JUNE 1, 2019 – Once we’d settled in, the judge took his seat behind his commanding desk and asked us one by one to identify ourselves and our clients—none of whom was present.
My guy was the only individual party in the case. The other parties were giant corporations, and I’d wanted to position my client as the sympathetic “little guy.” This was not a simple proposition. No little “little guy,” my client was a retired, highly successful rock star producer from California. Over the year in which the dispute had been pending, I’d gotten to know him well. Originally from Brooklyn, he’d graduated from Columbia as an English major and wound up with a successful career in the entertainment industry. At some point during the case he’d moved to southern France.
After the judge had learned who was who—in the room and in the case—he leaned my way and said, “Mr. Nilsson . . . tell me something about your client. Who is he? What’s he all about?”
I didn’t want to say “New York” or “California”; “rock star” or “producer.” I certainly didn’t want to say, “living in southern France.” In the moment I had to think about the judge’s question, I thought about His Honor’s photograph of Gene McCarthy, the peace candidate for president in 1968, who was a published poet.
“My client was an English major at Columbia,” I blurted out.
“Really?” said the judge. “Is he familiar with the poetry of Wallace Stevens?”
“Gee, I don’t know,” I said.
“Well, before we’re done here, you’re gonna find out, is that clear?”
“Yes, your honor. I’ll find out.”
The judge went on to hear more about the case itself. Although the case concerned areas of law outside the judge’s expertise, at least he was not afraid to say so, and he invited us to “educate” him, which we were more than happy to do.
The judge exhibited a sharp intellect, but clearly he also considered himself a dealmaker. I figured he’d had lots of practice in his political career. After letting each of us pontificate for a few minutes, he halted arguments and said he wanted us to settle “the damn case.” He then directed us to contact our clients and obtain settlement authority, after which he expected us to “horse-trade” our way to resolution.
We had little choice but to follow his directive.
“You insurance lawyers,” the judge said, “get the jury conference room down the hall to the right. You Walgreen lawyers,” he continued, “have the other conference room on the other side of the hall. Nilsson,” he said to me, “you can have my chambers, while I handle a short administrative matter in my courtroom.”
The other lawyers were led out by the law clerk, with the judge and his robe taking up the rear. Just as he reached the doorway, the judge turned and said to me, “Remember—I want to know if your client is familiar with the poetry of Wallace Stevens.”
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
