TO-WIT: WALKIN’ THE WALK
I’ve done it a thousand times before, maybe more. Briefcase in hand, client in tow, I’ve made my way up the courthouse walk, through the entrance, past the security paraphernalia – a relatively recent addition to the process – and into the chambers of justice so many times, there to do battle with the foe de jour, that I no longer give it much thought.
The case at hand was for me, as most of them are, run of the mill. It was also, as most of them are, not that at all for my client. She was seeking to be appointed guardian for her Alzheimer stricken mother, and she had already spent several years going it alone as a devoted and loving caretaker. But the ravages of the disease had now inundated the both of them and she could no longer manage it by herself.
My client’s decision to place her mother in a full care facility and seek legal guardianship occurred one day recently when Mother’s waning appetite suddenly reappeared and she announced that what she really wanted to eat for her noonday repast was the family dog. With that, my client gave up the ghost and sought legal representation to deal with what was clearly yet another opening gambit of yet another poignant endgame.
“If your mother could understand what you’re doing, she’d thank you for it,” I told my client at our first meeting, “and so would Fido.”
As we exited the courtroom following the hearing’s successful conclusion, my client remarked as how she’d never been in a courthouse before – a blessing no doubt shared with many other lay folk and which should be shared by a number of colleagues of my acquaintance – and she thanked me for helping her resolve her situation.
“I was so nervous,” she said, “but you seemed so graceful in there, so much in control. You really made it easy for me.”
Yes, it surely seemed to her that it was easy for me, and in some ways it was. All I had to do was read the statutes, draft the pleadings, have the right witnesses, ask the right questions, and have practiced doing pretty much the same thing for almost forty years now. But it has by no means been an easy journey.
My earliest courtroom appearances were ragged, jostling affairs, fraught with mortification and frequently enacted in full view of an audience of twelve. “You are an idiot,” the judge told me in my first jury trial oh so many years ago. Well, that’s not exactly what he said, but its clearly what he meant when he sustained my opponent’s objection to a leading question.
I often felt then like a blind juggler, with too many things up in the air at the same time and with little idea of what they were, where they were and when they were coming down. The polish I now bring to the table (oooh, a cheap mixed metaphor if ever I heard one) is the byproduct of much sweat, toil, tears and despair.
But now when I rise at the start of a proceeding, I am very comfortable in my skin and suit and very much at ease with the ritual about to unfold. Still a juggler, yes, but with much better eyesight and with hands that only occasionally fail me.
What I sometimes forget however, and what this most recent court appearance once again brought to the fore, is that this appearance of grace offers much comfort to the client. A court’s actual rulings are often beyond their ken and frequently way past mine as well. But if I don’t get rattled they don’t get rattled, and that makes their sojourn into the arcanery of the courtroom ever so much easier to tolerate.
What is thankfully less obvious to them, though yet troublesome to me, is that I still make mistakes. I sometimes forget to introduce exhibits or to ask pertinent questions, and sometimes I just lose track of the myriad details a courtroom appearance entails. Oh, I can think on my feet as well as the next lawyer, its just that sometimes the best thoughts occur to me while my feet are walking me back to the office.
Yet even with my mistakes, I have grace. Dolly Parton once said that no one has any idea how much it costs to make her look so cheap. Likewise, my clients have no idea how I got here or how much I have had to pay for the privilege. It isn’t all sizzle to be sure. I win more than my share of cases and I like to think my clients get good service for their money. But I also know I exude a confident, poised demeanor in the face of chaos and as always that helps sell the steak.
So just let me gird my loins with briefs and walk to the courthouse, there to rise and say “Good morning, Your Honor,” and I am in my element. I charge my clients plenty for that, yes I do, but the way I see it, it still represents only a modest return on my investment.
© 2007, S. Sponte, Esq.