SHORT AND SWEET

TO-WIT: SHORT AND SWEET

At first I thought it was a dream. Even after I bit down hard on my knuckle and felt the pain, even after I tested the bright little trickle of blood, evoking memories of my divorce, even then I was sure it was a dream.

It certainly had all the trappings of a dream, and one of my better nocturnal works of fiction at that. There stood Judge, black-robed and big as life, announcing his decision right from the bench. But he was speaking in complete sentences, something that the jurists of my dreams have yet to accomplish. And he was seated in his chair. I have never before dreamt of a judge who did not have at least four extremities touching the ground at the same time.

Perhaps you might better understand why I doubted the reality of the moment if I came right out and told you what was going on. I was representing the Respondent in the tail end of a very complex receivership proceeding, the trial of which had occupied several days over several months. The case itself was already several years old, and like the Labyrinth of Crete, it appeared as if it might go on forever.

Judge found the issues so stimulating and the facts so intriguing, he desperately wanted us to settle. As a result, we had previously compromised most of the case in such a fashion that it was impossible to tell who had won and who had lost. Now, in this last piece of business, Petitioner had spent the better part of the morning trying one last time to get the upper hand, and in so doing, had even spurned my client’s last-ditch reasonable offer to split the remaining monetary difference.

At the conclusion of the morning’s testimony, Judge at once announced his decision. The Petitioner has completely failed to sustain the burden of proof, he said, “and therefore, I dismiss the petition.” Additionally he noted that his decision was based in part on his perception that Petitioner’s conduct had been reprehensible throughout the whole sordid affair and, having delivered that final and most delicious blow, he left the bench.

I had won without doubt, without equivocation, without delay. Any fool could tell that the victory was complete. Even my client picked up on it right away. I was flooded with elation knowing that for once I would be the victor, the conqueror, the appellee.

Because I am at all times the consummate professional, only those who know me well could have detected the inner joy I felt as I leapt five feet into the air and thrust both of my index fingers towards the heavens. Even still, my behavior at that ebullient moment was a bit out of the ordinary for me. I rarely use my index fingers in a courtroom.

It isn’t that I am not used to winning. To the contrary, I have, in the course of my quasi-illustrious career, won my share of cases. It’s just that the nature of this particular win, being so instant and complete, stood in such sharp contrast to the kinds of wins that I am used to. Unlike most matters in which I contend, there had been no agonizing and protracted settlement negotiations to consider and evaluate, no jury verdict to analyze, no opinion to wait for and then translate into English, no long delays, no ifs, no ands and no buts. The victory could have been more satisfying only if, after announcing his decision, Judge had come down off the bench and struck Petitioner with his gavel.

I am quite certain that my utter astonishment at this singular turn of events may be linked by some perverse geometric progression to my number of years at the bar. Early on in my career, I fully expected the sword of justice to be swift and certain. In large part, I attribute my misconception of the true nature of the profession to my law school education. Like most of us, I went through law school with the casebook method. My involvement with a case started on the first page of an opinion and within a numerically ascertainable and reasonably finite number of pages, it ended. Each case was complete and self-contained, a mini-series of the mind, and in the gap of time it took for my eyes to digest the printed words, the case was over. Oh, the class might debate in some theoretical way whether or not this mental entrée came with justice for dessert, but the journey from start to finish took just as much time as I usually required to eat two cheeseburgers and a coke. Brown v. Board of Education, International Shoe, Erie v. Tomkins, landmark cases all, were carved out and decided eo instanter, like so many dinners in a fast food restaurant.

I went out into the real world fully expecting that the delivery of justice would be as swift and certain as it first appeared. I am older now and by most standards an experienced lawyer and contained within the drawers of my active file cabinet there are some cases that are neither Brown nor Erie but have nevertheless consumed more time than I spent on my entire legal education. From time to time, justice may be as sure as I had hoped, but it is by no means as swift.

The feelings of that courtroom moment are not easily described. Just as with the Grand Canyon, words cannot impart any measure of its splendor and its magnitude. Self-contained and fully satisfying, it stands now as a beacon for me, a lighthouse signal to a floundering ship. After so many years, I have again caught just a glimpse of shore. Give me that, and an occasional check, and I’m as happy as a pig in swill.

© 1987, S. Sponte, Esq.

SIX OF ONE

SHAVIN’ LIKE YOUR FATHER