TO-WIT: METAMORPHOSIS
It is not an easy life, this business of being a lawyer. In addition to facing never-ending adversarial confrontations, today’s practitioner must artfully balance an impossible schedule, frequently be in at least two places at once and constantly face clients who, for the most part, rue the day they needed him in the first place.
What with such a myriad of skills required of him, the successful lawyer has often accurately been compared to a circus, combining in one person the balance of a juggler, the sleight of hand of a magician, the nerves of a tight rope walker and the olfactories of the guy who follows up behind the elephants. It is a life fraught with pressure, tension, peril and uncertainty, all of which combine at times to compress the soul into a vacuum of despair.
While no one can entirely escape the pressure, everyone reacts to it differently. Some shake, some sweat, some weep with anguish. It has always been my unfortunate affliction to laugh under stress. It always starts with a giggle and progresses from there as the pressure builds. Once a federal judge, quite unaware of my malady, took great umbrage when I giggled as he directed a verdict against my plaintiff in a rather large tort case. When he cautioned me about my unseemly professional conduct, I guffawed, and when he threatened me with contempt, I could no longer contain myself. I might be laughing still but for his gratuitous use of the word “jail.”
Because this is a subject of particular interest to me, I have carefully observed my colleagues over the years with an eye keenly focused on their behavior in times of stress. I’ve learned that there is no end to the advantage one can gain from the useful application of such knowledge.
For instance, one colleague I know whistles incessantly when stressed. Although he sports the façade of a tough negotiator, I know from experience that he is ready to capitulate after the second chorus of “The Colonel Bogey March.”
Another colleague has a terrible time controlling his bladder in the courtroom. He prepares quite well for trial and his witnesses always stand up under my lengthy cross-examination. As a result of his infirmity however, so does he, and if I can successfully oppose his frequent requests for a brief recess, he loses all semblance of concentration. Hoping thereafter to speed things along, he not only stops objecting to my questions, he begins applying them.
No one however reacts under pressure quite like a colleague I shall call Ronald. (That is not really the right name – I made it up. No one is really named Ronald.) An individual approximately my age (Note I specifically said “individual” as the person I have in mind might very well be female), he seems to have a moderately successful private practice.
I have known this person for years, but we never opposed each other until quite recently. I occasionally eat lunch with this person. I socialize with him (or her). I know his (or her) wife. He is one terrific fellow (or chick). In all other respects, this person is calm, rational, reasonable and fair. Yet under adversarial pressure, his demeanor, even his physical appearance, changes dramatically.
This case in question was a simple support hearing. I was representing his wife. Out in the hall before the hearing, Ronald and I negotiated quite professionally but we quickly realized we could not amicably settle our clients’ differences. Therefore, as a desperate last resort, we opted to let the Hearing Officer decide the case.
During the few minutes we had before the start of the hearing, while I was off editing my argument for the Hearing Officer by carefully culling out all multi-syllabic words, Ronald underwent a startling transmutation. When he walked into the hearing room, I almost did not recognize him.
Whereas he had been quite clean-shaven in the hall, now he sprouted a three-day growth. His tie was badly wrinkled and soiled, and it hung loose from an unbuttoned collar. His previously white shirt was now crumpled and stained, and what had just ten minutes before been a neatly pressed suit now looked as if it had been a pro-choice advocate at a pro-life meeting. And where had all that thick black hair on the back of his hands come from?
Likewise his demeanor had significantly changed. “Is this scuzo your client,” he sneered, wiping some drool from his mouth with the back of his hand and flinging it in the direction of the Hearing Officer. “No wonder her old man left her for a New Cookie.”
He advised that his client not only refused to support his wife of thirty-three years, but he was actually seeking reimbursement for all her expenses he had paid during cohabitation. I was so taken aback by this abrupt change, I could not respond at all. Things looked incredibly dim for my client, but just before I began laughing, his eyes fixed upon the crucifix my client wore around her neck. He threw his arms up in front of his eyes, shrieked a blood-curdling curse and leaped through the closed office door. I caught a final glimpse of him as he scuttled down the hallway and disappeared into the men’s (or ladies) room.
All in all, it was the most startling transformation I have ever seen. Under stress, Ronald had changed from a thoroughly professional colleague into a half-crazed, loathsome creature, savage and brutal, not fit for any civilized task. Although I do not look forward to litigating against him again anytime soon, I’m keeping his phone number handy just the same. I have a couple of cases I’d like to refer out, and he’s just what I had in mind.
© 1989, S. Sponte, Esq.