Robert Munro: Proving Justice is Blind
By Marissa McCormick

Someone in the law office of Robert Munro is talking in fast forward, at about 500 words per minute.

Munro is just listening to his email.

Munro, 42, is completely blind and in a profession that’s about 75 percent paperwork. Not being the biggest fan of braille, he uses voice dictation for almost everything.

“I spent many years trying to perfect the method of osmosis, where I would hold the book up to my forehead and absorb the knowledge…but this has yet to bear fruit.”

Any new client could mistake Munro for a sighted person. He navigates his cluttered office easily, extends his hand and instructs his guest to sit in a chair at the end of the long interview table, which he says, “is conveniently located above the trap door in case things go bad.”

A 1995 Mass Communication bachelor’s diploma from James Madison University hangs below his 2010 Juris Doctor diploma from the University of North Carolina. A picture of Munro with his first son, Ian, sits on his desk facing out.
His guide dog, a Black Lab named Sable, settles next to his seat, letting out a sleepy sigh.

Munro wasn’t always blind.

“I had cancer when I was 6 months old. They removed my right eye, but managed to save my left eye,” though it, too, was impaired, leaving his vision fuzzy.

To make sense of the world, Munro sat very close to the television as a child. His perceptions of light and shadow were based on cartoons from the early 80’s like “Scooby Doo” and “Battle of the Planets.”

In seventh grade, Munro got chicken pox and pinkeye that scarred his cornea, blinding him completely. Which was strangely liberating.

“I was definitely, no kidding, a blind person. Not halfway in between the two worlds.”

One thing Munro always enjoyed was a good argument.
“People always told me I’d be a good lawyer.”

While studying for the LSAT he met his future wife, Denise, on Eharmony.com. Munro smiles as he recalls this.

“I picked a profile with no pictures. Why would I want to put myself at a competitive disadvantage?”

While he went to law school, she studied library sciences for a master’s. She is now the youth services coordinator at Massanutten Regional Library. The two carpool to work every morning. You can practically count the steps from the library to his office in the Bank of America building on the corner of Courthouse Square.

Munro relies on his legal assistant, Robert Chapman, 67, for most things. Chapman, goes by “Doc.” The two bounce jokes off each other and decide Doc’s most important role in the firm is to “make sandwiches.”

“I am his eyes…this business requires paperwork that Rob can’t make, so I make it for him.”

Doc produces a manila folder with a document that requires Munro’s signature. Doc guides Munro’s pen into the center of a signature guide. A device made of two metal bars encased by rubber on the ends.

As Munro scribbles his name, Doc teases him about his signature, which looks like a three year olds scrawl.

Doc later concedes, “Rob is bar none, on the widest margin, the best boss I’ve ever had.”

The passion he brings to courtroom action distracts one from noticing he’s blind.
Tyler Broach, 21, a senior sports recreation major from Chesterfield, Virginia, remembers Munro from his court hearing.

“When I first saw him I couldn’t tell he was blind. He was getting around fine and knew where everything was. It wasn’t until I saw his dog that I figured it out.”

The Harrisonburg courtroom is nothing like Munro’s comfortable office. Munro stands with his cane among the lawyers at the front. Munro, along with the others, talks shop about the latest cases, and what’s coming down the pipeline. A few guide Munro around the tables, giving him a little nudge or holler when he’s about to walk into something.

“It’s busy,” Munro says. “But not as busy as a Monday after a weekend out for JMU.” The courtroom is full of clients, young and old, waiting to hear their verdict.

Munro approaches a young man sitting with his parents. He places his hand on the father’s back and quietly says something to him, making the father smile. Munro looks relaxed and the father looks relieved.

The court appoints most of Munro’s cases. And even though court appointed lawyers are being paid the same wage that they were in the 1980s, he takes his time with each client.

Doc explains, “He’s building a reputation that he cares about his clients. He wants them to understand at their level what they did wrong.”

And his reputation is growing. Fellow Harrisonburg attorney Lynn Svonavec agrees saying, “he has a sharp mind, an incredible wit—he’s a good lawyer.”

The statue of Lady Justice emerged in the 15th century blindfolded and holding a scale. The coincidence isn’t lost on Munro.

“I don’t care whether you’re rich or whether you’re from El Salvador…I look at the facts and nothing else...95 percent of the time defense attorneys get their brains beaten in in court because we’re fighting for our client’s best interest.”

Judge William W. Eldridge IV sits behind the bench calling the defendants in alphabetical order. As each last name is called, a corresponding lawyer stands and escorts their client to the bench.

Munro’s client’s last name is finally called and the two of them stand up together. Showtime.

Munro explains, “Court is a lot of preparing, then waiting around for five minutes of work…Court isn’t like what it seems in shows like ‘Law and Order’.”

In the future, Munro hopes to expand his client list. With his second son due in November, he suspects his life is going to get much more hectic.

“There’s a running joke at law school—If you’re not good at math, become a lawyer…and here I am.”


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