucky?

Honorable Henry Bemporad

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knew Van for nearly three decades—I think I met him while Cynthia Orr and I were still working as law clerks at the courthouse. And though I mostly knew him professionally, I was honored to call him friend. Of all his outstanding qualities, the two that most come to mind for me when I think of Van are reliability, and integrity. Whether in court (on those occasions we appeared together, and when I privileged to have him appear before me), Van was always—always— the consummate advocate: professional, courteous, yet firmly devoted to the interests of his client. For the many committees on which he served, Van was always a voice of reason, fairness, and civility. It’s what made it such a pleasure to work with him in any context. I remember one time Van came to me in my role as Federal Public Defender, with the unenviable task of advocating for one of my employees who had gotten into serious trouble. Van had to break the bad news to me, and to deal with the complex personnel and legal issues the situation presented; he also

had to contend with the extremely emotional issues the situation presented for some of my staff. Van handled these issues as he handled everything else, in a straightforward, direct and unbiased manner. As usual, his dignity and calm demeanor benefitted everyone, and he helped me get through one of the more difficult episodes of my career. I expect that scores of lawyers have been similarly lucky to benefit from Van’s experience and wise counsel—probably including most of those reading this article, and most lawyers who had the good fortune to work with him over his many years of practice. Lawyers, and human beings, of Van’s caliber are seldom encountered. I will always consider myself blessed to have known and worked with him, and I will always keep Van’s memory close going forward. If I can manage my own career half as well as he did, I will consider myself a very lucky man. Thank you, Van, for all you did for all of us.

Louis Elias Lopez, Jr.

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can not begin to express the deep sadness that I feel right now knowing that my friend and mentor passed away in December. I first met Van in 1991 when I was beginning my second year in law school. After a summer of pestering Diane for an interview with the firm for one of its coveted clerkships, Van finally acquiesced and agreed to meet me. My interview was horrible. I remember being so intimidated by him, as well as the firm, that I know I came off as a bumbling idiot—a far cry from their usual high quality applicants. Although I suspect he felt sorry for me, he nonetheless offered me the job. For the next two years, I toiled away upstairs fetching numerous legal books from the library at his beck and call. He, more than GG and Cynthia, utilized my abilities. Over the intercom he would often yell, “Louis! Wake up and bring me a book.” Because I felt I was a disappointing hire, I made sure my work was for him was exact and as near perfect as a law student could provide. While he never criticized, I never was able to interpret his grunts, growls, and scowls. And though Terry and Diane always assured me I was doing fine, I never felt that I measured up. When I finally left after graduation, I wondered what kind of impression I had made on Van.

together. And when I saw him at seminars, he was always warm and friendly—and quick to ask about how I was doing in my part of the state. Only time and separation could answer the question I had when I left the firm in 1993. Van’s gruff personality and his dismissive attitude toward me was his way of forcing me to be a better student and eventually a better lawyer. His withholding of praise made me tough and forced me to overcome the insecurities I had when I began working at GGH. And that “tough love” made me a better person, lawyer, husband, and father. I have had many surrogate “fathers” in my life, and though he only had two years to work with me, his influence was profound. I can say I am better for the two years I spent working for him. Thank you Van for being a great boss, mentor and friend. You will be missed.

After school, I moved to El Paso. TX. It was then, and throughout the many years, I became his “go to guy” in west Texas. Never fail, when the GGH firm had a west Texas case, Van was always the one who told Diane to ring me up. And about 10 years ago, we even wrote a writ of cert. to the US Supreme Court

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Kent Schaffer

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e often refer to lawyers that we know as a “lawyer’s lawyer”; but we rarely mean it. Van Hilley was truly a lawyer’s lawyer. In my 35 years of practice; there have been few people that I trusted enough to go to for advice and I did so with Van for the duration of my career. He had a level headed sense of strategy, diplomacy, and near flawless judgment; and could make you analyze your approach to solving problems and often change your course of action, in order to succeed. Van knew the law; was a master of the facts; and understood that building relationships was essential to being an effective advocate; and you knew that when you called him for advice, his advice would be sound every time.

Probably one of the most remarkable traits that Van embodied was that he was simply a good guy. I have known a lot of people that do not like a lot of people; but I have never met anyone that did not like Van. He took an interest in those around him and cared about the people in his life with a sincerity that was obvious. He was an example of how far one could go simply by being smart and kind; as opposed to those who cut corners and act aggressively simply for the sake of being aggressive. It is hard to imagine that he will not be walking the halls of Goldstein, Goldstein, & Hilley; with his trademark cigar and ever present smile; and like many, I will miss him greatly.

Patrick Filyk

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an Hilley was my role model. In more or less equal parts, Van, like me, practiced both civil and criminal law. One day Van might be in the 290th defending an MTR; the next might find him in Civil Presiding contesting a custody matter. Still later in the week he might be at the US Attorney’s Office negotiating a downward departure. In this age of specialization, there are fewer lawyers that routinely appear at the Courthouse and the Justice Center on the same day. No matter the arena, Van was often the best lawyer in that Courtroom.

I was excited when Van became President of the San Antonio Bar Association. I think this legitimized “criminal lawyers” in the eyes of the local Bar. He set a great example and paved the way for other criminal practitioners to undertake leadership positions in SABA. Because of Van, SABA is a more inclusive organization that better serves all members of our community. Everyone knows that Van was a terrific lawyer. But what I sought to emulate most was the way Van carried himself. Always welldressed and well-mannered, he projected

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an old-school attention to courtesy and patience for the concerns of others, especially opposing counsel. He was the embodiment

of our Creed. He was reserved and confident; soft-spoken and eloquent. He was a great and gentle man.

Eric Friedland

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an Hilley was my friend, my employer, my mentor, my lawyer and my role model as an attorney. I was lucky enough to go to work with Goldstein, Goldstein & Hilley before I even started law school. I met Gerry Goldstein through some mutual friends and I was in a rock back that played at the original Friendly Spot on South Alamo. My qualifications included playing in Los #2 Dinners, being a somewhat experienced sailor and a surfer. Shortly after arriving at the firm I met Van and we hit it off. He lived in my parent’s neighborhood, we were both “Longhorns” and he was a rock and roll fan. I quickly realized that Van was the “yin” to Gerry’s “yang. They seemed to be polar opposite personalities but an extremely potent legal team together. They attracted many of brightest young rising star criminal defense attorneys like Mark Stevens, Bob Ozer, Robert Hirschorn, Ralph Lopez, John Convery, Pat Peranteau, Bob Switzer, Cynthia Orr and others. I always felt way out of their league but somehow we all became a team and a family. I did not feel as “down for the cause” as Gerry and the rest of the crew. Van taught me the Atticus Finch part of being a criminal defense attorney and helped me understand how to set aside personal belief and dogma and provide a defense to those

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accused of serious and often, horrific crimes. I wrote a law journal casenote on a Fourth Amendment search and seizure case and began to get it. My job included research and updating the criminal law notebooks with case law for Gerry’s speeches. I was in. Van was always “an officer and a gentleman”.... like Clint Eastwood-fair but tough as nails, smooth and resilient, kind but firm. He had a sly smile that he would break out when communicating some secret understanding between us on a case or client. That sly smile also gave a glimpse of his enjoyment of a good time. Whenever he came to see our band, he had a cigar in one hand, a hook em horns sign on his other hand and would yell out “Honky Tonk Women” to me. He was cool like that. MY FIRST CASE Van let me “try” my first “case”. Well, not exactly. He had a lady who was the wife of client serving time somewhere and Van wanted to help her. It seems she was scheduled for an administrative hearing to have her day care license revoked for having too many kids in her home. Her home, it seems, turned out to be two homes with many more children than she was supposed to be caring for. Van called the opposing counsel to see if he would agree

to let me go to the hearing and hold the lady’s hand while the kangaroo court panel tore into her. Opposing counsel agreed since it was an administrative hearing and the evidence was straight forward. Van told me to accompany the lady and to do the best I could. She began crying as soon as we got there. Our witnesses were her priest and a few moms of the children she cared for. I persuaded the panel to put a hold on her license until she could get it upgraded to meet the requirements for that many children. It seems all the parents knew of the two houses and how many kids she watched. Yet none were unhappy with the arrangement and loved her dearly as did all the kids who seemed well mannered, well cared for and well adjusted. Further, if her license was revoked, the moms testified they would all have to seek new day care arrangements.... something they all dreaded. That result infuriated the opposing counsel who immediately called Van and screamed that Van had sandbagged him and pulled a scam. Van replied that he had agreed to let me represent the lady and told me to do my best. The lady brought Van and me a box of chicken and a bottle of Jack Daniels. My first fee. THE ORAL WILL Van realized that I had interests other than criminal law so I began to get more involved with his cases. I helped his extremely talented secretary/paralegal Terry whenever I could. I figured out that the endless parade of crying men and women going in and out of Van’s office were divorce cases or wills/estate issues. Since all the other criminal defense hot shots were busy on Fifth Circuit briefs or federal court trials, I jumped in on as many cases as I could with Van and Terry. Lo and behold they

knew an old woman named Minnie who lived alone in a run down old house and was sick, poor and virtually homeless, except she had a home! She was cared for by loving couple who spent everyday and night taking care of Minnie and providing for her needs. The couple wanted to take a weekend off and go to the coast and found another couple to take their place and watch over Minnie. As luck would have it, Minnie took a bad turn for the worse and told the couple that if she died she wanted everything she had to go to her caregivers. Then she died. Van and Terry were pondering what to do when I bounced in from law school and announced that the facts fit what was called a non-cupative will.....an oral will. I had just learned about it at law school and it seemed plausible under the situation presented. Van agreed to give it a shot, especially since upon going through Minnie’s shabby house and meager belongings, a large amount of cash was found stashed all over the place. The probate court accepted our pleadings and set a date for a hearing. An alert clerk notified the newspaper who ran an article on the odd duck oral will filed in the court and described how rare they were and that one had not been filed in years! Then relatives, friends and others began to come out of the woodwork, all claiming an interest in poor old Minnie’s money. Van called me in his office and with his sly smile said, “What now Mr. Law Journal?” Van cut some deals with some of the seemingly legitimate claimants and the will was probated without further ado. The caregivers received virtually all of Minnie’s estate and there is no doubt they deserved it. A few years later, the Legislature changed the Probate Code and removed the section on Non-Cupative Wills.

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ADVENTURE ON THE HIGH SEAS Once we went on a law firm trip to Port Aransas. Everyone went, Gerry’s parents, all spouses, girlfriends, boyfriends, kids, clerks, runners, everybody. Gerry planned to take the whole group on his forty foot sailboat across the channel to St. Joseph’s Island for a picnic on the beach. Van was prone to sea sickness so Gerry told me to keep an eye on him so no one would get sick. As we proceeded and I took my forward crew orders from skipper Goldstein, I noticed we were heading out the channel directly toward the Gulf. Further, there was a good swell running and the boat began to pitch and roll ... a recipe for seasickness. I quietly asked the skipper about his plans and he told me not to worry and that he was just going out a little bit and then would turn around and sail down and turn into the bay waters behind the St. Joseph lighthouse. Again he told me to check on Van. I did and Van was not looking good at all. He was as green as the water. All of sudden he and a few others on the boat got violently ill. I held Van as he violently heaved overboard. In between episodes, Van turned to me. Rather than his famous sly smile he had a look of anger. He calmly said, “Go tell Goldstein to turn this f****n boat around now!” I promptly relayed Van’s message to Gerry who was already

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being chastised by some parents whose kid was spewing all over the place. Gerry yelled “Coming about!” and I ran forward to adjust the sails and then went back to help Van. The boat made it into calm waters and we proceeded to St. Joseph’s Island where those who were not violently ill enjoyed the fantastic a rray of goodies that Chris Goldstein prepared. Van was mostly silent on the trip back. His only comment to me was “God damn Gerry ... never again.” Hopefully, these few anecdotes add to the already voluminous platitudes heaped on Van and perhaps give a glimpse into the man who was so good and so strong and cared for people and was a real person himself, not just a lawyer in a suit. His family has known this forever. He offered counsel and help to those who needed it. He was tough and could be mean but had a heart. He defended criminals, he helped those whose lives were torn apart by divorce or death. Van will be missed and never forgotten by those whose live he touched. Especially me. Hook Em! POST SCRIPT Gerry introduced me to my first wife. Van got a judge to marry us. Van represented me in the divorce...

Jonathan “Chavy” Chavez

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met Van in January of 2013 while clerking for Chad Van Brunt, John Hunter, and Vivek Jampala. John and I ran into a hurdle with a Federal case; John’s first instinct was to race up to the 29th floor of the Tower Life building to seek Van’s guidance. John pulled me along, and I’m forever grateful for that introduction. At that initial meeting Van stood over his desk with a cigar in his mouth while opening another box of cigars that had just arrived by delivery. I felt intimidated entering his office on the 29th floor at Goldstein, Goldstein and Hilley. And the fact that there was a giant knife hanging on the wall behind his desk didn’t help much. But that feeling of intimidation left as soon as Van welcomed us in. Rather than rushing us to ask our question so that he could get on with his day, Van took the time to get to know a lowly 1L, which made me feel at ease. He asked me where I attended law school, where I was from, and many other questions. He listened closely to my answers, and genuinely cared to hear about my life.

At the end of that meeting, Van said that his door was always open, and that if I ever had questions to just ask. I took Van up on that open door offer on more occasions than I can count; he always took the time to listen to me. Throughout my time clerking for Goldstein, Goldstein and Hilley until just before his passing, Van continued to support me, regardless of how many obstacles I faced. While I was studying for the bar exam Van constantly told me to study, telling me that he expected great things from me. The fact that he took the time out of his day to share those words with me means the world to me. I am forever grateful for having known Van Hilley. He helped me through some hard times, and taught me what it truly means to care for your fellow man.

I really don’t remember the legal issue that John and I ran into that day, or the advice that Van gave on the subject, (although I do remember feeling a sense of relief after he pointed us in the right direction). However, I do remember a unique sense of caring and kindness that flowed from Van. He demonstrated that same sense of caring throughout the time that I was lucky enough to have known him.

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Carlos Solis

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ike many others, I was a baby prosecutor when I met THE Van Hilley. Early on in my days as an ADA, people spoke reverently of the legendary Van Hilley from Goldstein, Goldstein & Hilley. In what was likely by design, most of us had been pre-conditioned to be star-struck by the time we met him.

When I finally met Van in County Court 7 many years ago, he was every bit the brilliant and larger-than-life figure he was billed to be. He walked around with confidence but was never intimidating. He was kind to everyone but was never pretentious. To lawyers, he was the lawyer we all strive to be. To non-lawyers, he was the poster child for what a lawyer should be. From that first meeting through his final days, the common thread I saw woven through all our interactions was that Van treasured people and happiness. He unabashedly worked hard, cared for people, was full of faith and loved his family—something I aspire to daily. He was a combination of Atticus Fitch (To Kill a Mockingbird) and Augustus McCrae (Lonesome Dove) with his advice and ability to find humor in anything. He exuded compassion and intelligence. He wasn’t just a leader, he cultivated loyalty. In the past couple of years, Derek and I would often grab lunch or run errands with Van. I remember one such trip to pick up his newly re-gripped golf clubs. As we entered the store there was not a person to be found to help, but Van had a way of navigating any hurdle that got in his way with grace and humility. So as I went in search of an employee, Van selfassuredly walked back behind the counter,

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looked through their inventory, grabbed his clubs and carried them to the front cashier. This was just Van. No matter the situation, before you knew it you found yourself won over. Between him knowing everyone in the courtroom (and their children, grandchildren and hobbies) and his years of experience— you didn’t stand a chance. As we waited for our cars at a SABA dinner two years ago, Van waived me off and without hesitation escorted my wife who was 8 months pregnant and in heels to the car. He did those things not because anybody was watching, but because he was, quite simply, a true gentleman. Many lawyers have taught me the intricacies of the legal world, but Van taught me about life. He gave Derek and me a place to hang our shingle and daily words of wisdom to go with it. And for that, we will be forever grateful to him.

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Chad P. Van Brunt

V

an Hilley was the consummate gentleman lawyer, a true student of the old school. Van could get more movement on a case in a single meeting than most lawyers could with hours of research, drafting, and hearings. He taught by example and was always available for advice (I am sure I tested the limits of that availability). In a day and age when collegiality and a basic sense of trust and fair dealing amongst opposing sides is the exception, Van demanded it in both substance and presence. He showed that

trust is something earned by giving it to the other side first. He approached prosecutors expecting them to be ethical and fair (a problem I still struggle with personally) and they responded in kind time and time again. Because of this, he had the respect and trust of not just his colleagues in the defense bar but also prosecutors and judges. I am so thankful to have had the benefit of his mentorship. I hope to carry those qualities he exemplified with me in court and in my everyday life.

Anne Burnham

I

met Van Hilley when I was a new associate attorney in his law firm. He was the ideal boss—high expectations but approachable, helpful and kind. My first hearing, and my first appellate oral argument, was as co-counsel to Van. He was a natural mentor, recognizing a new lawyer’s need for guidance in all aspects of practice. He was always willing and able to provide answers to legal questions, and questions about what to expect during various proceedings. But what I valued most was Van’s wisdom and practical advice. He often delivered his pearls of wisdom through analogies or jokes. The one that stands out for

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me, which I think of often, was delivered via a billiards analogy: when you are asking for a favor and wanting to get someone’s goodwill, remember goodwill, like the felt on a pool table, is prone to wearing out. The felt on a pool table gets torn and frayed when overused. When you need a good surface to make a winning shot, you won’t have it. Likewise, if you ask for the court’s goodwill too often, and in situations that don’t matter, you won’t get it when it really counts. I think of that lesson, and Van’s wise counsel, often. I am grateful for his mentorship, and the kindness he showed me.

A DUDE REMEMBERED

Derek Hilley and Kara Mowrey

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W

hile many of you might refer to our Dad as Van, Mr. Hilley or Counselor, we had the pleasure of calling him Dude. He was lovingly given this title once his first grandchild was born. Grandfather was too formal a name, and we needed to create a name just right for him. We realized he frequently greeted others with, “What’s going on Dude?”, so he was rightfully named Dude. We would catch many glances as Mackenzie, Morgan, Lyndin and Weston Van would call for him as “Dude”! It was a name he cherished almost as much as he enjoyed the time he spent with his grandchildren. As children, we had the opportunity to grow up in a loving home with an amazing Dad (and Mom!). He cheered us on at sporting events, attended events at school, and consistently poured encouragement and advice into our lives. We were tremendously blessed to have a Dad who cared so much for his family and who chose to be present in our lives. Even when we became adults he still continued to offer words of wisdom, and we enjoyed quoting them back to him. It seemed quite appropriate to put together “Dude’s Top Ten” (next page) in his honor, so others could enjoy the words of wisdom we have come to know and love so well.

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Dude’s Top Ten 10. Watch your speed and distance. This piece of advice seemed to be quoted quite frequently to us when we turned sixteen. We are sure the many calls to our Dad to address a speeding ticket or an alleged fender bender didn’t help. However, as we have gotten older, this advice continues to be solid words of wisdom to apply to many areas of our lives. 9. Everything in moderation. Dad was a firm believer in this whether it be food, wine or his lifestyle. This is how he maintained his ‘185 pounds of Blue Twisted Steel’, as he would tell us and others throughout his life. 8. The best lake house is a friend’s lake house. The best beach house is a friend’s beach house. The best boat is a friend’s boat. Pretty much anything we were trying to ask for, he would insert into this phrase. We are finding that it works well in most situations now with our own kids! 7. He who has all the gold makes all the rules. We would hear this one when we were children and we might be in trouble. We may not have liked what Dad was saying to us, and we may have had a rebuttal, but he would simply say: He who has all the gold makes all the rules. 6. It’s not what you know; it’s who you know. As we look back at pictures and conver sations, it is obvious to us that he placed great value in relationships. To see his memorial service filled with judges, attorneys, doctors, friends and family … it truly shows how important it was to our Dad to foster close friendships with those around him.

5. Stay ahead of the power curve. Dad was a strong proponent of Staying Ahead of the Power Curve, and he would tell us and his clients this quite often. He always meant to stay in front of what he was doing. May it be studying, practicing a sport or even the treatment he received, he wanted to stay in front of it, so he did not get behind. He did just that—stayed ahead of the power curve. 4. It costs only 10% more to go first class. This is a piece of advice we are sure he wished he had not said to us because whenever he was wanting to plan a trip for us, we seemed to quote it right back to him. Of course, this is a piece of advice we most enjoyed when he was paying for something! 3. Money on the wood makes the case go good. Dad shared this one with attorneys and even his clients when needed as a simple truth. 2. Patience is the conquering virtue. This motto is one he quoted quite frequently. We think he most demonstrated it these past two years as an example to us that a patient attitude is the best way to approach life. 1. Keep God first and the rest will take care of itself. Joshua 1:9: “Be strong and coura geous … do not be afraid, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” This verse was a driving force in our Dad’s life. It was especially important to him the past two years as he battled cancer. The verse reminded us all to keep our priorities in check. There are not enough words to express how much we loved, respected, and appreciated our Dad. He went above and beyond to provide for our family and to care for those around him. He has left a lasting legacy for us to continue with our own children. We are so very thankful for our one and only Dude.

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