TO-WIT: LEONARD
It was an ordinary case, a landlord tenant dispute over a breach of a lease. I represented a landlord whose tenant, a young and particularly scheming young woman, had moved out early and contrived to make it appear that she had been evicted wrongfully. On my advice, the landlord retained her security deposit as partial payment of the balance due under the remainder of the lease term, and the tenant had filed suit for its return. She hired a young lawyer to take her case, and together they managed to convince the magistrate that the security deposit should be returned.
“I believe that justice resides with the pretty young plaintiff,” the magistrate said, but it was clear that the only residency that influenced him was that of hers within his district.
“Take the appeal,” I instructed my new associate who had tried the case. I rarely appear before magistrates anymore unless it happens to be magistrate I like. So, as I say, I rarely appear before magistrates anymore.
By the day before trial, plaintiff had reduced her demand to $500, a figure far less than I would charge to try the case.
“So,” said my associate, “should I advise opposing counsel we’ll take it?”
“Nope,” I said, “its still robbery.”
“You’re making a big mistake,” he whined.
A few minutes after he left my office, I remembered. How long ago was it that I had uttered the same words to my employer over a similar case? Thirty years, maybe more.
It was my first job in private practice. His name was Leonard, and he was the most complex and difficult person to work for. He alternated between abrasive and kind so fast and so often that I thought I was working for partners.
As his young associate, I had worked with him on a similar matter. True, it was a much bigger case, but it was no greater a ripoff. Our client was an investor who had sold an apartment building and then had been sued by the buyer over an alleged fraudulent overstatement of the rental income. The claim was entirely bogus.
The day before trial, plaintiff lowered his demand from $75000.00 to $5000.00, far less than the costs of defense, but Leonard instructed me to offer $1500 and not one penny more.
“You’re making a big mistake,” I told him. “When the client learns of this new demand, he’ll surely pay it rather than risk a trial.”
“That’s why we’re not going to tell him,” Leonard said.
I did not attend the trial, but at its conclusion, Leonard returned to the office. I asked him what had happened. He threw his briefcase against the wall, said something that implied an illicit relationship between my mother and me, and dashed into his office.
After a respectable period of time, I followed. “Okay, Leonard, tell me the bad news,” I said.
“How could I have been so wrong,” he moaned. “The jury awarded the plaintiff $1505.00. I missed it by five bucks. I can’t believe it.” Then he smiled, one of the most son of a bitching smiles I ever saw, and promptly went back to work.
I tried the landlord tenant case non-jury with my associate in tow. It took only one day and it turned out as I had figured. The plaintiff got zippo, my client was elated, and when he asked me how much he owed me, I told him $499.00.
“I don’t know how you came up with such an odd figure,” he said, “but I’m not complaining.”
“I have my reasons,” I replied.
Leonard’s been gone now for several years, but I think of him often. You don’t soon forget a man who would instruct me to call a client on a matter, then come into my office minutes later, grab the phone out of my hand and hang up on that very client because he wanted to talk to me about something else - or a man who would routinely make me follow him to the bathroom so we could talk about business while he took care business - or a man who would frequently work with me until 2am, then take me out for Chinese food and a talk about the law - or a man who would never let a client be taken advantage of, no matter what the cost.
I don’t pretend to understand the bizaare alchemy that made him both so difficult and so special, but he taught me what I love most about lawyering, and I am forever in his debt.
“You know,” my associate said as we discussed our case the next day, “sometimes you can be one hard assed son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, I know,” I replied, “I had a good teacher.”
© 2003, S. Sponte, Esq.