'You can't be afraid to do what you think is right'

Norbert Nadel sits at his desk, takes a deep breath and looks at barren walls that, days before, bore highlights of his 40 years as a Hamilton County judge.

Until mid-December, those walls were filled with framed newspaper stories, magazine covers, photos and proclamations of Nadel's accomplishments and famous cases over the years. After 32 years as a Common Pleas Court judge and eight more as a judge in Municipal and Domestic Relations courts, Nadel is retiring at the end of this year.

"I'm going to miss the people we work with and most of the attorneys," Nadel, 75, said with a smile.

During his career, Nadel ruled for local baseball icon Pete Rose, a move that resulted in many calling Nadel a homer for the Hit King. He's also put thousands behind bars, sent dozens of murderers to prison and wrapped up his 32-year judicial career by sending a local judge-turned-felon to jail.

"I've learned that in this job you can't be afraid to do what you think is right, because if you are, you shouldn't be here," Nadel said.

His most famous case, Nadel said, was the 1989 court fight between Rose and Major League Baseball. Commission Bart Giamatti tried to ban Rose for betting on baseball. Rose sought a temporary restraining order to prevent that and, ultimately, Nadel agreed.

"It was the most interesting (case), national," Nadel said. He announced that decision on a rare Sunday court hearing that was broadcast live nationally. "He was popular here. I was criticized by everybody. ... I gave Pete Rose the temporary restraining order, which made everyone think I was a sticking my nose in baseball's business."

Nadel granted that order, he said, because he believed Giamatti – who died shortly after that – was acting as the judge and jury in the case. Giamatti vouched for the credibility of witnesses against Rose, Nadel said, something the judge thought was improper for someone who would decide Rose's baseball fate. Nadel also believed Giamatti prejudged Rose's case.

Rose was banned from baseball and, despite lobbying for decades to return, remains banned.

Rose pleaded guilty in 1990 to two counts of filing a false tax return by under-reporting his income by hundreds of thousands of dollars and went to prison. Years later, Nadel and his wife met Rose at a Las Vegas book signing.

"Pete said, 'I know who you are. You don't have to introduce yourself,' " Nadel said. Rose autographed his the book Nadel bought: "To Judge Nadel, Thanks for being fair to me."

Not everyone thinks Nadel is fair. He yells at some defendants and often asks if those before him are on public assistance. He also has given many criminals breaks in hopes they will improve their lives – and isn't surprised when they do.

"The best thing about this job," Nadel said, "is you can make a difference."

He did with DeAnna Hoskins.

"I thought he was the meanest damned person in history," Hoskins said. "In the end, he saved my life. I was abusing drugs and alcohol and losing my kids."

Her parents asked Nadel to send her to prison, but the judge placed her in a locked-down drug rehab program.

Hoskins now has three college degrees, including a master'sin criminal justice from the University of Cincinnati. That helped her land a job as director of Hamilton County's re-entry program that helps offenders cope with returning to society after time behind bars. She visited Nadel, now a co-worker, in his office to thank him again.

Another is Leo Clyde Jordan. After Nadel put him behind bars for writing bad checks, Jordan began regularly visiting Nadel in his office. "We became friends," Nadel said.

Nadel allowed Jordan to keep a file cabinet in his office to store items and let him to have his mail delivered to Nadel's office. "Everybody can support a winner," Nadel said.

Those cases aren't unusual, Steve Goodin said.

He's a 15-year lawyer who worked as Nadel's law clerk for two years while finishing law school and passing the Bar exam. While saying Nadel can be misunderstood, Goodin said there's a big heart under the bright blue robe that is a Nadel trademark.

"He's rubbed some folks the wrong way over the years," Goodin said.

Nadel is known for sometimes rendering findings not always consistent with the law. Some of his rulings were overturned by the appeals court, which at times reminded him he'd made the same ruling on a legal point they'd previously reversed him on, saying he didn't follow the law.

But when people ask Goodin why he has so much respect for Nadel, Goodin tells them about the Nadel the man.

"Here's what I say: 'He never lost his ability to look at stuff as a human being,' " Goodin said. "Some people who practice law lose their common sense over time and their perspective.

"He was just never 100 percent wedded to or enthralled by what the law books say. Law books change. That, to me, was what I thought was his strength. He's had some tough life experiences. He kind of identifies with the underdog sometimes."

Nadel grew up in Avondale and Bond Hill, graduating from Woodward High and the University of Cincinnati. Because his uncle was a lawyer, Nadel decided to go to the Chase College of Law at night while working in the family's West End clothing store. When his father became ill, Nadel ran the store.

"I took night classes and went in the summer. I had no social life," Nadel said.

He later worked as a law clerk for Judge Louis Schneider, whomhe eventually succeeded as judge. His fellow law clerk at the time was Simon Leis Jr., a future judge and sheriff. They've been close friends for decades.

Nadel also likes poking fun at himself. On his wall of fame in his office was a handmade "Impeach Judge Nadel" sign. A friend saw it on a Reading Road utility pole, took it and gave it to Nadel. He hung it on the wall and, with a laugh, showed to it everybody who visited his office.

Now, Nadel is retiring at the end of this year – but not because he wants to. He unsuccessfully tried to get lawmakers to change the law so his age wouldn't force him to retire. In Ohio, only lawyers younger than 70 before election day are eligible to run for judgeships.

His impending retirement didn't really register until June when JB Williams came before Nadel on gun charges. "That name sounded awfully familiar," Nadel said.

Then the judge realized the man before him was the same JB Williams he'd sent to prison in 1987 on a murder conviction. Williams spent 20 years in prison and was out for seven years when he came before Nadel again.

"He did his time," Nadel said. Williams remembered Nadel and they talked briefly when Williams appeared on the new weapons case. "I gave him probation this time," Nadel said.

It's the personal moments Nadel will cherish the most, he said. From Kathy O'Mara, a Nadel bailiff who fought and fought but ultimately lost her war with cancer, to those he helped, to attorneys who stopped by his office just to tease him and be teased by him.

"It's been an honor to serve here, probably the biggest honor of my life," Nadel said. "Do the right thing and don't be afraid."

Nadel's last day is Dec. 31.

Nadel cases through the years

Here's a list of the more prominent cases over which Hamilton County Judge Norbert Nadel, who retires at the end of this year, has presided:

• Michael Beuke – Nadel's first capital case.

Beuke, dubbed "the mad hitchhiker," was picked up along Interstate 275 by Robert Craig. The reward for Craig, as he was delivering fish to area restaurants when he picked up the hitchhiking Beuke in 1983, was being shot to death. Beuke, of West Price Hill, also was accused of shooting two men in Indiana in separate incidents after they picked up the hitchhiker. Beuke was 48 when he was put to death by Ohio on May 13, 2010, for Craig's murder.

"The kindness of people got them killed," Nadel said. "He was like a hunter."

• Derrick Turnbow – A case that bothered Nadel so much he swore, after convicting Turnbow's shooter, Edwin Swan, "If I'm still able to stand on my two hind legs and draw a breath, I'm going to see to it that Edwin Swan remain behind bars."

Turnbow was a 17-year-old, bright high school student watching an after-school fist fight at Taft High when Swan pulled out a gun and shot. Swan missed his target and shot an innocent Turnbow in the face, paralyzing Turnbow from the neck down. The shooting got so much attention that then-President George H.W. Bush and celebrities visited Turnbow, who died two years later from complications of the shooting. A West End street was renamed Derrick Turnbow Avenue. Swan is serving a life sentence. "He was an honor student. He was going to college," Nadel said of Turnbow.

• Morgue case – Photographer Thomas Condon and deputy coroner Dr. Jonathan Tobias were convicted of gross abuse of a corpse. Tobias was accused of helping Condon gain access to the Hamilton County morgue where Condon placed small objects – sheet music, a ladder, a key – next to bodies and took pictures of them. A civil suit cost taxpayers $8 million. "That was a weird case," Nadel said.