TO-WIT: HE HAD A HAT
There’s this grandmother, see, and she’s walking along the beach with her toddler grandson on a beautiful warm summer day. She’s swelled with pride as she walks hand in hand with the little tyke who is decked out in his precious little sailor suit with his precious little cap and his precious little saddle shoes. Suddenly this precious little rogue wave appears out of nowhere, sweeps along the shore and sucks grandtyke out to sea in it’s backwash.
Devastated, the old lady drops to her knees and prays to the Lord. “God, oh please, he’s my only grandchild, please, please, I beg you, save him and I’ll be your obedient servant for the rest of my life, please, God, oh please, please, please.”
Suddenly the wave reappears and sweeps along the shore just as before. This time though it deposits grandtyke upon the beach, wet but unharmed. Grandma clutches the kid to her bosom and then, satisfied that he is indeed alive and well, she rises from her knees, draws herself up to her fullest height and faces skyward. “You know,” she says, “he had a hat.”
For some of you, I could stop right there, not write another word on this subject, and know that you’re out there nodding in unison at yet another exhibition of my sagacity. For the benefit of the more intellectually challenged, however, let me continue.
The joke has been on my mind lately because of a recent professional experience. The client first came to me about a year ago with a case he had tried to handle himself. Accordingly he presented like a patient who had attempted his own appendectomy – bleeding, prostrate and in pain.
“My case is in shambles,” he said. “Please, oh please, help me, and you can handle all my legal affairs.”
The matter involved the collection of a private debt secured by a mortgage on a tenancy in common. He made it clear from the outset though that this case wasn’t about money, it was about principle. “Yeah,” I thought, “and Dorothy Parker is the Queen of Rumania.”
So I quoted him an hourly rate, not my normal one, mind you, but the one I reserve for people who are acting solely out of principle. It’s actually quite a bit higher than my normal rate, but the way I figure it, any client engaged in the pursuit of principle ought not to have his mission sullied by common lucre. Besides, experience has taught that representation of principled clients justifies the higher rate. They are, after all, standing on a higher moral plain and they’re not usually satisfied until their opponents are dead and in the ground.
The first thing I did was review the pleadings, the facts and the law. Well, not the first thing if you count depositing the retainer check. After some deep thought and careful research, I came up with a course of action that was nothing short of brilliant. I’d explain it to you in detail but it would take too long, and besides, I don’t think you’d understand.
The beauty of this plan lay in its wonderfully canted symmetry. At worse, the client would get back all of his money, and at best he could realize a significant windfall profit. I explained it carefully to him and he seemed pleased, especially about the windfall part.
Having then agreed with my client on a course of action, I started the ball rolling by filing the appropriate papers. I was mildly surprised when the opposing party did not respond. No answer was filed and no opposing counsel called me. There was nothing, nada, gornischt. As the date for the sheriff’s sale came closer, my client grew more and more elated. I, however, was beginning to fell like Custer’s scout. There had to be some Indians out there somewhere.
On the very last possible day, opposing counsel appeared and sought a stay of execution. He conceded that neither the facts nor the law were on his side, but argued that a defendant with so little going for him was deserving of special consideration by the court.
When the judge failed to be persuaded, opposing counsel abandoned the pursuit of justice altogether and had the Defendant file for bankruptcy. I recognized at once that between the legal fees that would be incurred and the bankruptcy court’s innate disaffection towards fair lay my client’s chance for a windfall was pretty much gone. Accordingly, I negotiated a compromise with opposing counsel and proposed to my client that he accept it.
“It’s a very good result,” I told him. “You’re going to get all your money back, all your costs, all your interest and all your legal fees.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” he said, “just wonderful. You did a great job for me, you really did, but, uh, what about my windfall.”
I again explained to him the actualities of bankruptcy court and he said he would think about it. Thereafter, for the next week or so, every few hours of every day he called to complain vociferously.
“But why can’t I get my windfall,” he whined.
“Because you can’t.” I replied.
“It isn’t fair,” he grumbled.
“Of course it isn’t,” I told him. “It’s bankruptcy.”
Then I played my trump card. “Remember, this is about principle.”
“And because it is, you should be willing to knock a thousand dollars off your fee,” he trumped back.
Now usually I don’t do that sort of thing, but this time I readily agreed. It was in the client’s best interest to get this case settled and what the client was requesting wouldn’t cost me a cent. Truth is, he had run up his own bill by at least a thousand bucks with all that whining, and during all of it I had him on speaker so I could get some other billable work done. Say what you will about it, but when it comes to matters of principle, I’m always willing to work with a client, especially when no expenses are spared.
© 1995, S. Sponte, Esq.