TO WIT: LAWYER DEAREST
Though a lawyer, I am not completely without talent. My assets include the ability to play the five-string banjo, and if the asset happens to be sufficiently liquid, I’ll even sing along. In addition, I cook, I can repair almost any sort of bicycle, and because my children were once of tender years, I learned the arcane skill of beating the family cat to a fare-thee-well while leaving nary a scar. I can also write a cogent sentence.
It was presumably on account of this latter skill that I was recently approached by the president of the local bar who had, in turn, been approached by the local newspaper to find a temporary replacement to author the “Ask the Lawyer” letter column. The regular author, a colleague I knew only slightly, had had his left index finger bitten off by an enraged divorce client, rendering him completely incapable of typing the "f”, the “c”, and the “g”. His career as a legal journalist appeared finished.
The president didn’t exactly come right out and say that my writing talent singled me out for the assignment, but as far as I could determine, the job didn’t require the skills of a banjo-picking, bike-riding cat abuser. I was reluctant.
“What if I give a wrong answer?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said.
“What if I made a fool of myself in print?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said.
“What if nobody reads me?” I asked.
“I rest my case,” he said.
In the end I was persuaded. “You, and only you, have the talent, the wit, the intellect, the inestimable style and grace to pull this off,” he entreated, and I succumbed. I always was a sucker for the truth.
“Dear Lawyer,” the first letter began, “I am Chairman and CEO of a Fortune 500 company. We are under attack from a corporate raider and we need to develop a strategy to foil a hostile takeover bid. Can we structure a leveraged buy-out that will give us an unattractive balance sheet without endangering our shareholder’s equity position? Signed, L.I.”
Since the guy was asking for a “yes-no” answer, I had a fifty- percent change of being right. That’s better odds than usual. Finally, I decided to respond as if he were really a client.
Dear I.,” I replied, “maybe.” It was an auspicious beginning.
“Dear Lawyer,” the next letter began, “I have been married to the same guy for twenty-seven years, and he has beat me every day. He’s very wealthy. Can I inherit from him if I have him disemboweled? Signed, Colored Purple.”
“Dear Purple,” I replied, “killing your husband is not a socially acceptable way of resolving the problem. I suggest you hire a top-notch matrimonial lawyer who can, in a lawful manner, accomplish the result you desire.”
“Dear Lawyer,” the next letter began, “I was recently a passenger in the front seat of my boyfriend’s car. We were rear-ended by a bus carrying a famous rock band. Everyone in the bus was drunk. What should I do? Signed, Pretty No More”
“Dear No More,” I replied, “your problem is very serious. I suggest you call me at my office to arrange an appointment. Bring with you your insurance policy, your medical bills, and if you are not yet eighteen, your Mommy.”
“Dear Lawyer,” the next letter began, “I am a 93 year old widow lady. I have no income and I need a heart operation. For seven years, I have been waiting for my lawyer to work on my Social Security disability case so’s I can buy food and get my ticker fixed up. My lawyer won’t answer my letters or return my phone calls. What should I do? Signed, Old and Kindly Widow Lady”
The letter had an all too familiar ring. I wasted no time in responding appropriately. “Dear Mom, Get off my back about your case, or I’ll put you in a home.”
I was just beginning to enjoy my new career as a lego-journalist when my editor called me into his office. “Our regular author has made an astounding recovery. He’s learned to hit the necessary letters with his nose. He’s coming back tomorrow. Get out.”
I don’t imagine his column will last much longer. I brought style and grace to what had previously been a column bereft of any class whatsoever. In short order, the public will rise up and clamor for my return, take my word for it. If it’s one thing the public will not tolerate, it’s a journalist whose nose is all bent out of shape.
© 1986 – S. Sponte, Esq.