During my tenure as a judge, I had a variety of attorneys with diverse abilities and experiences present their cases before me.

One of the most unorthodox was “Bill.”

Bill was not his real name, but Bill was real, especially when advancing illusions serving as foundations for his client’s cases.

As unorthodox as Bill was, and as appropriate as that term is to him, it is inadequate to describe his approach to life and to the law. Though what he did was often unorthodox, the truer measure of Bill is found in the term “posture.”

Bill was a master of posturing a position. It made no difference what artifice needed to be employed to present a given falsity — Bill could assume the stance needed.

When, as so often occurred, Bill was informed his position lacked a factual predicate, he would simply assume another erroneous posture, diverting attention from the defective one earlier advanced. And so it would go — one posture after another, in a series of truth-diverting poses.

Think of Bill as an environmental hazard wearing waders. One who mucked about in a current of truth’s harmonious flow, introducing discordant obstructions and assorted contaminations.

With Bill, you had to keep one thing always in mind: Though truth stays true and never changes — like a compass pointing us in a true direction — first, we have to be able to perceive it.

Bill’s area of specialization was the prevention of truth’s perception. Pacing about as though he had a magnet in his pocket, seeking truth’s deflection.

Faced with an adverse fact or ruling, Bill would assume a posture of exasperation — shaking his head, rolling his eyes. He would pace back and forth, voicing grievances with increasing volume but without relevance.

After a time, I came to believe he carried his own jury around in his head and that it was to those captive souls he addressed his comments. It was a jury whose members had taken a unique oath composed by Bill to uphold whatever nonsense he was posturing.

Bill left town several years ago. I suspect he was discouraged by the realization his skills were being denied full expression. I’ve not seen him in quite some time. I’ve wondered how he’s doing, where he’d gone off to.

Now, I think I know.

While watching the never-ending national debate about things that should be agreed to, I often sense Bill’s presence. Facts — obvious facts — are now routinely contested in outlandish ways, having no resemblance to reasoned argument. I’m seeing postures and approaches that have a clear Bill ring — there being nothing clear about them.

With all this flim-flam, perhaps the time has come to head over to the livestock auction, where sounds ring true, smells are genuine, and the solid integrity of wooden benches await us. There, one can observe the bidding, see who’s buying and what they’re paying — any poses will be exposed upon the gavel’s fall.

At the livestock auction, smells are clearly perceived, as there is nothing to disguise them. Scents — persuasive scents — emanate from what actually exists, and if you get something on your shoe, you know it’s the real thing.

Not only do we live in times that try men’s souls, but times where attempts are made to hack into our ability to differentiate odors.

Now, we need to ensure the smells we smell are genuine, not whiffs from a perfume atomizer, like the one Bill kept on his courtroom table. We have to ensure that what is presented is not the product of veracity deflection. We have to be aware the credibility of a statement is often inversely proportional to the volume of its delivery.

But, most importantly, we have to preside, you and I, so that truth is perceived, not hidden — in the sounds of silence.

Doug Pugh’s “Vignettes” runs weekly on Saturdays. He can be reached at pughda@gmail.com.