Lessons from life.

Experiences outside the office--such as a family illness, community service work, or military training--can teach valuable skills or provide new insight that attorneys can put to good use in their work. Here, six attorneys share their stories of how they apply their lessons from life.

On garbage--and justice

Linda Miller Atkinson

For years, taking my responsibility as a good citizen seriously, I attended council meetings, township board meetings, and school board meetings as a spectator. I usually spoke up about one issue or another. Sometimes I presented issues or even testified for or against a proposed bill. And, of course, I enjoyed the great American exercise of Monday-morning quarterbacking after board meetings, complaining about inaction or criticizing action taken. Then, in 1996, the issues became intense, and I decided to come off the bench. I ran for and was elected to an at-large trustee's seat on our township board. Suddenly, solutions were no longer so clear cut.

After a few months of brisk and heated board meetings, I was commiserating with a colleague, a friend who had been elected to a nearby city council at the same time. He responded simply, "What's the problem? Just do what's right."

Unfortunately, what's right doesn't always come with a label on it. I discovered that for many issues--road repair, zoning amendments, abatements--several proposed actions competed, and sometimes none was right. Throughout the succeeding months, I developed great respect for the citizens who--year in and year out for little compensation--take their oath of office and gather together monthly in all kinds of weather to face their fellow citizens. Trying to determine what is right, they conduct that bedrock of American democracy, the town meeting, to do the town's business.

Garbage is a good example. In the absence of any government policy over the years, the 1,100 residents of our rural township disposed of garbage in many ways, most of them cheap and environmentally destructive. Every household incinerated a major portion of its waste. The township had an inexpensive arrangement with a big waste management company, which set up dumpsters for a monthly fee and emptied them once a week for another fee. These fees and weekly cleanup fees at the dumpsters were paid by the township.

Of course, in a rural area not all the scavengers are human, and each week straggly piles of refuse surrounded the dumpsters, no matter what we did. Another problem was that sometimes poor citizens who could not afford to pay for the required marked bags would toss their sacks of garbage into the woods or the cemetery. Officially no one seemed particularly energized by our "solid waste management problem" and, in fact, fellow board members didn't seem to think we had a problem.

Recycling fell even lower on the priority list. Each week, the same handful of vocal citizens favoring recycling came to the board meetings and urged us to include recycling in our waste management program. Not much was done in response. The big waste management company set up some bins marked for plastic, paper, tin, and glass, for another fee.

Usually by the time the company hauler arrived weekly to empty these bins, clusters of milk bottles and bundles of newspapers overflowed them. Piles of cans, sacks of clear glass jars or green glass bottles, and heaps of additional mystery materials for recycling sprawled on the ground. Among my rural neighbors who are skeptical of any government program or interference in their lives, recycling sounded way too yuppy, costly, and unnecessary.

I spent three months speaking eloquently in favor of recycling and arguing that it was environmentally necessary. These efforts produced nothing. I was bewildered. Here I was using my best trial lawyer skills--argument, persuasion, appeals to reason--and getting no action at all. Something more was needed.

Taking a cue from Congress, I held a series of public hearings inviting the landfill engineer, representatives from a neighboring township that had a successful recycling program, various township business people, and other interested parties. We drafted 30 questions that needed to be answered, such as "How many pounds of garbage does the township dispose of weekly? Monthly?" "How many pounds of recyclable material does the township dispose of weekly? Monthly?" "What are the feasible outlets for recycled materials in our area?" "Which is more expensive--the tipping fees charged for dumping at the landfill or recycling?"

After the hearings, I conducted a written survey of township residents asking about their current disposal habits and problems and asking for their preferences among several programs under consideration. I learned to listen to my neighbors instead of trying to make legal arguments at them.

After months of investigating, researching and surveying, the township board adopted a comprehensive solid waste management ordinance. The program's main feature was house-to-house curbside garbage and recycling pickup on a weekly basis, paid for primarily out of revenues from specially marked bags sold for the purpose. When the bids came in for the hauling, the contract went to a local group instead of the money going out of town.

Residents seem generally pleased. Some say it's the best program we've ever had. And I learned an important lesson about trial practice: The lawyer alone cannot determine the outcome. It's the jury every time. The lawyer simply presents the problem in the jurors' context as their concern, offering evidence that the action is right and fits the community's value system.

I recognized that my neighbors and colleagues on the board attend to their work as seriously as a jury does. They are ordinary folks with a variety of experiences and skepticisms who come together to take an oath and take care of business. And, like a jury, they're not going to do something just because a lawyer says so, because a lawyer talks articulately about legal reasons, or even because they're sympathetic to the proponents. They do what they determine is the right thing based on their life experiences and the evidence presented to them.

In the town meeting, as in the jury room, investigation, research, statistics, and experts were important for persuasion, but the decisions were not made by individuals. The ordinance --like averdict--resulted from a societal process, a collective deliberation. To have any influence at all on the collective decision of a jury, lawyers must recognize the jurors' fundamental power as judges of the facts, recognize the fundamental decency in the process, and put the question in the context of the jurors' own experiences. In other words, justice--like garbage--is a community project.

Linda Miller Atkinson practices law nationally with offices in Detroit and Channing, Michigan.

Let there be music

William S. Bailey

A mentor in the trial bar once said to me early in my career, "This is a brutal business we're in. It is results oriented, and everybody is trying to take a bite out of you--opposing lawyers, judges, juries, and even our clients. You won't make it if you don't find ways to put back in what gets sucked out of you."

The legendary Moe Levine went one step further, using the mortality of the trial bar as a set piece in his closing arguments: "A trial lawyer's life is not too long. These tensions that occur constantly don't do our life span too much good." After years of the cycle of stress and conflict as a trial lawyer, the truth of this is now evident to me.

The qualities of control, perseverance, and concentration are double-edged swords. They help us overcome obstacles and get results for our clients. In our business, even paranoia is a necessary mindset--they really are "out to get us" and our clients. Yet, these same qualities that bring professional success are difficult to disengage and step back from. Like a jungle animal on patrol, a trial lawyer's instincts are constantly set on "alert."

I have come to realize that one of my Achilles' heels is the inability to let go when I am away from the job. In the past, my wife has had to forcibly schedule vacations with "I'm going, are you?" ultimatums. I protest initially, saying, "You don't understand, the whole situation may blow up in a moment if I'm not here to watch over it." But I end up going and enjoying myself.

My saner self knows that it benefits both me and my clients to detach from the combat mind-set of the job and renew my spirit. The key ingredients for a trial lawyer's success are passion, creativity, and inspiration. These do not flourish in a climate of constant fatigue and stress. Some of the best ideas are cultivated by indirection--as in the apocryphal story of Sir Isaac Newton formulating the law of gravity when he was bonked on the head by an apple while lazing under a tree.

For both longevity and career success, I regularly ask myself, "How can I create a nurturing atmosphere where serendipity and indirection allow my mind to forage for sources of divine inspiration?" The answer for me is playing in a rock-and-roll band.

A passion for music

Elvis Presley was a singular cultural icon for me, as he was for many baby boomers growing up in America in the 1950s. I can still vividly recall his initial appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show when I was a first grader. As John Lennon later said, "Before Elvis, there was nothing."

When I moved to the San Francisco Bay area during high school, Elvis was replaced by the Beatles and the pounding rhythms of California surf bands. Soon came the era of Bill Graham's Fillmore Auditorium and the free outdoor concerts of bands like the Grateful Dead at Golden Gate Park. All of this was much more than a mere passing fancy to me--the molten core of passion within that defines me as a person (and later compelled me to become a trial lawyer) found a natural reservoir in the music of my generation.

While in high school, I quickly realized that I could not impress the females in my peer group with my meager athletic ability. So I built on the years of piano lessons that my mother had insisted on and began playing keyboard and guitar in rock-and-roll bands.

But this was more than just a dating vehicle for me. The afternoons of practice amid the usual clutter in the garages of various band members' houses catapulted me into states of exhilaration. There were moments of sheer magic when everyone in the band merged and created a whole sound greater than the sum of its parts: Played correctly, even a three-chord song like "Louie Louie" can lift you higher and higher. Though I left my rock-and-roll career behind when I went to college, I never forgot what it meant to me.

As college led to law school and then to proving myself in the courtroom after graduation, my emotions and enthusiasm began to suffer in the grind. I will never forget a comment made by a colorful client who knew me early in my career, in a chance meeting 10 years later: "Something's changed in you, sweetheart, and it's not good. You're losing the fire. Don't. It's your best quality."

That comment and others like it started a metamorphosis. The change seemed glacial in its slowness, but it brought music back into my life. The guitars came out of their cases, where they had been dormant for 18 years. I took lessons to relearn what had lapsed from long disuse. Within two years, I was practicing in garages again, 30 years after my high school glory days. Yet, somehow it was sweeter this time, because I had reclaimed something that I had nearly lost.

Since then, I have played in "classic rock-and-roll" bands at supermarket openings, sandwiched between Presto logs and racks of bedding plants; in smoky taverns; and next to Ferris wheels on midways of county fairs.

Upon seeing this newfound avocation emerge, my sensible college-age daughter, Mimy, scrunched up her forehead and asked, "Dad, isn't that just a little bit degrading for a middle-aged lawyer?" I smiled and laughed. "Yes, it probably is," I told her. "But somehow I don't mind. I'm happier than I've been in years. I just wish it hadn't taken me as long to get back to it."

The life-shortening strains of trial work that Moe Levine spoke of are still there for me. But after a killer day, it is a pleasure to go into my study, take my guitar in hand, put my fingers on the fret board, and let my spirit soar.

William S. Bailey practices with Fury Bailey in Seattle.

A new perspective on illness

Nancy Kenner

I became a lawyer 17 years ago, in part to follow in the footsteps of my uncle who was an attorney. Over the years I heard his many war stories and was fascinated. I ultimately went to the same law school he did, graduating 28 years after him.

I started my career as a judicial law clerk and then moved on to a large law firm to do defense work on the opposite side of our state from my uncle. My practice was essentially 100 percent medical malpractice. I represented doctors, hospitals, and other health care providers for nine years.

I think those who defend medical malpractice cases become somewhat jaded against plaintiffs. This is partially self-preservation and partially a belief that plaintiffs are malingerers and that their situation could not be as bad as they make it out to be.

The claims I considered weakest were those involving loss of consortium--the derivative claims of those giving care to an injured person. For example, this would include the daughter of an elderly woman who took care of her mother and is a plaintiff in a suit over her wrongful death.

Switching sides

After nine years with the defense firm, I decided to switch sides. I didn't like working for insurance companies. Plaintiffs' work seemed challenging and more rewarding. The client might actually appreciate a good result. It was time to move on.

I started a plaintiffs' practice with another partner from the defense firm seven and a half years ago. The practice has been 80 percent medical malpractice and 20 percent personal injury from the beginning. In preparing cases, I have continued to focus on the damages of the injured party rather than the derivative claims of the spouse or caregiver.

My parents live in the same town where I live with my husband and our two little girls. I am very close to my parents. My mother is many things to me. She is my close friend and confidant. We usually talk every day. She is my personal shopper. She makes sure my children have clean socks and bows for their hair. There is no task she will not take on.

My father is one of the world's nicest guys. He works around our house to see what needs fixing. He delivers freshly smoked meats for dinner. Both of my parents are available for babysitting any time and enjoy doing it. They also have a busy social life apart from my family. They like to travel and are very active in their church and with senior citizen groups.

In my small family, no one has ever had any type of serious injury or illness that affected my day-to-day life on a long-term basis.

Sad news

In December 1998, my lawyer uncle, a confirmed bachelor, flew across our state to visit my family. What started as a pleasant event turned grim when he told us that he had been diagnosed with liver cancer. He said there was no treatment available to help him.

We found this news devastating and expressed our sympathy and concern. With that went the unqualified "If there is anything we can do to help you, please don't hestitate to let us know."

Luckily, at that point, my uncle did not feel sick. He wanted to continue his normal life. He went home and continued working in his practice, where he was semiretired, and participated in his other regular activities. But over the next six months, the cancer began taking its toll.

As my uncle's condition deteriorated, my parents visited him periodically, usually for a few days at a time. Eventually he became so ill that the doctors recommended nursing home care. He balked at the idea and asked my parents if they would be willing to take care of him at his home. They agreed and essentially moved in with him for six months. I took over for my parents in our hometown--quite a role reversal--and they took over for my uncle.

Of course, my uncle's illness was awful. Dying of cancer is not something you would choose to do. I expected that to be the case. What I didn't expect was the incredible disruption in the lives of everyone in the family who helped care for him. It affected everybody's life pretty much all day, every day.

My comfortable life was turned upside down. My support system was gone, and in its place I had a whole new set of responsibilities that literally took half of my day.

I spoke with my parents constantly and heard about how my uncle was doing and how they were living their lives. They were awake at least 20 hours a day. They slept in shifts. They cooked and cleaned. They called health care providers. They supervised home health nurses. They rubbed my uncle's sore back and feet. They bathed him.

While I was handling my parents' personal finances and general day-to-day responsibilities, they handled all of his. They dealt with all the issues of death and dying. They discussed funeral arrangements and which suit he wanted to be buried in. They returned calls from his colleagues and friends. It was not just a full-time job, it was their whole life for eight long months.

Nursing home care

Toward the end of my uncle's illness, my family was forced to decide whether he should go into a nursing home. My parents, who are in their 70s, simply could not physically care for him, and the doctors recommended nursing home care. I have done a lot of nursing home negligence work and, of course, had vowed not to send any loved one to such a place. However, after the long months we had been through, I embraced the idea. It was a huge relief for everyone. After two months in the care of the nursing home, my uncle died.

My clients have told me over the years how a serious health problem has affected them and how much time they have to spend dealing with a loved one who is ill. I have felt sympathetic. What I completely underestimated was the overwhelming daily mental and physical effort required of the spouse or caregiver. The illness is in your face every minute, every day. You become dependent on health care providers to help you through the process, and you lose control. It is disorienting. You feel like you are drowning at times.

Several lessons

My family's experience over those last months of my uncle's illness taught me several things. I have a heightened empathy for our clients, especially those who are survivors and caregivers. The suffering they go through on a day-to-day basis when a loved one is ill or rendered disabled is very real.

The sheer mental wear and tear is mind-boggling. Had I not gone through this experience, I'm not sure that I ever would have really appreciated that. My focus was on the person who was ill, not the one who cared for the patient.

Consortium claims should not be given a back seat. They need to be developed. We need to explain what caregivers go through in caring for a sick or injured person. Day-in-the-life films have a whole new meaning for me.

I'm not sure if my experience with my uncle's illess is going to be good or bad for my practice. I think it's easier from an emotional standpoint to be detached from your clients. On the other hand, I hope the insight I gained will lead me to fight harder for those who are going through the pain and suffering that I now know. I certainly think I will be able to be a more effective advocate for my clients.

Nancy Kenner practices law in Kansas City, Missouri.

Infantry training for case management

Thomas J. Vesper

I am eternally grateful to the U. S. Marine Corps--"that mysterious fraternity born of smoke and the danger of death." Marine infantry training taught me lessons that I believe have made me a better-practicing trial lawyer.

Professionals who are both lawyers and doctors can be categorized by when they received their basic training. Lawyer-doctors--lawyers who first obtain law degrees, then go to medical school and practice medicine--always "think like a lawyer." Doctor-lawyers, who first go to medical school, then obtain their law degrees and practice law, nevertheless "think like doctors."

Before going to law school, I graduated as a rifleman from the Marine Corps Recruit Depot at Parris Island, South Carolina. For better or worse, I "think like a Marine" more than a lawyer at times.

In 19731 completed law school, passed the bar exam, and started working at my current law firm in daily contact with its office procedures and practices (or total lack thereof). Thinking like a Marine, I believed there should be a certain order and written SOP--standard operating procedure--for handling cases. Drawing upon my infantry training, I quickly applied the following principles to our personal injury practice.

Teamwork

"Gung ho," from the Chinese gonhe, is the Marine motto for "work together." The esprit de corps and loyalty among Marines are special. In the same spirit, I believe the team that works on a client's case should work like a set of interchangeable parts.

If the senior partner knows where the principal attack or counterattack should be, the associates, paralegals, secretaries, typists, and investigators should also know where everyone is going as part of the client's "battle plan."

Offensive mindedness

A Marine rifleman's mission is to close with the enemy and destroy them. The philosophy of a plaintiff trial lawyer is likewise to move forward and attack. Never retreat! We move our client's case forward to the goal of resolving it by settlement or trying it and achieving a fair jury verdict.

When I first joined our firm, many post-ponements and continuances "graciously and courteously" were allowed. I convinced the managing partners that in plaintiff personal injury cases we should not allow ourselves the luxury of postponements of depositions or trials. We should be ready at every calendar call. This kept us on the offensive so we could achieve more expeditious resolution of our clients' cases.

Packing a sea bag

I learned the hard way how to pack and organize a sea bag, field pack, or foot or wall locker for Marine inspections. If the soap dish, boots, or ammo were not in the same place, my "junk on the bunk" in very short order became an overturned floor model for cleanup.

I carried this compulsion for order over to our filing system. Having every personal injury file in our office organized in a standard method soon allowed all secretaries and typists to find things more quickly than the previous method of having individual attorneys pack their case files and boxes idiosyncratically.

KISS

One of the first lessons I learned as a Marine was the KISS (keep it simple, stupid) principle. The more maneuvers or parts, the greater the chance of breakdowns or mistakes.

When I started practicing personal injury law, I found an unnerving tendency among my colleagues to open subfolders and stuff them with all types of material. Expanding folders became bulging boxes loaded with unidentifiable, dog-eared files with such informative file labels as "miscellaneous." As soon as I could, I convinced my senior partner to put all correspondence, pleadings, investigation, and medical/damages records in a chronologically organized folder. This is the simplest method of maintaining a file so it can be reviewed later with the least amount of angst.

ID numbers

In the Marine Corps there was a number for everything and everyone: your rifle, compass, every GI (government issued) item. In my personal injury cases, all files and subfiles are numbered and listed on an index. A log is available to trace the total universe of data available to anyone handling the file.

Evidence such as photographs and X-rays, previously thrown into our investigator's closet or desk drawer, are organized and numbered. Materials belonging with a case file are cross-referenced.

This ID method was adopted by the rest of our law office and makes life a lot less stressful when we are preparing for depositions or trial.

Calendars, clipboards, and log books

As a duty noncommissioned officer, I learned about duty log books and clipboards. These were usually a cumulative calendar of activities that occurred at a certain post.

In our practice, having a log for our evidence room, a log for active and inactive cases, and a cumulative calendar of trial or arbitration listings helps us find cases in our inventory. This, in turn, allows our office manager easier access to our oldest client cases that should be resolved during times of heavy cash flow.

Kaleidoscopic colors

Color-coding is not new. But after my colorless law school training, it struck me that whenever I looked at topographical maps and battle plans, color coding of numerous entries created not only an understandable pattern, but an easy way to retrieve information.

I was so compelled to color-code our office files for easier retrieval that one holiday I stayed in the file room the entire weekend and color-taped the tops and sides of our plaintiff files green; worker's comp plaintiff files gold; defense files blue (yes, we did some defense liability work in those days); and worker's comp defense files gray.

All case files then had a white tape designating cases in suit. Finally, all case files, whether plaintiff or defense, which were on the trial list got a third red stripe that indicated this case had to be "readied."

I got kidded about my Scotch-tape attack for a long time after. But until we abandoned our central filing system, all our secretaries liked and continued color-coding the files.

SMEAC 

A "five-point order" in the Marine Corps is: (1) situation, (2) mission, (3) execution, (4) administration, and (5) communication. No matter what job is given to a Marine unit, be it a fire team or a regiment of two or more battalions, the five-point order format is followed.

The situation is described into which the unit must work. The mission is clearly stated. Execution of the job--who is to do what, how, where, and when--is outlined. Administration and communication--what additional materials or logistics are needed and who is to communicate with whom and how--are set forth in writing.

My old Marine buddies from "Easy Company"--Feely, Ferguson, Camp, and Collins--are also lawyers practicing in New Jersey. They kid me from time to time about how my three-ring binder trial and deposition notebooks (ATLA Trial Notebook 3d and ATLA Deposition Notebook 2d, published by West Group) remind them of the regimented and standardized boot-camp method of organizing their uniforms and "782 gear" (field equipment). I consider this to be a compliment.

It is true that my need for organization is based on my compulsive personality, which admittedly was aggravated by our domineering drill instructors at Parris Island. But drill instructors make pretty darn good office managers.

The lessons I learned at boot camp helped me to organize and focus what had previously been a total shambles of a law office case management system. Marines love acronyms. My acronym for the law office procedures that are outlined above is TOPKICKS.

If the worst anyone can say about my law practice in preparing for depositions and trial is that we are "too organized," "too detailed," "overly regimented," or "over prepared," then all I can say is "You're damn right we are!"

Semper fidelis!

Thomas J. Vesper spent 23 years in the U.S. Marine Corps Reserve. He served his last six months in the Corps on active duty during Desert Storm in 1991. He practices law in West Atlantic City, New Jersey.

Retreat to a quiet place

David R. Bossart

"Retreat" is a military term. When an army retreats, it goes to a safe place, away from the dangers of war; assesses the situation carefully; and makes plans for the future. When is the last time that you as a trial lawyer made your own "retreat"?

Our work is incredibly stressful. We are under the gun almost constantly. We often have no idea how this continuous, repetitive stress affects our lives--physically, psychologically, intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually.

Since 1980, I have taken an annual four-day retreat at Jesuit Retreat House near St. Paul, Minnesota. I believe it has literally saved my life in more ways than one. It has allowed me to step back from the pressures of my law practice, the things happening in my family life, and all the other sources of stress in my life.

My retreat is centered on silence. Since I talk for a living, I thought it would be impossible for me to remain essentially silent from Thursday evening until Sunday evening. It was not only possible, it was a wonderful gift. And it continues to be a gift.

Not only did I discover how physically exhausted I was, but I also discovered how important it is to take time to reflect on who I am as a person and the state of my spiritual life. While I take this retreat for my own benefit, I know that everyone around me--my family, my staff, and my clients--benefits from my being more at peace with myself.

The phone, the fax, the e-mail, the cell phone, the hearings and trials, and the constant interruptions all take a toll on us personally. To be totally away and isolated from them is wonderful.

The retreat that I attend is very structured. It is designed to put me in contact with a power greater than myself for guidance and direction. The concept of the silence is simply to "be still and hear the voice of God talk to me." We tell our clients and everyone else that we must be excellent listeners in order to succeed. It is impossible to listen while we are talking almost constantly.

In addressing plaintiff lawyers all over the country, I have found that many are discouraged and disenchanted with the practice of law. The constant attacks and accusations against us are directed at our spirits. Our spirits need affirmation more often than we realize. A retreat allows us time to lift up our spirits. What greater source of affirmation is there than to take time out of our busy lives to just "hang around" with our Creator?

How will this benefit our practices or skills as trial lawyers, you might ask? We need to do our work in a more peaceful manner. While others around us may be stressed out, we do not have to be. We can understand that we are not our work--that while our work is extremely important, it is not our whole life, but only a part of it.

Sometimes, we should just dare to be mediocre. Give yourself a break, step away from perfectionism, and find out that it's OK to just be ordinary.

Think about the 12 disciples that Jesus chose to surround him. He entrusted them with carrying on his work and spreading his message. In reality, the disciples were not perfect. Peter, the "big fisherman," never caught any fish in the Bible. The others plotted and schemed about what benefits they would get for following Jesus.

Are we not good enough as we are? Do we constantly have to strive for perfection in our work at the expense of suffering depression, anxiety, a heart attack, or a stroke?

Some people will scoff at the idea of taking time for such a retreat. They may think a trip to Disneyland with the family would be more in order. Personally, I have been on vacations that have been as stressful as my work, if not more. My vacations, when I do take one, are far more relaxing after one of my retreats. People can tell the difference in me. If I am a better person, will I not also be a better lawyer and a better friend? It does not happen by accident. I must take the time to make it happen.

Plato said, "The unexamined life is not worth living." I recommend that you consider taking a personal retreat to examine your life. Contact your place of worship or local community center for the name and location of a retreat center in your area. My experience with Jesuit Retreat Houses has been wonderful. They do not require those who attend to be of the Roman Catholic faith.

I guarantee that you will come home rested, relaxed, and renewed as you have never experienced before. You not only need it, you deserve it. You and everyone around you will benefit from it.

David R. Bossart practices law in Fargo, North Dakota.

`How does that make you feel?'

Martha K. Wivell

It was 9:30 on a rainy October evening in 1970 when the call came. The voice informed me that my husband's car had been broadsided by a loaded steel truck that ran a red light. The voice promised me Bill was "all right" but suggested I come to Hennepin County General, our local trauma center, right away. Life changed. My husband was not all right.

A graduate student at the time, I left school and took the first job I could get. Two rounds of neurosurgery, several long hospitalizations, over $100,000 in medical bills, and two and a half years later, my husband returned to work with a permanent disability.

My husband's father had a friend who had a friend who knew a lawyer. We were young, naive, scared, and married not much more than a year. My husband hired that lawyer. Years later, we discovered he did real estate. He wasn't a litigator--a fact that the defendant apparently knew but we didn't.

The day before the trial of Bill's case, the lawyer told us that if my husband didn't take the defendant's $13,000 offer, Bill would have to get another lawyer. By the way, he added, the trial would not be rescheduled.

Believing what the lawyer said--and feeling broadsided yet again--my husband agreed to the settlement. What else could he do? He ended up with $3,000, a bad back, and a mountain of debt.

From then on, Bill divided the world into two groups: lawyers and real people. Who could blame him?

I came away from that pretrial meeting steadfastly convinced that if that was how lawyers worked, something was desperately wrong. I stubbornly repeated what became almost a mantra: "Even I can do better for people than that." I invoked this conviction so often that years later Bill finally declared, in no uncertain terms, that I should either go to law school or shut up.

Some 20-plus years of practice later, I can honestly say I have done better for people than that real estate lawyer did for Bill and me. I have a world of experiences in common with my clients and their families. I have seen firsthand the extraordinary loss that a life-changing injury imposes on its victim.

I have experienced the trauma of dealing with a severely injured person--injured both physically and mentally. I know full well what the loss of "aid," "comfort," and "companionship" really means because I have lived it.

Bill and I met at the University of Minnesota through the college's outing club --a group devoted to rock climbing, canoeing, backpacking, and other outdoor activities. Bill was a rock climber and mountaineer. After his spinal fusion, he was told those activities were out of the question. Even a minor fall while rock climbing could snap his fusion and put him in a wheelchair for life. Eventually he could canoe and backpack again, but for the first two years after the surgery he was not to carry so much as a carton of milk.

I have lugged bags of groceries out to the car while my husband walked beside me embarrassed and empty-handed. I have felt his frustration as I struggled in the ice and mud to change our van's flat tire while he stood by with clenched fists. I have shoveled snow and looked up to see Bill watching me from our window as I heaved shovels of snow. He didn't need to tell me how he felt. His pain showed in his face.

Difficult changes

Life changes when dull pain is your husband's daily companion. Pain makes him less lively and more grouchy. We don't go to movies; he can't sit that long. We rarely go to parties; he can't stand that long. When the medications wear off, he can get really demanding. You feel guilty for not having the patience of Job. You also have a lot of time to fill when most evenings he goes to bed early with a heating pad for his back.

Then there is the worry. Worry wakes you up in the middle of the night. My clients who have lost work because of an injury admit that a cold, hard fear about money takes root firmly and grows. You can get to sleep, but you can't stay asleep. Fear of mounting bills wakes you with a start in the cold, lonely part of the early morning. You lay there in the dark worrying and worrying.

There were victories to celebrate, too. They included Bill's satisfaction the first time the brace was off and he could once again button his own shirt, and his triumph when he completed in three or four days an antique project that would have taken an hour before the crash. When he told me how good it felt, it reminded me of the value of self-respect.

Now, after being married for over 30 years, one of our fondest memories is the first short canoe trip we took into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in northern Minnesota years after his injury. Bill's physician had finally granted permission for him to paddle and carry light loads. Sleeping on the ground is no great joy even to a person without back problems, but the satisfaction on Bill's face let me know that just getting to that island campsite was worth it.

A French philosopher once said, "God is in the details." I like to think "the truth is in the details."

It is through details that juries come to understand the depth of the injuries defendants inflict--not just on the body but also on the spirit. The most important lesson that I have learned is to ask my clients not just "What can you not do now that you could before your injury," but also to ask "How does that make you feel?"

Loss of identity

How has this experience applied to my cases? After Bill's injury, I learned that in our society work defines who we are. If you lose the ability to work, you have lost a most basic part of your identity. I ask potential jurors to tell me a little about themselves, and, invariably, right out of the box, they tell me what they do for a living. During closing, I remind jurors of how they described themselves in terms of their jobs during jury selection. They often nod in understanding.

More than 20 years ago, my first solo trial involved a crusty old St. Paul, Minnesota, police officer with an exacerbation of a back problem but only $822 in medical expenses. Glenn had started the firearms safety training course for the St. Paul Police Department.

He had been a firearms trainer until he tripped on an uneven sidewalk while running to catch the bus to work. As a result, he was forced to take early retirement because he could no longer assume all the firing positions.

When Glenn described at trial how it made him feel to give up the training program he had molded and that had won national awards, the jury got a glimpse of how deeply he had been hurt by this seemingly minor injury.

That first trial started the week after the city had received back-to-back record snowfalls of almost 22 inches each. I asked Glenn's wife who had shoveled that snow. She said that she had--with her husband watching her work through their picture window.

Then I asked Glenn how it made him feel when he watched her do his job. He was shocked at the question; I hadn't told him it was coming. "Like less than a man, like less than a man," he murmured. The judge granted a recess so the crusty cop and several jurors could compose themselves. The jury returned a substantial verdict in favor of Glenn.

Life changes

Other clients have found that changes in their lives after their injuries have taken away important parts of their identity. Last year I represented a woman who lost the use of her dominant right arm when silicone from her ruptured breast implant migrated down her arm and caused silicone granulomas that impinged on her nerves. Emily was a red angus cattle breeder. She and her husband, Dave, had scratched a cutting-edge business out of not much more than sheer determination and an incredible work ethic.

When I visited their home in the foothills of Montana's Crazy Mountains to prepare for their depositions, I was struck by two things. First, there were numerous older pictures of Emily with blond "big hair" scattered throughout the house. Now, she wore her hair much shorter, which I thought looked great.

I asked her about her "big hair."

"That was my signature hair," she said. "Everybody in the red angus business knew me by my signature hair."

`Why did you cut it?" I asked.

"I can't get my arm up to hold the curling iron," she replied slowly.

"How did you feel when you cut it?" I asked.

Emily's face sagged as she responded. "It was like I lost my whole personality. People keep coming up to Dave and asking what happened to his wife. It's like I'm not even there anymore."

Later, Emily took me out to show me her bulls. She had to get the ranch hand to open the gate for her because her shoulder muscle had been removed, but then out into the bull pen we went. As we approached, two red angus bulls, weighing over 2,000 pounds each, lumbered to their feet and docilely allowed Emily to pet their foreheads.

Dave was upset with Emily for being out in the bulls' pen. She explained that in the old days she had always walked freely among her cattle, but she wasn't supposed to now because her six surgeries had left her so weak and slow that she couldn't get out of the way quickly enough if there was trouble.

"How does that make you feel?" I asked.

"This ranch has been my life," she replied. "Now I am a prisoner in my own home. It's almost worse than not being here at all."

After Emily explained these feelings at her deposition, defense counsel responded that she was "an impressive woman" and recommended that his client settle her case.

The truth really is in these details--details you will only get if you ask the simple question, "How does that make you feel?" Ask that question and you, too, will be able to do better for people.

Martha K. Wivell practices law throughout the country and is with Robins, Kaplan, Miller & Ciresi in Minneapolis.

RELATED ARTICLE: WHEN IS AN EMPLOYEE TOO OLD?

Case Study Number Seven

The company Herbert Smith worked for felt he was too old. When he sued his former employer, a jury found that Mr. Smith had been discriminated against due to his age and awarded him a substantial money judgment. However, the euphoria surrounding his hard-won victory turned out to be short lived. His former employer appealed the verdict. Mr. Smith, unemployed at the time, could not afford to wait for the uncertain outcome of the appeal. Just when he thought his luck was running out, Mr. Smith discovered a financial miracle. His trial attorneys from the Penn Legal Assistance Office at the University of Pennsylvania Law School discovered a novel concept in legal financing--selling a portion of a money judgment on appeal, called Appeal Finance.[TM] With this source of financing, Mr. Smith was able to cover his living expenses, and hire Alice Ballard, a very experienced appellate attorney, who defended the appeal and resolved the matter successfully for him."

Q Where did Mr. Smith receive the additional capital needed?

ATTORNEY ALICE BALLARD:

"Through a unique company called LawFinance Group and its AppealFinance[TM]Program. The lawyer-founded company was the first to offer a funding program for plaintiffs' attorneys and their clients with money judgments on appeal. By purchasing an interest in the judgment on appeal, LawFinance Group helped level the playing field for Mr. Smith."

Q Did they get involved in the case?

ATTORNEY ALICE BALLARD:

"No. They did not get involved in the case or in how the money was spent at any point during the process. With the additional financing Mr. Smith was able to hire our firm to fight the appeal. The money helped to ease the emotional and financial strain Mr. Smith was under because of the appeal."

Q Did you consider the ethics of such an arrangement?

ATTORNEY ALICE BALLARD:

"Yes. LawFinance Group functioned solely as an investor, with zero interference in the attorney-client relationship. They only provided financial assistance. LawFinance Group never looked over my shoulder. They were totally hands off. LawFinance Group has a keen understanding of the importance of ethical considerations. Their AppealFinance concept was well received by Professor Geoffrey Hazard, expert on legal ethics at the University of Pennsylvania Law School in Philadelphia."

SINCE 1995, LawFinance Group Inc., based in San Francisco, has been helping trial lawyers and plaintiffs finance appeals against many deep-packet defendants by purchasing portions of money judgments on appeal with their unique AppealFinance[TM] Program. It has received the endorsement of the Association of Trial Lawyers of America (ATLA) among many other organizations. LawFinance Group offers attorneys and plaintiffs financial assistance during the appellate process.

LawFinance Group, Inc. can be reached at 800.572.1986Ext. A or at www.lawfinance.com