Finally. At least it was over. But the judge could not believe how weak the insurance lawyer -the insurance company actually- had been in agreeing to such, still an outrageous figure when in all probability there had been no injury at all!
The jurors were dispensed from further deliberations, thanked, and dismissed. It had all been at the nick of time as they already had had a first vote favorable to the defense 100%, that is, no money at all for the lady! He was later told by one of them. He thought that the ‘face savings figure’ should not have been more than $100k…
Judge Good locked himself in his quarters, had from his small fridge the ham sandwich he had brought from home, told his personal law clerk not to bother him all afternoon -if she could help it-, closed all his folders and books, turned on the radio tuned to the classical music played by the local PBS station and laid on his recliner to think calmly… or for a siesta.
PBS had that day a special Tchaikovsky day, and he was delighted he’d be treated that afternoon to some of his best, like his Marche Slave, a shortened Swan Lake, the 6th ‘Pathétique,’ Francesca da Rimini, his Symphony #4 and his ‘1812’ Overture. All among his favorites; he knew he probably would not sleep. That would be for him a celebration to having ended a hated case in the least painful, even if unfair way. There would be no unpleasant repercussions. Just one more case settled at his prompting. Perfect! Well, almost!
But the judge had resented the whole matter. It was not justice or fairness; it was just business transactions, the manipulation of convenient laws to milk deep pockets; lawyers need their clients’ monies – 1/2 or even 1/3 will do… ha! And it is not ‘So It Won’t Happen To You!’ as some lawyers insist in their ads to peddle their services…
Yes, his mind went on: He hated the whole legal world, his world especially as a judge. He did not know how long he had hated his position, his profession. Probably for years by now. He hated the law, the very laws that confined him to conform to a flourishing legal business to which, first as a defense lawyer, now as a judge, he had come to play a crucial, yet unpleasant part. He hated the day-to-day business that went on in his State Courthouse and didn’t care for the concepts of ‘evidence or lack there-of,’ the admissions and non admissions, the inadmissible-in-court or for the common unfair dismissals, the so frequent let-downs, even if by the law, by ‘precedents;’ nor cared for the use of bought witnesses, experts, it’s a cinch-to-get them to say anything, the lies and lies (the most common, under oath), the one-judge -or several- decisions, too often without jurors, even when decisions approach life-and-death consequences for the defense or for the accused, for the jury system, jurors all forced, conscripted persons, often unwilling, unhappy to serve, instead of just paid seniors…
But four o’clock came early, Tchaikovsky was still going on, and judge Good left the courthouse in a hurry. “Tomorrow will be another day,” is all he told his clerk as he left without stopping by her desk to hear what was for him the next day. He now despised being a judge, having become a lawyer in the first place. He hated to preside over so many disputed cases -welcome power? He hated his power!- of deciding their outcome, even if by then he was known for fair handedness…
His law clerk was startled. And surprised by his comment, as if it had been a bad day for him, when it actually had gone quite well and she thought her boss had handled it fine, having extricated himself successfully out of a prickly situation.
Barbara, his wife, would get home a couple of hours after him. She, an orthopedic surgeon in a large group that included bone/trauma specialists, one chiropractor and two rheumatologists, remained in her office as usual till well after five, and then she liked to stop for groceries almost daily. By shopping for food so often, she did not have to carry or drag a large bag or bags and the store was not much out of her way. Mixing with the shopping crowds in the store gave her sort of a distraction and a break from being a doctor all day – or, too often, a medico-legal expert. So the couple rarely had dinner before seven, their ‘European’ lateness being to their liking.
If she was to arrive later, she’d call him by cell. In such cases, as he waited for her, he might have a cheese-and-crackers pick-me-up with a dry Sherry, or if she was going to be very late, he would become a real cook himself and prepare for both often a 20-minute-to-cook paella-style rice double dish with sautéed seafood and veggies, eating one 1/2 of it all alone and saving the other 1/2 for her.
2
“Disgusted With My Court Powers.” The Case Of Dr. Nora Phillips, Targeted By O.P.C.
That evening Barbara was home right on the dot by 6:30, with just enough time to get herself into comfortable clothes and have dinner ready for both by 7. After a cup of chicken consommé, she had ready a deep dish of boiled-and-drained green beans with potatoes, lightly dressed with salt, pepper, a generous squirt of olive oil and a simple third plate of lean sautéed-and-caramelized ham (‘Canadian Bacon’?) with a circular thick slice of pineapple; for desert she placed at the center of the table a cluster of seedless red grapes, and as they talked about the day each had had in their respective quarters, she brought two flutes of ‘mosto,’ the celebrated Mediterranean non-alcoholic white grape drink that in bars, with a slice of lemon, often accompanies tapas… if/when you are done with the booze! [This writer, by the way, hears that ‘mosto’ makes too a great mix drink with vodka!]
Both were in a chit-chat mood, first Ken going to his main point succinctly about ‘the annoying case’ that was over, thank-god, himself cutting the jurors deliberations short when he talked the two lawyers into settling, nearly forcing them to do so; “Good for my reputation avoiding repercussions and bad tails.”
“And isn’t that great?”
“Well, yes! But it has left me with a bad aftertaste!”
“Why?” asked his wife.
“Because of the figure agreed-to of 1/2 a million for a case where the woman should have got nothing!… and where her lawyer is a scum-back politician and a known ambulance chaser!… And because the defense, the insurance company agreed to settle too easy, too high. They should not have given her a cent. Perhaps, just for face-saving, a $100k. I’m amazed they gave her 5 times that much! This is highway robbery even if it’s only 1/2 of their initial demand!”
“But of course,” Barbara agreed, “insurance companies for personal injury cases I hear they don’t mind paying. And making huge payments does not bankrupt them. The more they pay, the more money they make by just raising the insured’s premiums a pinch. And the top brass in the company gets a raise! The more they pay, the larger the business! Great for all. All at the consumer’s expense. Sickening!”
“And the lawyers make it all happen for them!”
“You’ve hated those lawyers for a long time, Ken.”
“Not just them. The whole tort and liability system in this country is corrupt and nobody is doing anything about it. The nearly two million lawyers out there are very happy with the riches they bleed out of the system – even if it is horrible for the rest; the crooks, the claimants, their lawyers, get big downfalls. Some blame the judges and jurors for the awards, but it is the money itself. Where there is money to be made, someone will milk it. And lawyers are the big facilitators. And we owe to lawyers too in D.C. our Nasty National Debt! Most in Congress are lawyers!…”
“It sounds as if the system has no solution or cure,” Barbara said.
“No, it doesn’t. And public and political law stinks just as much; It would take a revolution, a whole new system, new legislation and so many changes to the law codes
