RESPECTFULLY SUBMITTED
I
have had this recurring dream now for several years. ItÕs always the same, about a lawyer whose face I cannot
see, adrift on a raft of manila folders in a sea of pink telephone slips. Suddenly his raft is engulfed by a wave
of protracted litigation and he is swept overboard into the briny pink. Once he goes down, and twice he goes
down, and in the brief eternity before the final submersion, his whole
professional life passes before his eyes.
His
first image is his infancy before the Bar, when no case or fee was too
small. He remembers with
surprising fondness all those contingency fee collection cases he took in which
the debtor outdueled him with a lunge into bankruptcy court, simultaneously skewering
creditor and lawyer alike with one sharp twist of the sword of justice. In those days, his clients retained
enough credibility to lie to him with a straight face, and he spent his lunch
hours totaling up pending fees on a paper napkin.
His
law school days were only briefly behind him then, and the words of his
professors still echoed crisply in his ears. Equity, the Federal courts, THE UNITED STATES CONSTITUTION, they all marshaled the forces of good against wicked, and he was part of that gallant parade, poor, but in step.
Justice was a common word in his vocabulary, and he read the advance
sheets.
In
the next instant, his middle age is before him, along with the retainer in
front. He still devoted unflagging
diligence to his clientÕs causes, but he was increasingly perturbed by the
consistency with which his clients demonstrated their gratitude by arranging
for the return of his bills marked ŌMoved – Left No Forwarding
Address.Ķ What he at one time had
thought to be reflective contemplation by the Bench prior to an important
ruling he now realized was judicial indecision as to where to have lunch. A few of his law school buddies had run
for judge in other counties, two because they couldnÕt earn a living in their
practice, and one because he loved the law but hated people. All three were elected. He hadnÕt been in Federal court in
years, and he never filed Preliminary Objections unless he needed extra time or
was being paid by the hour. He
knew he was successful because he never had enough time to attend to any one
matter properly. He talked more
now of result and often threw out unread advance sheets before the bound
volumes came in. He did not trust
new clients until their checks had cleared, and when the phone rang in his
office, he hoped it wasnÕt for him.
He
remembers next the last ten years.
He had become something of an expert in tax shelters, and his expertise
had long since provided him with all the shelter he would ever need. He had many clients who paid him large
sums of money to avoid the same payment to Uncle Sam, and he enjoyed his life,
except when he was in the office.
He had become an accomplished golfer and his practice now was largely a
matter of course.
My
dream always ends with this unknown lawyer taking a Bar-sponsored group cruise
to meet with and study the legal problems of the wealthy of other lands. En route, their boat, the USS Pedantic,
runs aground on BedloeÕs Island, casting all hands up and leaving my nocturnal
colleague to his plight as aforesaid.
I always wake up then, unsure if the day is over or just beginning. I cannot go back to sleep and my
thoughts are drawn to who I have yet to call, and what I have yet to do, and if
the Statue of Liberty is related to the Statute of Limitations, and what was the
first thing that William Shakespeare wanted to do to lawyers, and why?
By
the time my alarm goes off, I have forgotten my dream. When IÕm shaving though, the dream
comes back, and I look for the face, just the face, but a white fog has set in
all around and I canÕt quite make it out.
Respectfully
submitted,
S.
Sponte, Esq.
Copyright 1978 – S. Sponte, Esq.