Remembrance Of A Case Past

 So today I drove to the office, and traffic stopped me in front of 1492 South Miami Avenue. It used to be called the Columbus Building. Get it? Ha.

As I looked on the place, now headquarters of a big realty company named after the Spanish name for beer, or close to it, I had a funny memory.

The building held the office of a defense firm -- one of the lawyers was a fellow named Bruce. I'm pretty sure he's long gone. Over the years, Bruce defended several of our cases -- he was competent, and a nice guy in that old Riviera CC Republican sort of way.

My old boss Ed had a friend who was also a defense lawyer -- nicknamed Clem, after his middle name. Ed usually detested defense lawyers -- to him, they might as well have been Nazis, as they worked to keep money out of the mouths of grievously injured people -- often children!

But Clem was ok -- probably because Ed had taken advantage of him in several cases. Plus, they enjoyed drinking together. Clem was a partner at an old white shoe Miami firm -- Downtown. He had a secretary named who put in a LOT of overtime. She was a cool lady, and the two of them had an interesting method of billing hours: they'd take files many afternoons and book a room at the Mayfair Hotel -- so as not to be disturbed.

I always admired their commitment to the practice of law. Poor Clem died years ago, young, He was a chain smoker, and I think lung cancer got him. But back to the tale.

As he and his secretary were making their way to the Grove, an FPL truck ran the light at the complicated intersection where you head to Key Biscayne. Clem was hurt pretty badly -- taken to JMH by ambulance. He recovered, except for some permanent nerve damage that weakened and de-sensitized his hand.

He hired my old boss Ed to represent him. Bruce was defending the claim -- it was clear liability, and Ed and Clem thought Bruce, as a matter of professional courtesy, would settle the case for full value without much fanfare. Ha. As if! Bruce got all the dirt on Clem and his afternoon work-capades, and had Clem seen by a neurologist who of course opined that Clem's nerve damage was coincidental to, and not caused by, the accident.

My job was to take Clem to his depo -- at 1492. And that's where I saw something I still recall. Bruce was questioning Clem about the nerve damage -- wasn't Clem making it up? Clem sat back in his chair, and put his lighted cigarette into the palm of the affected hand, and slowly put it out! Wow. Even Bruce gasped.

Clem showed rather graphically that he was indeed hurt.

The case ended up settling. Years later, I was at Capital Grille, and Bruce was at the bar. He called me over, and we laughed about the deposition. I asked him if he felt like a jerk for torturing Clem, instead of recommending a quick settlement. He said "Hey -- I gotta make a living, you know."

And so things remain. The simpleton plaintiff's lawyer thinks there are favors to be obtained. Doesn't happen.

Sometimes you have to burn yourself to show you're really hurt.