The past week has stirred strange emotions for me. Friday marked the one year anniversary of filing a lawsuit to keep Donald Trump off the ballot in Colorado — and across the country.
I am struck by the juxtaposed disbelief that it seems like yesterday and an eternity ago. I can recall so many details about that original filing as it just happened; yet everything that has occurred since makes it feel like an age ago.
For example, two days before the filing I spent my Labor Day enacting my own personal version of Paul Revere’s ride. Working with a mobile notary willing to spend the holiday collecting signatures, I crisscrossed the Denver Metro area visiting our plaintiffs with copies of the final draft. I met one at a Starbucks, one at a McDonald’s and the rest at their homes.
That seemed like something from another lifetime as I flipped burgers on Labor Day this year.
Back then, we were steeped in the thrill of what might happen. In most lawsuits, there is a methodical pattern. Most deadlines are well defined in statute, and the arc of a case is somewhat predictable, even when the outcome is not. It gives some certainty to parties, attorneys and the court.
That was not the situation for us. We were prepared to go to trial five days after filing; it was not our preference, but the statute indicated that would be a possibility. We did not know what arguments opposing counsel would make or how they would attempt to defend the case. There were significant questions about how to introduce a mountain of evidence, much less whether it was even admissible.
We worried about the position the Secretary of State would take. Contrary to later Republican speculation, she had no input into the substance of our case. Beyond a professional courtesy letting her office know we intended to file a few days before the fact, we had not been in touch with them. Our uncertainty extended so far that we prepared advance arguments in case she argued our claims were not ripe, that they had been made too soon because Trump had not filed his paperwork at that point.
Never mind that the attorneys at Olson Grimsley Kawanabe Hinchcliff & Murray — the best litigation boutique in the region, let alone the state — had opened their doors the day before we submitted. They dedicated three partners and a budding superstar associate to our cause.
Never mind that we were not sure about what witnesses would testify or in what order. That remained in flux almost until the day of trial as one of our witnesses dropped out only days before they were set to take the stand.
Never mind that we were trying to balance paying clients with this pro bono cause that would require thousands and thousands of attorney hours to prepare.
And that was all just in the lead up to filing.
We were arguing a novel legal case, something that had been used only a handful of times since just after the Civil War, and never against a candidate for president. Besides that, we were asking courts to boot a candidate who received tens of millions of votes the last time he ran for office.
It was and always will be the most consequential case I have ever been a part of — and likely that any member of our team will ever argue.
For me that means it will be a life marker that serves to tether anything else that happened around the same time. Just as most of the world now marks time in reference to the COVID pandemic, I will add the Trump lawsuit to my personal mental milestones.
Maybe that is why my relational sense feels like it is vacillating on an enormous teeter totter. The fulcrum rests just between my short- and long-term pasts at this point.
That said, I know that I will carry so much of it with me for the rest of my life.
For example, to this day I stay in touch with U.S. Capitol Police Officer Winston Pingeon. Not only is he a bona fide American hero who effectively impersonated Captain America engaged in “hand-to-hand combat” for hours on January 6th, but he is one of the most delightful people on the planet. And he is a stellar artist — a self portrait of him in his riot gear with the U.S. Capitol in the background has a place of honor in my office.
Since our case ended, I have worked with friends from Citizens from Responsibility and Ethics in Washington (CREW) and Martha Tierney on election protection matters in Colorado and other states. CREW is at the forefront of protecting the country’s ballot certification processes against rogue county clerks like Colorado’s Tina Peters.
Next week, I will be working on another project with Danny Hodges, the D.C. Metro Police Officer Danny Hodges — who was famously crushed in a door by insurrectionists on January 6th.
When the U.S. Supreme Court ruled against us in March, I wrote that we were nonetheless right to file the lawsuit. That belief will not change or fade with time.
But now we just have to win at the ballot box in another couple months.
Mario Nicolais is an attorney and columnist who writes on law enforcement, the legal system, health care and public policy. Follow him on BlueSky: @MarioNicolais.bsky.social.
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