This has been a very good week for me.
First, my daughter has been accepted into three graduate schools including the school that had been her first choice. She will also receive a prestigious scholarship. Now she can march forward with her goal to become a clinical psychologist. Most of all, she wants to help people and improve the world. What would be better than that?
Second, Barack Obama, finally became presidential with both the health care reform victory and the arms reduction treaty with Russia. At last I am seeing the man that I voted for. His autographed photograph hangs in my office and is not coming down anytime soon.
To borrow a bit from Joe Biden, this has been a good f***ing week.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Gerry Spence
Perhaps the greatest living trial lawyer in America is Gerry Spence of Jackson, Wyoming.
But why is this the case? What is Spence’s special gift? How did Gerry Spence become to trial practice what Albert Einstein was once to physics?
Reasonable minds might disagree on the source of Spence’s courtroom talent. Some point to his strong personality and imposing physical presence. Others believe that Spence’s power lies in his deep voice, which he plays like a musical instrument. Then there is Spence’s use of psychodrama as a trial preparation tool. Perhaps all of these have played some role in his success. But I think Spence’s genius lies in his creativity. He always seems to find a unique and different way of looking at a case. Then he communicates his vision so effectively to the jury that they are compelled to share in it. Gerry Spence never loses.
The truth is that most lawyers try cases in a very predictable manner. Their minds have been programmed to work that way. They prepare for trial in almost an assembly line fashion, much in the same way that cars are built. Yes, they might have been told the value of storytelling and the necessity of developing a trial theme, but often the chosen theme is so obvious and predictable that a fifth grader could have thought of it while walking home from school. Gerry Spence never makes this mistake. His themes are custom designed. They invoke emotions of righteous indignation. They are arrows to the heart.
Gerry Spence once tried a case against McDonalds in Chicago that involved the breach of an oral agreement for the sale of ice cream cones. Most lawyers probably would have turned that case down. Who in this day and age could even imagine the concept of an oral agreement involving millions of dollars? To the contrary, we live in a time in which important contracts are not only reduced to writing but have grown to the length of short novels, rife with definitions, obligations, exceptions to the obligations and then exceptions to the exceptions. To suggest the existence of an oral agreement with a major corporation the size of McDonalds almost hinted of naivety. But Spence looked at the issue in a different way. He reached into the past, to a time when a man’s word was considered to be his bond. And then he asked the jury to “put honor back into a handshake.” They did: $52,000,000.00 worth. It was, at the time, the highest verdict in the history of the State of Illinois.
More recently Gerry Spence defended attorney Geoffrey Fieger, who stood accused of violating campaign contribution laws. It was claimed that Fieger illegally circumvented federal limits on campaign contributions by having other people make donations to the John Edward’s presidential campaign, after which Fieger would provide reimbursement for the donations. The trial judge ruled that this amounted to a violation of the law, and on the surface at least, the case seemed incapable of defense. But as usual, Spence found the Achilles heel. No crime could have been committed if Fieger did not know that he was violating the law. And there was nothing in the language of the Act that specifically prohibited reimbursement. From this chip in the armor, Spence built his defense. He compared the prosecution to a police officer writing tickets to motorists for disobeying traffic signs that did not have anything written upon them. He talked about housewives, without any income, being prosecuted for making political donations to candidates simply because their husbands gave them the money to do so. He compared the government’s over-zealous arrest of Fieger to the now discredited “shock and awe” invasion of Iraq in 2003. He noted that many decisions of the United States Supreme Court were decided by a five to four vote, suggesting that reasonable minds can disagree as to a law’s meaning. Not surprisingly, Fieger was acquitted on all counts.
Of course this all leads to a bigger question of whether creativity can be taught, and learned. I don’t know the answer. But I do know that to the trial lawyer, creativity is life’s golden goose.
But why is this the case? What is Spence’s special gift? How did Gerry Spence become to trial practice what Albert Einstein was once to physics?
Reasonable minds might disagree on the source of Spence’s courtroom talent. Some point to his strong personality and imposing physical presence. Others believe that Spence’s power lies in his deep voice, which he plays like a musical instrument. Then there is Spence’s use of psychodrama as a trial preparation tool. Perhaps all of these have played some role in his success. But I think Spence’s genius lies in his creativity. He always seems to find a unique and different way of looking at a case. Then he communicates his vision so effectively to the jury that they are compelled to share in it. Gerry Spence never loses.
The truth is that most lawyers try cases in a very predictable manner. Their minds have been programmed to work that way. They prepare for trial in almost an assembly line fashion, much in the same way that cars are built. Yes, they might have been told the value of storytelling and the necessity of developing a trial theme, but often the chosen theme is so obvious and predictable that a fifth grader could have thought of it while walking home from school. Gerry Spence never makes this mistake. His themes are custom designed. They invoke emotions of righteous indignation. They are arrows to the heart.
Gerry Spence once tried a case against McDonalds in Chicago that involved the breach of an oral agreement for the sale of ice cream cones. Most lawyers probably would have turned that case down. Who in this day and age could even imagine the concept of an oral agreement involving millions of dollars? To the contrary, we live in a time in which important contracts are not only reduced to writing but have grown to the length of short novels, rife with definitions, obligations, exceptions to the obligations and then exceptions to the exceptions. To suggest the existence of an oral agreement with a major corporation the size of McDonalds almost hinted of naivety. But Spence looked at the issue in a different way. He reached into the past, to a time when a man’s word was considered to be his bond. And then he asked the jury to “put honor back into a handshake.” They did: $52,000,000.00 worth. It was, at the time, the highest verdict in the history of the State of Illinois.
More recently Gerry Spence defended attorney Geoffrey Fieger, who stood accused of violating campaign contribution laws. It was claimed that Fieger illegally circumvented federal limits on campaign contributions by having other people make donations to the John Edward’s presidential campaign, after which Fieger would provide reimbursement for the donations. The trial judge ruled that this amounted to a violation of the law, and on the surface at least, the case seemed incapable of defense. But as usual, Spence found the Achilles heel. No crime could have been committed if Fieger did not know that he was violating the law. And there was nothing in the language of the Act that specifically prohibited reimbursement. From this chip in the armor, Spence built his defense. He compared the prosecution to a police officer writing tickets to motorists for disobeying traffic signs that did not have anything written upon them. He talked about housewives, without any income, being prosecuted for making political donations to candidates simply because their husbands gave them the money to do so. He compared the government’s over-zealous arrest of Fieger to the now discredited “shock and awe” invasion of Iraq in 2003. He noted that many decisions of the United States Supreme Court were decided by a five to four vote, suggesting that reasonable minds can disagree as to a law’s meaning. Not surprisingly, Fieger was acquitted on all counts.
Of course this all leads to a bigger question of whether creativity can be taught, and learned. I don’t know the answer. But I do know that to the trial lawyer, creativity is life’s golden goose.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The 88th Best American Film Ever Made
Yesterday I attended a screening of the film Easy Rider. Peter Fonda, the star, producer and co-writer of the film was there.
Going to this screening, I could not help but wonder if Easy Rider has stood the test of time. After all, it is ranked by the American Film Institute as 88th in its list of the greatest American movies ever made. But Easy Rider debuted in 1969, over 40 years ago. To say that times have changed would be a gross understatement. And so, in the end, the short answer is “no.” Easy Rider is a good but not great film.
As everybody knows, Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper are the anti-heroes in Easy Rider. They play two young drug-dealing potheads who have made a big score. Now they are making a cross-country excursion from California to Florida where they intend to retire. Along the way they meet a variety of characters, some interesting, some not and some simply strange.
But the music is very good and the cinematography is actually outstanding. Particularly compelling are the scenes of Fonda and Hopper driving their choppers on two-lane blacktop often oblivious to the majestic beauty of America, which serves as a spectacular backdrop to their journey.
On the way they meet a farmer with a large family. They make some small talk over dinner about a man doing his own thing in his own time. Next they visit a commune, but it is the kind of place where I wouldn't last for even an hour. They are given a tablet of LSD to quarter and to use at the right time with the right people.
Next they crash a parade and wind up getting arrested. Apparently the cops don't discover the tablet of acid or the money that has been hidden in the tank of Fonda's motorcycle. But it is at this point that a young Jack Nicholson appears and a very mediocre film is suddenly elevated to something meaningful. Later, Nicholson gives a remarkable speech about how many Americans embrace the word but not the concept of freedom. This is actually the best part of the film. Unfortunately Nicholson's time in the movie is much too short.
Thereafter Fonda and Hopper arrive in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, and visit a brothel that Nicholson had told them about. While there, Fonda receives a premonition about his death.
Next Fonda and Hopper head to a cemetery with two prostitutes where they all drop acid and experience a bad trip. In my opinion, the bad trip is unnecessary and takes much too long. If it happened earlier in the film, you would go out to buy more popcorn.
Fonda and Hopper then resume their pilgrimage towards Florida. But before reaching their destination, Fonda announces to Hopper at a campfire, "We blew it." Hopper seems to wonder what Fonda is talking about, and frankly, so did I. Perhaps Fonda was suggesting that there are more important things in life than money and that one shouldn't sell drugs to get rich. Or perhaps this statement was supposed to suggest that these bikers represented a corrupt corporate culture in which money, however obtained, reigns supreme no matter the human casualties. Or maybe it simply means that Fonda and Hopper should have stayed at the commune.
But for me, the poignant part of the evening was the presence of Peter Fonda himself. A table was set up for him in the lobby of the theater. He sat there, indoors at night, wearing aviator sunglasses. Signs indicated that anyone wanting to meet Peter would have to (a) buy a ticket to the screening and (b) purchase a photograph from another table (for $20.00), which Peter would then autograph. For another $20.00 you could get a picture taken with Peter while standing behind a motorcycle.
Many of the autograph seekers appeared to be in their 60's and were dressed in motorcycle regalia. Some came with Easy Rider DVD's for Peter to autograph and one man actually had a miniature model of the motorcycle that Peter rode in the film. One sensed that if Easy Rider ran at midnight every weekend like The Rocky Horror Picture Show, many of these folks would be in attendance.
Prior to the film starting, it was announced that Peter was not feeling well. And so he would address the crowd after the film rather than before. He did so for a few minutes.
By the time we left the theater, Peter was back in the lobby signing autographs. And I remembered that he had once been nominated for an academy award for his performance in Ulee's Gold, an outstanding film.
Unfortunately there will not be any special screenings for that.
Going to this screening, I could not help but wonder if Easy Rider has stood the test of time. After all, it is ranked by the American Film Institute as 88th in its list of the greatest American movies ever made. But Easy Rider debuted in 1969, over 40 years ago. To say that times have changed would be a gross understatement. And so, in the end, the short answer is “no.” Easy Rider is a good but not great film.
As everybody knows, Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper are the anti-heroes in Easy Rider. They play two young drug-dealing potheads who have made a big score. Now they are making a cross-country excursion from California to Florida where they intend to retire. Along the way they meet a variety of characters, some interesting, some not and some simply strange.
But the music is very good and the cinematography is actually outstanding. Particularly compelling are the scenes of Fonda and Hopper driving their choppers on two-lane blacktop often oblivious to the majestic beauty of America, which serves as a spectacular backdrop to their journey.
On the way they meet a farmer with a large family. They make some small talk over dinner about a man doing his own thing in his own time. Next they visit a commune, but it is the kind of place where I wouldn't last for even an hour. They are given a tablet of LSD to quarter and to use at the right time with the right people.
Next they crash a parade and wind up getting arrested. Apparently the cops don't discover the tablet of acid or the money that has been hidden in the tank of Fonda's motorcycle. But it is at this point that a young Jack Nicholson appears and a very mediocre film is suddenly elevated to something meaningful. Later, Nicholson gives a remarkable speech about how many Americans embrace the word but not the concept of freedom. This is actually the best part of the film. Unfortunately Nicholson's time in the movie is much too short.
Thereafter Fonda and Hopper arrive in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, and visit a brothel that Nicholson had told them about. While there, Fonda receives a premonition about his death.
Next Fonda and Hopper head to a cemetery with two prostitutes where they all drop acid and experience a bad trip. In my opinion, the bad trip is unnecessary and takes much too long. If it happened earlier in the film, you would go out to buy more popcorn.
Fonda and Hopper then resume their pilgrimage towards Florida. But before reaching their destination, Fonda announces to Hopper at a campfire, "We blew it." Hopper seems to wonder what Fonda is talking about, and frankly, so did I. Perhaps Fonda was suggesting that there are more important things in life than money and that one shouldn't sell drugs to get rich. Or perhaps this statement was supposed to suggest that these bikers represented a corrupt corporate culture in which money, however obtained, reigns supreme no matter the human casualties. Or maybe it simply means that Fonda and Hopper should have stayed at the commune.
But for me, the poignant part of the evening was the presence of Peter Fonda himself. A table was set up for him in the lobby of the theater. He sat there, indoors at night, wearing aviator sunglasses. Signs indicated that anyone wanting to meet Peter would have to (a) buy a ticket to the screening and (b) purchase a photograph from another table (for $20.00), which Peter would then autograph. For another $20.00 you could get a picture taken with Peter while standing behind a motorcycle.
Many of the autograph seekers appeared to be in their 60's and were dressed in motorcycle regalia. Some came with Easy Rider DVD's for Peter to autograph and one man actually had a miniature model of the motorcycle that Peter rode in the film. One sensed that if Easy Rider ran at midnight every weekend like The Rocky Horror Picture Show, many of these folks would be in attendance.
Prior to the film starting, it was announced that Peter was not feeling well. And so he would address the crowd after the film rather than before. He did so for a few minutes.
By the time we left the theater, Peter was back in the lobby signing autographs. And I remembered that he had once been nominated for an academy award for his performance in Ulee's Gold, an outstanding film.
Unfortunately there will not be any special screenings for that.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
DEATHBED DIVORCE
The tabloids are abuzz with news that actor Dennis Hopper, allegedly terminally ill with prostate cancer, commenced divorce proceedings this month against his wife.
As one would expect, issues of undue influence and competency are being raised. On the other hand, Hollywood folks tend to treat marriage and divorce a little bit more casually than the rest of us. Still, the concept of a person choosing to divorce one’s spouse as his final act on the planet seems unusual if not bizarre
Of course all lawyers know that court calendars generally move rather slowly. This fact alone introduces a dramatic “race against time” element into the saga.
But one thing we should not do is confuse Dennis Hopper, the person, with his screen persona. Indeed, the film characters played by Dennis Hopper have often been typecast as crazed and maniacal. In Blue Velvet he played a violent sociopath. In Speed his character was a terrorist who wanted to blow up a bus.
But he was also a director and a writer. Indeed, he has directed a film that the American Film Institute has listed as being among the top 100 best cinematic achievements in American history. So maybe we should give Dennis the benefit of the doubt.
I am a lawyer, but I no longer handle divorce cases. None. When somebody calls me seeking a divorce, I generally try and talk him or her out of it. “Stay married and forgive everything” has become my mantra. But nobody listens to me. Instead they go to other lawyers and file divorce proceedings nonetheless. And of course there are other points of view. One divorce attorney in Chicago used a billboard truck to convey the following message: Life’s short. Get a divorce. This message apparently suggests that one’s marriage should be evaluated by looking at the sand remaining at the top of the hourglass rather than dwelling upon the sand that has collected at the bottom. In any event, Dennis, presumably, is looking at very little sand.
Of course most lawyers know that there is really no such thing as divorce. Oh, the judge will sign some papers declaring that you are divorced, but in the end it carries about as much significance as money left under a child’s pillow by the tooth fairy. You can believe you are divorced if you want to. But more likely the case will be immediately reassigned to a “post-decree calendar” which means that the fighting will simply continue in another courtroom and with another judge. As a practical matter, marriage really does mean until death do we part.
Except for Dennis Hopper. Because he is dying, Dennis is actually in a position to beat the system. There will be no “post decree” court for Dennis who apparently wants to die a single man. Perhaps that goal is keeping him alive. Maybe the only thing left on Dennis’ bucket list is to hold that certified decree in his hands, smile, close his eyes and start driving that great chopper in the sky.
As one would expect, issues of undue influence and competency are being raised. On the other hand, Hollywood folks tend to treat marriage and divorce a little bit more casually than the rest of us. Still, the concept of a person choosing to divorce one’s spouse as his final act on the planet seems unusual if not bizarre
Of course all lawyers know that court calendars generally move rather slowly. This fact alone introduces a dramatic “race against time” element into the saga.
But one thing we should not do is confuse Dennis Hopper, the person, with his screen persona. Indeed, the film characters played by Dennis Hopper have often been typecast as crazed and maniacal. In Blue Velvet he played a violent sociopath. In Speed his character was a terrorist who wanted to blow up a bus.
But he was also a director and a writer. Indeed, he has directed a film that the American Film Institute has listed as being among the top 100 best cinematic achievements in American history. So maybe we should give Dennis the benefit of the doubt.
I am a lawyer, but I no longer handle divorce cases. None. When somebody calls me seeking a divorce, I generally try and talk him or her out of it. “Stay married and forgive everything” has become my mantra. But nobody listens to me. Instead they go to other lawyers and file divorce proceedings nonetheless. And of course there are other points of view. One divorce attorney in Chicago used a billboard truck to convey the following message: Life’s short. Get a divorce. This message apparently suggests that one’s marriage should be evaluated by looking at the sand remaining at the top of the hourglass rather than dwelling upon the sand that has collected at the bottom. In any event, Dennis, presumably, is looking at very little sand.
Of course most lawyers know that there is really no such thing as divorce. Oh, the judge will sign some papers declaring that you are divorced, but in the end it carries about as much significance as money left under a child’s pillow by the tooth fairy. You can believe you are divorced if you want to. But more likely the case will be immediately reassigned to a “post-decree calendar” which means that the fighting will simply continue in another courtroom and with another judge. As a practical matter, marriage really does mean until death do we part.
Except for Dennis Hopper. Because he is dying, Dennis is actually in a position to beat the system. There will be no “post decree” court for Dennis who apparently wants to die a single man. Perhaps that goal is keeping him alive. Maybe the only thing left on Dennis’ bucket list is to hold that certified decree in his hands, smile, close his eyes and start driving that great chopper in the sky.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
HEARSAY, SCHMEARSAY
If there is anybody left who believes that criminal defendants are presumed innocent in the courts of America?
And what about the case where “everybody knows” that a person is guilty of a crime but admissible evidence of such guilt is lacking? Is it acceptable for a governmental body to enact a new law that will make the inadmissible evidence admissible? Illinois legislators think so. And the case in question is People of the State of Illinois v. Drew Peterson.
For those unfamiliar with this case, Drew Peterson is a former police officer. He has been married four times. In 2007 his fourth wife, Stacy, disappeared. Prior to that, in 2004, the body of his third wife, Kathleen Savio, was found in a bathtub. Her death was initially ruled as an accidental drowning.
But following Stacy’s disappearance, new interest developed concerning the death of Kathleen Savio. Her body was exhumed and a forensic examination performed. The medical examiner concluded that Kathleen Savio died of drowning following a struggle. The coroner then reclassified Kathleen Savio’s death as homicide staged to look like an accident. The suspect was Drew Peterson.
But Drew Peterson continued to proclaim his innocence while thumbing his nose at prosecutors. He even consented to interviews on television news shows. As for the Will County States Attorney, he may have wanted to charge Drew Peterson but his entire case could be summarized in four simple words: smoke but no fire.
As the facts of the case have became better known, it was reported that prior to her demise Kathleen Savio allegedly told a police officer that she had learned of an affair between Drew Peterson and Stacy, the now missing woman who was later to become Peterson’s forth wife. Savio also allegedly complained that Drew Peterson was physically abusive and that she was afraid that he might kill her. The problem was that with Kathleen Savio being dead, these statements were strictly hearsay remarks incapable of being cross-examined. They would not be admissible at trial.
And so, on December 8, 2008, the State of Illinois enacted a new law. Codified as 725 ILCS 5/115-10.6, the law is entitled: Hearsay exception for intentional murder of a witness. Nicknamed the Drew Peterson law, the statute provides that hearsay evidence may be admissible if three criteria are met:
(1) first, that the adverse party murdered the declarant and that the murder was intended to cause the unavailability of the declarant as a witness;
(2) second, that the time, content, and circumstances of the statements provide sufficient safeguards of reliability;
(3) third, the interests of justice will best be served by admission of the statement into evidence.
For criminal defense lawyers, this statute creates a WTF moment.
For example, the statute is supposedly designed to create guidelines for the admissibility of evidence that might establish a defendant’s guilt. But the very first paragraph of the statute requires a finding that the defendant is already guilty of the murder charge for which he stands accused. This is circular reasoning. This is a dog chasing its tail. And what about the presumption of innocence?
The second paragraph requires the judge to determine that the statement or statements are sufficiently reliable to be admitted into evidence. But nowhere in the statute are guidelines established to determine such reliability. This is like an umpire being asked to call balls and strikes without first defining the strike zone. That being said, allow for the possibility that reliability will be proportional to the amount of media attention being given to the case.
The final paragraph, that “the interests of justice will best be served by admission of the statement” is simply Kafkaesque. The “interests of justice?” What’s that? The language of paragraph three is really a secret code for the judge. Translated, it means: everybody knows this defendant committed the crime - just get it done.
We live in an up side down world. Lip service is paid to constitutional guarantees, even as they are being erased.
We can expect more statutes like this in the future.
And what about the case where “everybody knows” that a person is guilty of a crime but admissible evidence of such guilt is lacking? Is it acceptable for a governmental body to enact a new law that will make the inadmissible evidence admissible? Illinois legislators think so. And the case in question is People of the State of Illinois v. Drew Peterson.
For those unfamiliar with this case, Drew Peterson is a former police officer. He has been married four times. In 2007 his fourth wife, Stacy, disappeared. Prior to that, in 2004, the body of his third wife, Kathleen Savio, was found in a bathtub. Her death was initially ruled as an accidental drowning.
But following Stacy’s disappearance, new interest developed concerning the death of Kathleen Savio. Her body was exhumed and a forensic examination performed. The medical examiner concluded that Kathleen Savio died of drowning following a struggle. The coroner then reclassified Kathleen Savio’s death as homicide staged to look like an accident. The suspect was Drew Peterson.
But Drew Peterson continued to proclaim his innocence while thumbing his nose at prosecutors. He even consented to interviews on television news shows. As for the Will County States Attorney, he may have wanted to charge Drew Peterson but his entire case could be summarized in four simple words: smoke but no fire.
As the facts of the case have became better known, it was reported that prior to her demise Kathleen Savio allegedly told a police officer that she had learned of an affair between Drew Peterson and Stacy, the now missing woman who was later to become Peterson’s forth wife. Savio also allegedly complained that Drew Peterson was physically abusive and that she was afraid that he might kill her. The problem was that with Kathleen Savio being dead, these statements were strictly hearsay remarks incapable of being cross-examined. They would not be admissible at trial.
And so, on December 8, 2008, the State of Illinois enacted a new law. Codified as 725 ILCS 5/115-10.6, the law is entitled: Hearsay exception for intentional murder of a witness. Nicknamed the Drew Peterson law, the statute provides that hearsay evidence may be admissible if three criteria are met:
(1) first, that the adverse party murdered the declarant and that the murder was intended to cause the unavailability of the declarant as a witness;
(2) second, that the time, content, and circumstances of the statements provide sufficient safeguards of reliability;
(3) third, the interests of justice will best be served by admission of the statement into evidence.
For criminal defense lawyers, this statute creates a WTF moment.
For example, the statute is supposedly designed to create guidelines for the admissibility of evidence that might establish a defendant’s guilt. But the very first paragraph of the statute requires a finding that the defendant is already guilty of the murder charge for which he stands accused. This is circular reasoning. This is a dog chasing its tail. And what about the presumption of innocence?
The second paragraph requires the judge to determine that the statement or statements are sufficiently reliable to be admitted into evidence. But nowhere in the statute are guidelines established to determine such reliability. This is like an umpire being asked to call balls and strikes without first defining the strike zone. That being said, allow for the possibility that reliability will be proportional to the amount of media attention being given to the case.
The final paragraph, that “the interests of justice will best be served by admission of the statement” is simply Kafkaesque. The “interests of justice?” What’s that? The language of paragraph three is really a secret code for the judge. Translated, it means: everybody knows this defendant committed the crime - just get it done.
We live in an up side down world. Lip service is paid to constitutional guarantees, even as they are being erased.
We can expect more statutes like this in the future.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
THE BACHELOR
Today I move away from the seriousness of the law to the triviality of network television.
Last night I saw a train wreck of a show called The Bachelor. Actually, I only watched about 40 minutes of the program. It’s pretty horrible. I don’t plan on watching it again.
But first: where does this show come from? It seems to be a blend of a television show from decades ago called The Dating Game and the current, immensely popular, American Idol.
The Dating Game was also pretty bad and it worked like this: A bachelor would ask questions of three bachelorettes who were hidden from his view by a screen. Based upon the answers, he would choose one of the three and they would go on a date to some exotic location. Sometimes the roles were reversed and a bachelorette would have to choose from among three bachelors.
On The Dating Game, the questions were usually lame and designed to evoke mildly suggestive responses. For example, a bachelorette might ask, “Bachelor number one. If I were a fish, what kind of bait would you use to catch me?” And then bachelor number one would have to show that he was on his toes by coming back with a provocative and titillating response.
The Dating Game also made a big deal of announcing that the dates of its winners were chaperoned. And so I developed this mental image of the bachelor and the bachelorette occupying different hotel rooms while an armed chaperone patrolled the hallway preventing any late night booty calls and a resulting network scandal.
Of course everyone is familiar with American Idol. That show features genuinely talented young people performing song and dance routines, with the television audience paring down the numbers on a weekly basis until finally there is only one person left. That person is then crowned the new American Idol.
But now back to The Bachelor.
The premise of the show seems to be that a bachelor dates a throng of different women, but each week must eliminate some until only one is left. I learned this morning that the show is supposed to culminate with an actual marriage proposal.
But frankly, I found the show to be offensive. First romantic relationships are important and should not be forced or trivialized. Second, the show was demeaning to women. I mean here is a guy who has his choice from among many attractive partners and I don’t even know how he remembers all of their names. On the other hand, the women have to vie for the attention of just this one man. And vie they do.
These women then go out on little dates with the bachelor and they are followed around with cameras and sound equipment. These dates typically culminate with some predictable dialogue about whether there has been “a connection.” The dates also end with some of the women looking weepy and desperate.
But the show itself culminates with something called “the rose ceremony.” The women are all brought together in one room and the bachelor is given some roses to hand out to them. The problem is that there are fewer roses than women. So one by one the bachelor will hand a rose to a woman, the significance being that the woman will return for another round of dangling. Finally there are only three women left but just one rose. The host of the show passes the rose to the bachelor and makes an announcement that “this is the final rose of the night.” The bachelor then gives the final rose to one of the three remaining women, which means that two are about to be tossed off the ship. But the bachelor, forever the gentleman, says his fond goodbyes to the non-rose women. He is very polite and proper, tells them about how they are good people, how difficult it was to choose and blah, blah, blah. The losers then go off crying. I would have preferred to have one of them slap the bachelor in the face and tell him that he can keep his freaking rose. But nobody seems to have a thick skin on this show.
It also occurred to me that these twenty-somethings just didn’t seem to have much practical knowledge about relationships. They are not old enough. They have not been around the block.
Perhaps the producers should develop a spinoff of The Bachelor called "The Ex" in which all of the people are older, divorced and have returned from the front lines of failed relationships. Now that is a show that I would watch at least once.
Last night I saw a train wreck of a show called The Bachelor. Actually, I only watched about 40 minutes of the program. It’s pretty horrible. I don’t plan on watching it again.
But first: where does this show come from? It seems to be a blend of a television show from decades ago called The Dating Game and the current, immensely popular, American Idol.
The Dating Game was also pretty bad and it worked like this: A bachelor would ask questions of three bachelorettes who were hidden from his view by a screen. Based upon the answers, he would choose one of the three and they would go on a date to some exotic location. Sometimes the roles were reversed and a bachelorette would have to choose from among three bachelors.
On The Dating Game, the questions were usually lame and designed to evoke mildly suggestive responses. For example, a bachelorette might ask, “Bachelor number one. If I were a fish, what kind of bait would you use to catch me?” And then bachelor number one would have to show that he was on his toes by coming back with a provocative and titillating response.
The Dating Game also made a big deal of announcing that the dates of its winners were chaperoned. And so I developed this mental image of the bachelor and the bachelorette occupying different hotel rooms while an armed chaperone patrolled the hallway preventing any late night booty calls and a resulting network scandal.
Of course everyone is familiar with American Idol. That show features genuinely talented young people performing song and dance routines, with the television audience paring down the numbers on a weekly basis until finally there is only one person left. That person is then crowned the new American Idol.
But now back to The Bachelor.
The premise of the show seems to be that a bachelor dates a throng of different women, but each week must eliminate some until only one is left. I learned this morning that the show is supposed to culminate with an actual marriage proposal.
But frankly, I found the show to be offensive. First romantic relationships are important and should not be forced or trivialized. Second, the show was demeaning to women. I mean here is a guy who has his choice from among many attractive partners and I don’t even know how he remembers all of their names. On the other hand, the women have to vie for the attention of just this one man. And vie they do.
These women then go out on little dates with the bachelor and they are followed around with cameras and sound equipment. These dates typically culminate with some predictable dialogue about whether there has been “a connection.” The dates also end with some of the women looking weepy and desperate.
But the show itself culminates with something called “the rose ceremony.” The women are all brought together in one room and the bachelor is given some roses to hand out to them. The problem is that there are fewer roses than women. So one by one the bachelor will hand a rose to a woman, the significance being that the woman will return for another round of dangling. Finally there are only three women left but just one rose. The host of the show passes the rose to the bachelor and makes an announcement that “this is the final rose of the night.” The bachelor then gives the final rose to one of the three remaining women, which means that two are about to be tossed off the ship. But the bachelor, forever the gentleman, says his fond goodbyes to the non-rose women. He is very polite and proper, tells them about how they are good people, how difficult it was to choose and blah, blah, blah. The losers then go off crying. I would have preferred to have one of them slap the bachelor in the face and tell him that he can keep his freaking rose. But nobody seems to have a thick skin on this show.
It also occurred to me that these twenty-somethings just didn’t seem to have much practical knowledge about relationships. They are not old enough. They have not been around the block.
Perhaps the producers should develop a spinoff of The Bachelor called "The Ex" in which all of the people are older, divorced and have returned from the front lines of failed relationships. Now that is a show that I would watch at least once.
Monday, January 18, 2010
IT AIN'T WHAT IT USED TO BE, BUT IT'LL DO
Becoming a plaintiffs'personal injury lawyer in 2010 is a little like becoming a cowboy in 1910. The landscape has changed drastically over the past thirty or forty years.
Propaganda spawned by the insurance industry has influenced juror attitudes even before the summons for jury service has been received. Today’s prospective juror probably believes, incorrectly, that the courts are drowning in a sea of frivolous lawsuits, that verdicts are spiraling out of control and that the American civil justice system is a slot machine that always pays off. Certainly the advertising and websites of some law firms do little to dispel this belief. I regularly see some law firms advertise that they win 96% or 98% of their cases, which seems unlikely unless settlements are factored in - in which case everybody is doing it. Some law firms also list the “millions” of dollars they have won for their clients, similar to how McDonalds used to advertise the number of hamburgers it sold.
But times have changes and experienced lawyers know that. In truth, today's jurors are often skeptical about our clients and their cases. And if that weren’t bad enough, there are a lot of fingers in the litigation pie. If and when the jury awards the plaintiff a verdict, it is tantamount to opening up a picnic basket in the forest. Before you can ask who’s hungry, ants have appeared and the next thing you know they are crawling all over the sandwiches. Similarly a plaintiff's verdict may get eaten away by hospital liens, doctor liens, Medicare liens and health insurance liens. Sometimes an employer based ERISA plan will arrive at the scene taking the entire award for itself, leaving nothing behind for the plaintiff and his or her attorney. Adding to the bleak times: legislation designed to limit the amount of money that juries can award.
In this environment, one would think that plaintiffs’ lawyers would simply pick up their chips from the table and move on. But we don’t. Why? Because we can’t.
Consider Sam Peckinpah’s immortal film, The Wild Bunch. First released in 1969, the fictional events of the story take place in 1913.
The Wild Bunch is about antiheros. These are cowboys and the old west is dying. Being pursued for their crimes, they flee to Mexico where almost by inadvertence they become involved in a tug of war between the rebel forces of Pancho Villa and a corrupt national army. At the climax of the film, four members of the bunch sacrifice their lives in a violent act of redemption that liberates a small town from the savagery of a corrupt and sadistic Mexican general.
After the battle, only one member of the bunch remains: Freddie Sykes. Sykes encounters Deke Thornton, a former member of the bunch who had been forced at gunpoint to hunt them down. Now freed from these chains, Deke wants back in. But back into - what? The world that once existed and gave meaning to his life has evaporated. But Sykes welcomes Thornton back nonetheless with these final words that will define their future: It ain't what it used to be, but it’ll do.
That’s how it has become for plaintiffs' lawyers. The truth is that we are addicts and our addiction is to justice. It’s getting increasingly difficult for a plaintiff’s lawyer to obtain justice. But it still happens once in a while, and when it does, it is magical. And that’s what keeps us coming back.
It ain't what it used to be, but it’ll do.
Propaganda spawned by the insurance industry has influenced juror attitudes even before the summons for jury service has been received. Today’s prospective juror probably believes, incorrectly, that the courts are drowning in a sea of frivolous lawsuits, that verdicts are spiraling out of control and that the American civil justice system is a slot machine that always pays off. Certainly the advertising and websites of some law firms do little to dispel this belief. I regularly see some law firms advertise that they win 96% or 98% of their cases, which seems unlikely unless settlements are factored in - in which case everybody is doing it. Some law firms also list the “millions” of dollars they have won for their clients, similar to how McDonalds used to advertise the number of hamburgers it sold.
But times have changes and experienced lawyers know that. In truth, today's jurors are often skeptical about our clients and their cases. And if that weren’t bad enough, there are a lot of fingers in the litigation pie. If and when the jury awards the plaintiff a verdict, it is tantamount to opening up a picnic basket in the forest. Before you can ask who’s hungry, ants have appeared and the next thing you know they are crawling all over the sandwiches. Similarly a plaintiff's verdict may get eaten away by hospital liens, doctor liens, Medicare liens and health insurance liens. Sometimes an employer based ERISA plan will arrive at the scene taking the entire award for itself, leaving nothing behind for the plaintiff and his or her attorney. Adding to the bleak times: legislation designed to limit the amount of money that juries can award.
In this environment, one would think that plaintiffs’ lawyers would simply pick up their chips from the table and move on. But we don’t. Why? Because we can’t.
Consider Sam Peckinpah’s immortal film, The Wild Bunch. First released in 1969, the fictional events of the story take place in 1913.
The Wild Bunch is about antiheros. These are cowboys and the old west is dying. Being pursued for their crimes, they flee to Mexico where almost by inadvertence they become involved in a tug of war between the rebel forces of Pancho Villa and a corrupt national army. At the climax of the film, four members of the bunch sacrifice their lives in a violent act of redemption that liberates a small town from the savagery of a corrupt and sadistic Mexican general.
After the battle, only one member of the bunch remains: Freddie Sykes. Sykes encounters Deke Thornton, a former member of the bunch who had been forced at gunpoint to hunt them down. Now freed from these chains, Deke wants back in. But back into - what? The world that once existed and gave meaning to his life has evaporated. But Sykes welcomes Thornton back nonetheless with these final words that will define their future: It ain't what it used to be, but it’ll do.
That’s how it has become for plaintiffs' lawyers. The truth is that we are addicts and our addiction is to justice. It’s getting increasingly difficult for a plaintiff’s lawyer to obtain justice. But it still happens once in a while, and when it does, it is magical. And that’s what keeps us coming back.
It ain't what it used to be, but it’ll do.
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