TO-WIT: DELIVERANCE
I knew when the envelope arrived from the appellate court that it was THE OPINION. I had won the case in the lower court and that in itself was no small miracle. While I wasn’t completely certain that that inestimable result embodied the truest spirit of justice, I had won nevertheless, and at this stage of my career, that’s close enough to justice to suit me.
I could have simply opened the envelope right then and there, read the thing and be done with it, but I never do that, at least not any more.
You see, opening the envelope containing the opinion is serious business. Next to hearing the verdict of a jury, it may be the most quintessential moment in the practice of law, and it is far too holy an event to be treated lightly.
Now as a lawyer, I worship facts. I only believe in hardcore evidence and I categorically reject all mumbo-jumbo in favor of what is indisputably real. And what is indisputably real is this: if I just rip open an opinion, without first paying to the gods of the law, the decision will be adverse.
Early on in my career, I used to open my opinions the same way you still do. I mean I would simply tear open the envelope and read the opinion, committing all my faith to the belief that justice would out. What can I say? I was so young.
I opened my first four opinions that way and they were all adverse. By the time I received the fifth opinion, I had lost all my confidence. I sat there at my desk and stared at the envelope for a long while, trying to divine its innards by some form of psycho-spiritual alchemy. I should have known better. If I was any good at the art of predilection, today I might be happily married and a lot wealthier.
As I stared at the envelope, unable to move, I fell into a depressive reverie and that’s when I first heard the voice. I could have sworn it called out “Avraham,” but that’s not my name. The rest of the message I heard clearly though.
“But I need my secretary,” I responded.
“How ‘bout a goat?” it said.
Damn! I had sacrificed my last goat at the start of the trial term. Instead I negotiated the best deal I could, and when I opened the envelope, I had a winner. I was delighted, the gods were appeased and my kids quickly got over the missing hamster.
And now, here I was again, facing yet another opinion. The envelope was far too thick to be good news. It was a lengthy opinion and a lengthy opinion could only mean one of two things. It was either a reversal of my favorable result in the lower court or His Honor had simply run amok with his word processor and printed out “Affirmed” eighteen thousand times.
It was not the thickness of the envelope alone that accounted for my prescience. I had initially become apprehensive about my prospects at the start of oral argument when opposing counsel rose first to present his case. The presiding judge of the panel put up his hand and said “There is no need for you to say a word, counselor. I think we fully comprehend the argument you ought to make, so why don’t you just sit down and let us hear from your opponent. He should probably be arguing first anyway.”
I admit I was taken aback. But I am an experienced professional, and an experienced professional is cool under fire. I stood up and presented what I thought was a cogent and concise argument, at all times in control of all my faculties and completely indifferent to my racing pulse, my blurred vision, my wet trousers. (What is, I wonder in this age of gender equality, the female equivalent? Wet shoes?)
Apparently however I was not cogent enough, for when I finished, the same His Honor stood up, grabbed his necktie in his right hand and gave a sharp and mocking yank upwards. You can’t imagine how disappointed I was when I realized that he had only feigned gagging.
Now I like a joke as well as the next lawyer who has just been humiliated, and in another life, another time, I might have actually come to like this particular His Honor, provided that in that life and time he was Ahab and I the Great White Whale. As for this life though, I could only hope that His Honor had fully gratified his macabre sense of humor with his antics and that if he were to write the opinion, he would remember me with gratitude and affection for all that mirth that I had afforded him.
In an effort to taunt me further, His Honor had affixed a “Love” stamp to the envelope, but I am not so easily fooled. At best, I only had two things working for me in this case – the law and the facts – and that combination seems to carry such precious little weight with the appellate judiciary these days.
I knew what I had to do. Once again, as if by rote, I got down on my knees and prayed. Silently, solemnly, I made my deal. then I opened the envelope.
Lo and behold, I had won yet again. The trial court had been affirmed and in addition the appellate court had tacked on counsel fees. It was a pretty good result, especially considering that I had not asked for counsel fees.
I know what you’re thinking a lot of hogwash, right? Well think about the opinions that you’ve received in the course of your career. are they all clearly the byproduct of an appellate judicial system that cherishes intellect and reason above all else? Yeah, mine neither.
Still, many of you will not believe me, and that’s okay. I feel no need to convince you, and even if I wanted to, I don’t have the time. I have a winning opinion clutched tightly here in my hands and I have my end of the bargain yet to uphold. I’m leaving the office now. I have to go home and find the dog. Her, boy, here.
© 1992, S. Sponte, Esq.