Justice Maureen O’Connor says campaign money doesn’t affect her

Even when it came to personal injury cases, O'Connor surprised the public.

In 2005, GM worker Douglas Groch's right arm was horribly disfigured after getting caught in a press. But when Groch tried to sue the press' manufacturer, Kard Corporation, he was barred thanks to an Ohio law that says you can't sue a product's manufacturer after 10 years from the purchase date. O'Connor attacked the law's arbitrary time frame and claimed that it "pulled the rug out from under" people such as Groch.

Still, these cases often found themselves in the shadow of her allegiance to doctors and insurers.

In November 2003, O'Connor caught flak for being the featured lunch speaker at a conference sponsored by the Ohio State Medical Association. As doctors munched on spring mix and poached salmon, O'Connor proudly announced: "What I will never forget and always want to recall in sharp focus is the support I received from physicians in the state of Ohio."

A supposedly unbiased judge, O'Connor seemed to be acknowledging her indebtedness to those who placed her on the court. She says otherwise. "There was no message that doctors were in any special or preferred position. There is no evidence to even support that there is some preferential treatment of the medical community. There is nothing that would back that up."

Her record doesn't fully agree.

In 2005, Taft signed a new tort-reform bill. It limited what people could win for the future costs of their injuries, such as medical care and reduced job opportunities, to $350,000.

The bill's sponsor, Republican Senator Steve Stivers from Columbus, argued that the law "was crafted to reduce the threat and financial uncertainty of frivolous lawsuits, while preserving the rights of Ohioans to seek redress through our court systems."

But trial lawyers felt that Stivers was simply screwing patients and workers. "It's not in my best interest for my clients or myself to comment on this, because I'm not allowed to disclose my true feelings," says Michael Kearns, a Cincinnati personal-injury lawyer. "Let's just say that I used to get up in the morning and think I had a purpose. I no longer feel that way."

Shortly after the new law was passed, its constitutionality was raised before the Ohio Supreme Court.

Twenty-four-year-old Melisa Arbino of Cincinnati had suffered a series of deadly blood clots in her brain and lungs as a side effect of using the Ortho Evra birth-control patch. Doctors told Arbino that she'd have to take blood thinners for the rest of her life.

Along with several other victims, Arbino sued Johnson & Johnson, the patch's manufacturer, in federal court and won. But because Arbino was an Ohio resident, she was awarded far fewer damages than the other plaintiffs. That's because federal courts have to follow the laws of the states where the people live.

Federal Judge David Katz sent Arbino's case to the Ohio Supreme Court, asking whether it was constitutional for them to limit her awards. "A New Jersey corporation came to Ohio and sold a dangerous product that harmed people all over the country," Arbino's lawyer argued. "But the people in Ohio will not get full damages, because the legislature has picked an arbitrary number out of the blue without knowing the facts of this case."

But last December, Ohio ruled against Arbino. O'Connor went along.

The diligence she'd shown in previous decisions was suddenly absent. It didn't matter that her own court had twice found such limits unconstitutional before. And though she had previously found time limits arbitrary, she somehow didn't have the same problems when it came to cost.

Justice Pfeifer called out O'Connor and the rest of the bench. "Was there ever any doubt how this case would come out?" he wrote. "This is a sad day for our Constitution and this court. And this is a tragic day for Ohioans, who no longer have any assurance that their Constitution protects the rights they cherish."

When asked about Pfeifer's statement, O'Connor simply sniffs. "Just because they wear a black robe doesn't mean that they corner the market on analysis."

Others seemed to discover that bankrolling O'Connor could pay off.

FirstEnergy gave her $11,600, according to an Ohio Citizen Action report. It would prove to be money well spent.

Between the near-nuclear disaster at its Davis-Besse plant and serving as the catalyst of the worst blackout in U.S. history, FirstEnergy wasn't doing so hot. Things were about to get worse.