MAY 31, 2019 – The case revolved around an arcane issue, and the resulting briefs were sufficiently dense to put any judge fast asleep. They had been a laborious undertaking for all of us lawyers involved—briefs in support of cross-motions for “summary judgment.”
When the time for the hearing arrived—9:00 on a Monday morning in early March—we piled into the back row of the crowded courtroom to wait our turn. The docket was jammed, and because our case was expected to take the longest, we had to sit through 10 other cases. None of us had had a case before this particular judge, so each of us was observing attentively as he dispensed with the various matters ahead of ours.
After everyone else except the judge and court personnel had filed out of the courtroom, His Honor addressed us remaining lawyers (none of the parties was present for the hearing).
“All you here on Mutual Insurance and R__________ versus Walgreen?” asked the judge.
“Yes, your honor” we all replied disjointedly.
“Well,” said the judge, “I have to be honest with you. I was gonna read all your briefs over the weekend, but then my wife and daughter drafted me to help out at my five-year-old grand-daughter’s birthday party, so I haven’t had a chance to read a single word any of you has submitted.”
None of us spoke but every one of us knew what the other lawyers were thinking—we’d spent days, weeks studying, researching, analyzing, marshaling, and writing those complex briefs, and now the damn judge tells us that our collective effort was trumped by a five-year-old’s birthday party! At least each of us was now at an equal disadvantage.
The judge summoned his law clerk to the bench. After conferring with him unintelligibly for a moment, the judge looked up at us and said, “Why don’t you all come back to my chambers so we can chat about how to handle this case.”
None of had a clue what “chat” meant.
It took at least half an hour for us to lug ourselves and our bulging briefcases (this was just before the advent of the iPad) to chambers and wait for the judge’s clerk to round up and arrange enough suitable chairs for us lawyers. While this operation was underway, I looked around the judge’s lair to see what hints I could pick up about him beyond what I already knew—including that he was decisive, controlling, and apparently, honest, at least about not being prepared, and unorthodox in calling us all back for an informal discussion of the case.
What I noticed on the walls of his spacious chambers were lots of photographs of the judge with Minnesota state Democratic operatives, including one of the judge and Senator Eugene McCarthy—the anti-war candidate for president in 1968, whose upset victory in the New Hampshire primary led directly to LBJ’s decision not to seek re-election; Gene McCarthy, I recalled to myself—the university professor and published poet before he became senator.
[PART II – TOMORROW’S POST]
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
