December 1999

The Verdict

by Michael Hoff, LAP Peer Counselor

"Madam Forewoman, you may read the verdict."

Judge Reser's voice cracked almost imperceptibly in the hushed courtroom.

So deep it was nearly at cortex level, David A. Fitzhue III experienced a blip in his virtually catatonic state. Three months of trial; two years of preparation; running roughshod over the prep, research and trial teams; millions of heartbeats and hundreds of thousands of dollars in costs — and it all came down to this moment. Though his pale blue eyes were open, they were as sightless as his sense of touch was disconnected. He hovered weightless as an astronaut at plaintiff's oak table, occupying the same leather chair which had become his workday home for over 22 weeks. Time itself had stopped.

"Mr. Fitzhue? Counsel? Did you hear Madam Forewoman?"

No response. Not one person at plaintiff's table or its extension, added to make room for the army of support personnel, made a move.

David A. Fitzhue III, the third generation at Richdale and Fitzhue, now 144 lawyers strong, considered this case the high mark of his career. Anti-trust and restraint of trade in the marine industry had sounded dull to the average Joe on the street, but the transcript, he knew, would read like an Elmore Leonard novel. Intrigue, unbridled greed, and a cadre of ship owners who rigged rates with the brashness of Bluebeard: this was the stuff lawyers love, and love to present to a jury, one little surprise after another.

When "Trey," as he was monikered, drew the series of circles on the white board during the three-day final argument, the jury was spellbound, more than a few nodding as Fitzhue connected the circles of conspiracy enclosing each and every defendant.

He was convinced to the core of the justice of his cause, of the injustice done to his clients — virtually all of the freight forwarders and bulk shippers west of the Mississippi.

A light of Borealis proportions seemed to fill the courtroom. Lawyer Fitzhue felt the first of a cacophony of noises, praises accompanied by handshakes, backslaps, and, in a few unpleasant instances, hugs from his support team and his clients.

"Holy jumped up . . . ." Richdale II, his fellow senior partner, had sneaked into the courtroom and elbowed his way to the plaintiff's table, gripping Fitzhue's hand and pumping it wildly up and down. Pump. Pump. Uncharacteristically, he danced like Rumpelstiltskin, eyes gleaming, as he congratulated his partner on a "great win." Fitzhue finally heard the number: $268 million and change. The figure was bandied back and forth among the congratulators — gloating, beaming, then touching Fitzhue, as if at this poignant moment some of his luck would rub off.

"Damn, Davie," T. Thomas "Tommy" Richdale II slapped his partner for the umpteenth time on the back, a place becoming painful now.

"When you talked us all into the litigation contract, I thought we were givin' away the farm! Man, you're nothing short of a damn miracle!"

Tommy headed the marine personal injury, workers comp and medical malpractice side of the firm and came kicking and screaming to the position that trading treble damages for the right to appeal was a wise contractual arrangement. Now, his partner's wisdom and read of the litigation was smack dab on! Two-hundred sixty-eight million dollars, and no right to appeal. (The defendants would attack the contract, but the 10 million dollars in escrow would be released before sundown. The "fees first" clause would operate by tomorrow!)

David Fitzhue's attention shifted from the scattered environment back to his inner eye. The winners strolled victoriously from the fifth floor courtroom of the United States Courthouse, feet not quite touching the floor. His senses, fully operable again, seemed exquisitely in touch with the joy he had created.

He could taste the champagne — and a couple of perfect martinis. The bouquets of flowers which would engulf his top-floor, Sound-side office tomorrow wafted pleasantly through his mind's olfactory anticipation. The taste of bouillabaisse in the incredible Bistro d' Frere, just three blocks east of the Eiffel Tower, Rive Gauche, was soon to be revisited. Maybe a year's sabbatical — plenty of time to select the proper yacht. Personally, he leaned toward a 65- to 70-foot Perry design, ketch rig, with two Perkins engines and custom-fitted interior, while his significant other, dear red-headed Katy, preferred a racier sloop rig — the exuberance of youth. He might even consider making her wife number three, though it seemed a risk which could ruin a lovely relationship. At least, now, they would have time together — time, too, for Davey and Barb. Funny, though, college-aged kids didn't seem to need their father much. Perhaps the Sorbonne for Barb, and someplace other than the University of Washington for Davey.

The joy of it all — the possibilities endless now that his "ship" had arrived — overwhelmed him with appreciation for life and all its sweetness. Does it get any better than this?

He wished they'd quit banging him on the back. Now, damn it, they were thumping him in front, for god's sake. So I won — but enough is enough already!

He was wondering who the chosen few would be — those privileged to catch the first elevator down to remain in his presence. The light above the brass engraved doors flashed red. A "ding" preceded the doors sliding open silently on wheels and ball bearings which some government employee must grease regularly.

David Fitzhue stepped forward into the "up and down room," as he had called it as a child. His first elevator ride had been in his grandfather's office building, close to the courthouse. It was still standing, a bulwark against progress, and still called "Hoge." Odd. The contraption had never been so brightly lit. Like a thousand fluorescents hung inside the door and engulfing him. He shut his eyes, extinguishing everything but the thump, thump, thump.

Quiet enshrined the fifth-floor courtroom. Gladys Renfrow, Forewoman of the jury, held the verdict still — limp in her hand. Judge Reser was on the telephone again, its tightly curled cord snaking from under the bench.

"Well, they're not here yet, for god's sake!" He spat with judicial authority into the telephone as the wail of a Medic I Unit speared the courtroom window.

"Belay that," his Honor barked into the mouthpiece. "They're already here." Scarcely two minutes had gone by since his first call.

"Ya think we oughta poll the jury?"

Charlie Dwyer, lead attorney for the defendants, shook his head, startled at his co-counsel's suggestion. He continued his CPR pumping at 10 compressions followed by two breaths. He restarted the 10 pumps and answered in disgust:

"For god's sake, man. Look at him! I think he knows."

Charlie watched as Trey turned from pink to white to a hue of blue. The compressions created a pulse, but the aorta was probably blown. He'd learned that while defending Lifeline Ambulance Company in a suit brought by a Microsoft widow for gross negligence in causing her husband's death.

Mabel Rechisender, meticulous to a fault, removed the verdict form from Gladys Renfrow's grip. She double-holed it at the top, placing it neatly into the court's file on her desk. Then she entered the notation in the docket: "Judgment for the defendants."

Charlie Dwyer turned his chore over to the paramedics as he mentally placed another case in the "win" column.

The lawyer in this story neglected his personal life and his health in pursuing his career exclusively and obsessively, and just at the point when he thought he would finally be able sit back and enjoy the fruits of his labor, he was struck with a fatal heart attack. If only he had taken more time to enjoy his family and the other good things in his life when he had the chance.

The WSBA's Lawyers' Assistance Program (LAP) can help before things get this bad. If you see signs of stress, overwork, depression, etc. in yourself or a colleague, a call to LAP could be the first step in getting help. LAP offers confidential assistance with emotional, drug/alcohol, family, health and other personal problems. Services include assessment, referral, short- or long-term counseling, group and individual therapy, as well as treatment follow-up and training. LAP's professional staff is qualified to identify, assess, treat and refer lawyers needing assistance. The extended staff includes LAP-trained peer counselors, lawyers who are available to support their colleagues through difficult times. For more information or to make an appointment, please call 206-727-8268.

The WSBA Lawyer Services Department offers these four programs:

The Lawyers' Assistance Program (LAP) – 206-727-8268: Confidential assistance for lawyers with emotional, drug/alcohol or other personal problems.

The Law Office Management Assistance Program (LOMAP) – 206-727-8237:

Offers consultation and information to help solo and small-firm practitioners deliver legal services of the highest quality.

The Professional Responsibility/Ethics Program – 206-727-8219: Lawyers can call a WSBA lawyer for assistance in resolving ethical dilemmas.

The Alternative Dispute Resolution Programs (ADR) – 206-733-5923: Offers two low-cost methods of resolving disputes: voluntary fee arbitration and mediation.

Please call our department at the phone numbers listed above for additional information and/or assistance in these areas.

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