TO-WIT: BIGFOOT
All of you who have ever tried to get a case settled by telling a client that a trial is risky, or by saying that a judge is unpredictable or that a guaranteed result is better than an unknown one, please raise your hand. Let’s see, that’s one, two, everyone.
And isn’t it always then followed by those irritating quizzical looks from the clients, those looks of disbelief, incredulity, looks doubting your veracity, your sanity, your integrity?
Of course it is, but can you blame the client? I mean, how do you explain such things to them? How do you tell them that this is sometimes a wacky system because sometimes the players are wacky, that sometimes judges and lawyers are human, subject to all the unpredictable foibles of the species, including ditziness.
No, they won’t hear of it. Clients expect a legal system that is efficient, reliable and dispassionate, qualities it has never had. Telling a client it’s otherwise is like telling the authorities you saw the elusive Bigfoot. By the time they get there, he’s disappeared into the woods, taking your credibility with him.
Ah, but I have a story to tell you. Recently it became my professional obligation to try a nasty auto case. Unfortunately, my client had sustained horrific injuries, poor guy. Well, I mean, horrific for him - for me, it was pretty good.
As we had agreed to try this case non-jury, it was, on the day of trial, assigned to a judge well known for his, uh, eccentricities. So distraught by this curse of the draw were both opposing counsel and I that on the way to the judge’s courtroom he upped his offer by ten grand and I lowered my demand by the same amount. Alas, we were still far apart.
I tried to get my client to be more conciliatory, I really did. “You don’t know this judge,” I said, “we’ll be in trial three weeks before we even start to take testimony.” But he wouldn’t budge, despite my most earnest, heartfelt and sincere entreaties. “You just don’t want to do the work,” he said.
“Will counsel and their clients identify themselves, give their addresses, phone numbers, social security numbers and the names, phone numbers and addresses of their next of kin,” Judge requested, as the old familiar litany began. At the same time, he lifted a clump of Magic Markers from his bench, maybe two dozen different colors all bound together by an old rubber band. He withdrew the red one, uncapped it and held it poised over a yellow tablet.
Opposing counsel rose, gave his name, office address, phone number and the date of his second wife’s birthday, all of which His Honor duly noted on his legal pad in red magic marker. But when he started to give the name of his client, Judge halted him in mid-sentence.
“No,” he said, “I want your client to stand and identify himself. If I had wanted you to do it, I would have asked you,” and with that he put the red Magic Marker back into the collection and withdrew the green one. In the next three hours, he used up about twelve colors and two whole legal pads, but by God, he knew everything there was to know about this case, law and facts aside, including my son’s middle name and the names of all of the witnesses’ dogs.
His Honor then directed which seat all of us should sit in, moving us around a few times until he was satisfied. Then he sketched it all in different colored Magic Markers on a separate pad. I make it he was up to twenty colors by now, including mauve, and as if exhausted from his judicial labors, he took a two hour recess.
“Okay,” my client said out in the hall, “your little plan to force me into a settlement is not going to work. Where is the real judge?”
I assured him this was by no means a charade, although I filed the idea away for possible use in the future. And once I had him convinced that this was indeed the His Honor who was going to try his case, he capitulated. As the other side had had enough as well, the case was settled.
We gleefully reported that fact to His Honor, expecting to depart at once, but he wanted every person in the courtroom to stand, identify themselves again, spell their names again, and state for the record that they approved of the settlement. He excused the court reporter from participation only when the poor woman confessed she couldn’t speak and take testimony at the same time. Then, with a few hours still left to the day, His Honor showed us slides of his grandchildren.
As experiences go, it wasn’t the worst I’ve had. At least this time my client saw first hand what we lawyers have known for years, that sometimes the legal system doesn’t regulate the weirdness of humankind, sometimes it is the weirdness of humankind. My client has a whole new respect for me, and I feel redeemed. No sir, this was a good experience. This time I have not only seen Sasquatch, this time I know where he lives.
©2001, S. Sponte, Esq.