TO-WIT: ME AND MR. BIG
There was no doubt about it, it was a positively terrific case. The client sat across my desk from me and told me all about his horrible accident, about how he had dutifully stopped on the highway behind the school bus, about how he got rear-ended by someone who was driving an unregistered, uninspected, (but, else the tale end here, not uninsured) vehicle with worn tires and faulty brakes. He told me about how at the time of the accident, the driver was intoxicated by alcohol, stoned on dope, driving with a suspended license and not wearing his corrective lenses. And as if the whole thing wasn’t already enough of a Godsend, the entire accident had been witnessed by nuns.
“Oh, Mr. ,” he said, “the pain was unbelievable. My arms was broke, my legs was broke, my neck was broke, my back was broke, I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t feel, my hair was all burned off. I was kind of lucky to be alive though.”
My assessment of the client was that he would make a wonderful witness. He was neat and clean, reasonably articulate, inherently believable, and with a little practice he could probably be trained to cry on demand. Oh God, I really wanted this case, and I haven’t thought that since the last time a male divorce client told me he had pictures.
Although I could hardly contain myself at the prospect of getting this case signed up, I tried to remain cool and collected. I certainly did not want the client to think that I was overly anxious, so I simply told him that it was a nervous tic that was causing all that drool to drip down my chin.
Since I believe the initial client interview is without question the most sensitive phase of the lawyer-client relationship, I have always thought it important to make a good first impression. It is an adversarial ocean out there, and a tempestuous one at that, and people in need of a lawyer are but adrift in small boats, vulnerable and afraid. It is at moments like this that they are most in need of a steady, practiced hand at the helm, and it is during this first critical meeting that every client wrestles with the self-same question – “Can I really trust this lawyer with my dinghy?”
Because I wish them to answer the question with a resounding “Yes!”, I am always prepared to convince them that they are in good hands. After all, clients are the sine qua non of lawyering. They come to us in need of justice and we come to them in need of fee. It is a sturdy and well-balanced symbiosis that promises to fuel litigiousness for eons yet to come, and I was determined to help maintain that marvelously efficient eco-system by getting this client signed up on the spot.
Although a lot of my colleagues tend to be more cavalier about such matters, I am always prepared to engage in a little self-promotion in order to close the deal, and with good reason. In a recently concluded seven year study, the ABA’s Subcommittee on Self-Apotheosis guessed that as many as 41.3% of all prospective clients leave the initial interview without signing a fee letter and of those as many as 91.4% never come back. It doesn’t take an accountant to figure out how many initial interviews get out the door without becoming clients – a whole lot, that’s how many.
Throughout my career, I have always tried to come up with clever and innovative ways to close a deal. My earliest attempts met with limited success. Whenever a prospective client would ask me how they could tell if I was the right lawyer for them, I would smile knowingly, push myself back in my chair and tug sagaciously at my suspenders.
“Now why don’t you just phone some other lawyers in town and ask them about my reputation,” I would say, feigning a Southern draw. Then I would give them the names of a few lawyer friends of mine to call. I thought it was an inordinately clever little strategy, but I quit doing it after the third time one of my friends called to thank me for the referral.
I have become much more sophisticated since then. Now I have my secretary buzz me on the intercom during the client interview and announce that some prominent person is holding on the other line and needs to talk to me at once. Sometimes she makes it the Governor, sometimes a Congressman. My part in this neat little charade is to pick up on the empty phone line and talk to the imaginary caller with mock irritation.
“I’m with an important client,” I say with a sneer, “and I just don’t have the time to talk to you now.” Oh, I know the whole scheme is a bit on the, how shall I say it, the chimerical side, but it’s well worth the effort for the salubrious effect it has on the attorney-client relationship.
While I sat there discussing the case with Mr. Big, my intercom interrupted me as if right on cue. This time my secretary made it the Chief Judge of our Federal district. “Good improvision,” I thought. I didn’t even know she knew the name of the Chief Judge. So without further ado I played out my little part.
Client was dutifully impressed. Judge however was not amused, and his response was indicative of his irritation.
“You know that motion of yours,” he said. “Well, I was going to grant it, but I just changed my mind, you simple-minded doofus!” Then he slammed down the phone.
“Thank you,” I said. “I thought I handled that case pretty well myself.” I quietly hung up the phone and looked at the client cautiously. Judge had been quite loud and I wasn’t sure if the client overheard.
“So,” I queried, “have I answered all your questions?”
“All but one,” he said. “That lawyer across the street – she any good?”
© 1993 – S. Sponte, Esq.