TO WIT: NOTHING PERSONAL
“I don’t understand it, I just don’t understand it,” wailed my client as court recessed for the day. I had seen that look of terror only once before on her face, when, during our initial conference, I advised her that I was obliged to charge her a fee for my services even if I did look just like her daddy.
On this second occasion, her consternation came from neither the anticipation of an adverse result nor the manner in which her case was being presented. Rather it was that, at the conclusion of the day’s proceeding, I shook hands with my adversarial colleague, and as if that weren’t a sufficiently heinous act, I further asked to be remembered to his wife.
“That’s the man who represents my soon-to-be-ex-husband,” she moaned. “He wants to take my kids away from me and he wants me to starve. He practically called you an idiot in front of the judge. How can you talk to him? How can you stand to let him live one more minute? Kill him now.”
I inferred that she was upset.
“Now he’s just doing his job,” I replied in my best bedside tone. “I’ve known him since law school. He is really quite nice, and he’s my friend. He’s only doing his job. It’s nothing personal.”
Now I know that clients really don’t understand a friendship between lawyers, but most times they can accept it. This, however, was not one of those times. My client was not at all assuaged. I could tell by the oh-so-slight change in her demeanor that she was not pleased with me. I could tell by the oh-so-chilly tone that crept into her voice. I could also tell by the oh-so-sudden way she fired me on the spot. No, no, she was not pleased.
She was also right about one thing. My colleague had called me an idiot, or six hundred words to that effect, and he did do it in front of the judge. It would have been most embarrassing if Judge had been awake at the time. I do not like to be called an idiot, and so now I am obliged to query me this: why did I shake his hand and why do I still call this man friend?
The truth here is that camaraderie among lawyers is really an odd sort of thing. We are, after all, the modern day gladiator, hired to do battle with one another, and if there is one thing we know about ancient Rome and its gladiators, it is that the victor rarely ate lunch with the vanquished.
History teaches us that the civility we generally take for granted among modern lawyers is not natural. In the Middle Ages, for instance, lawyers as we know them today did not exist. Disputes were settled on the field of honor by hired warriors known as knights-errant. Of these, the most famous was Sir Litigate, and he was wont to dispose of opposing counsel the old-fashioned way – he urned them. Whenever he hurled a barb, he followed it with a lance. Say what you will about this civility, the man was direct. He was very popular with his clients, but he was not a big hit at bar functions.
During the enlightened age of the Renaissance, civility between lawyers, or at least the appearance thereof, came into vogue. The first apparent incident of friendship occurred when Guido Borgia, Italy’s leading plaintiff’s counsel, commenced a tradition of inviting opposing counsel to join him for lunch during the court’s recess. He persisted in this manner for seventeen years until a particularly observant tipstaff named Marvin noticed that not once had a single defense counsel returned to court for the afternoon session following lunch with Guido.
“It’s just a crazy coincidence,” said Guido on the gallows, and while no one openly applauds his endeavors, his local bar to this day celebrates Borgia Day annually when the entire association assembles for lunch and just stares at the food.
Today, however, civilization abounds, and whatever vestiges of Guido that may yet linger within contemporary lawyers lay covered deep beneath a blanket of gentility. The modern-day attorney simply does not openly harbor instincts of professional fratricide or sororicide. It is unbecoming, unprofessional, and it causes gas. True, we are adversaries, and true, our job is to defeat our opposition, to vanquish, destroy, nay, annihilate the foe. However, we are trained to do it with words, and sometimes intellect, but not with overt weaponry, and we do it in a professional manner. Centuries of civilization have, thank goodness, eradicated whatever baser instincts our predecessors may have been subjected to, and while that may not thrill our clients, it does make us the nobler for it.
The bottom line is that our professional friendships ennoble us. They separate us from the beasts in the field. We are a noble profession not because of our instincts, but in spite of them, and we are clearly on a much higher plane than our predecessors. I feel so exhilarated by this realization that I shall call up my colleague this very instant and I shall tell him he is still my friend, even if he did call me an idiot. I shall tell him it’s all right, that it’s just part of the game, and that it’s nothing personal. I shall invite him to lunch, maybe someplace Italian. I shall like that.
© 1986 – S. Sponte, Esq.