The Ultimate Resolution

by Dave Sullivan

  Jake chose a scenic if not the fastest route. They drove in Professor Stanton's big Oldsmobile station wagon. Jake directed him up Interstate 35 to Forest Lake and across into Wisconsin on Highway 8. At Turtle Lake, they turned north on Highway 63 which would angle to the northwest all the way up to U. S. 2 just outside of Ashland at the bottom of the Bayfield Peninsula.

  It was a warm, sunny July day.

  "Wonderful day for a drive!" Professor Stanton studied the countryside ahead...both hands on the wheel. "The scenery is beautiful."

  "Wait 'til you see the Islands," said Jake.

  "Looking forward to it, my boy," said the Professor. "How long are you taking off?"

  "I start at Stratton, McMasters & Hines the first of the month. Maybe I should go in a few days early."

  "Aha!" laughed Stanton. "Such eagerness! All in good time, Jake. You'll have a lifetime to be a lawyer."

  As they traveled north, Jake thought about the state of his life. He was excited.

  After college, Jake chose law school. It was not the culmination of some lifelong drive or even a plan conceived with some advisor during undergraduate work. If anything, it was the lack of a definite plan for the future and the lack of real interest in any of the areas of study that he had touched on in college that led Jake to the school of law.

  Somewhat to his surprise, Jake found the subject aroused an interest he had not experienced with most of his previous studies. Here was something that seemed to have meaning...substance...a purpose. While many would think that more true of the natural sciences, or even mathematics, and Jake had enjoyed those subjects, the law, for Jake, became more than an interest. The law became a love, and its study the labor of love, like working on the old wooden sloop in Raspberry Bay.

  Jake saw the law, the courts and lawyers as a means of resolving disputes and future avoidance of disputes based on the rules founded upon the decisions in past cases. He was attracted to civil litigation and while he studied required courses in criminal law, constitutional law, estate planning, probate and others, which contributed greatly to his working knowledge of law and legal theory, his interest throughout school remained with civil cases. They were cases based on theories of recovery for loss for breach of contract, torts, fraud, breach of warranty and as he would learn in his practice, many more theories and variations of the old standards.

  Early in his studies, he realized that whenever two or more people live together, share the same space, be it portions of the same apartment building or duplex, or portions of thousands of acres of cattle grazing land or timberland, share the same natural resources and have to get out of one another's way occasionally, they need a system of rules to live by. Not just a set of criminal rules, the violation of which will be met by punishment, but they need a system of dispute resolution or civil law. Such a system allows for the making of deals and enforceable promises or contracts, the recovery of compensation for loss caused by the fault of another or recovery for damages caused by intentional and unintentional torts and yet other civil rights and remedies.

  In the earliest of primitive societies, there were lawyers. Two people finding themselves in a dispute would select a third member of their people to act as a go-between to assist them in reaching a resolution. The system revealed to Jake, the student, by his professors and volumes of appellate court written opinions was highly evolved from the go-between of early civilized man. However, it was continually changing and further evolving to meet the changing needs of society with increasing population, communication, travel and advancing technologies. This evolution was built into the system.

  The modern system of resolution of civil disputes is also an adversary system. Rather than a single go-between, each disputing party, acting on his own behalf or through a representative, argues his position thoroughly to the court or tribunal who will resolve the dispute by decision. Under modern rules of civil procedure and complex substantive law, both statutory and by case decision, almost every litigant requires a lawyer, an advocate trained in analysis and application of those rules and proper presentation of a litigant's cause to a court or jury.

  It was the participation in this system, as an advocate, that Jake Kingsley had wanted as a law student.

  Professor Stanton adjusted the radio station as they passed through Cumberland. Jake looked around at the small Wisconsin town. Signs advertised Wisconsin cheese, cheese curds and various types of sausage.

  "Pull over at that store up on the left," said Jake.

  "What's up?"

  "There's a meat truck with a route along Highway 63 from here all the way up to Grandview that seems to have the best meat. At least this store, and grocery stores in Shell Lake, Spooner, Hayward, Cable and Drummond have the best steaks you'll ever put on a grill."

  "Say no more!" Stanton's left hand flicked the turn signal. The big station wagon swung into the gravel parking lot.

  They bought two big Porterhouse steaks, green beans, a couple of baking potatoes, some salad fixings and a loaf of bread for dinner. For the trip, they bought a bag of yellow cheese curds, some pretzels, and two Cokes.

  Back on the road, Jake listened to the music from the car radio and resumed his thoughts.

  Now that law school was over he was going to work for Stratton, McMasters & Hines, Attorneys at Law, an established downtown Minneapolis law firm with an excellent reputation. Besides good grades, perhaps a reflection of his abiding interest in the legal system, Jake had the recommendation of Professor Charles E. Stanton, professor of torts, contracts and civil procedure at Minnesota, with whom Jake had often shared his thoughts on civil law as a dispute resolution system. Much of his thinking came from this unusual professor.

  Jake smiled and watched the Professor concentrating on the road ahead.

  The professor was a big man. Although of medium height, at five feet, nine inches, he weighed a solid 200 lb. and presented a very imposing figure, especially when it was his desire. Stanton was balding on top. The hair on the sides was showing touches of gray.

  Lively dark brown eyes under bushy black eyebrows and behind horn-rimmed glasses completes his appearance, save for the piece de resistance. As hair grows thin or disappears upon a man's head, many feel it necessary to grow more somewhere else upon the face. Whether for this reason or some other, Professor Charles E. Stanton wore an enormous, although perfectly trimmed, salt and pepper mustache.

  Jake regarded Stanton and smiled. He was an imposing figure indeed.

  "Penny for your thoughts, Jake."

  Jake wondered if Stanton had noticed that Jake was watching him.

  "Oh nothing," answered Jake. "I was just thinking about what's coming. It's all pretty exciting."

  "You bet it is!" Stanton grinned and flexed his hands on the steering wheel. "I'm excited for you."

  Just after they drove through Shell Lake, the highway merged with U.S. 53.

  "Fifty-three and Sixty-three run together for a while," Jake explained. "Then up above Spooner, Fifty-three continues on north to Superior. Sixty-three turns northeast toward Ashland. That's our road. The turnoff is at Trego.

  "Okay, navigator," said Stanton.

  "Speaking of navigation, we have to get started on your sailing lessons," said Jake. No time like the present. We've got a little over two hours to go."

  "Your mom seems to really like sailing," said Stanton. "But I wasn't sure your dad felt quite as strongly."

  "They both love it. They grew up sailing in the Apostles. I think they fell in love on the very boat we're going on. What you noticed was an old family feud."

  "What?" Stanton looked surprised, then turned his attention back to the road and traffic as they entered Spooner and crossed the Yellow River.

  "Maybe "feud" isn't the right word," Jake continued. "My grandparents on both sides had summer homes in Bay Harbor, the town on Raspberry Bay. That's how my folks met."

  Jake adjusted his length in the car seat to find a comfortable position. The Professor drove on, listenin
g with interest.

  "Grandpa Reynolds, my mom's dad, liked to sail. Grampa Kingsley had power boats. They used to argue about which was the better way to propel a boat."

  "Bill Kingsley always wondered why anyone would want to go somewhere by zigzagging back and forth to get there when he could go straight there in the right kind of boat and why anyone should use a boat that measured a trip to Bayfield in hours when it was really, 'just around the corner.'"

  "Jake Reynolds, on the other hand, maintained that if God had wanted boats to travel by noisy, smelly engines, He would have made them that way Himself, which He didn't."

  Jake looked ahead watching the white marks of the centerline disappearing under the hood of the big car.

  "After they got old, I spent my summers up here, so I could help out and drive for them when I was old enough."

  "Did your parents come up?"

  "Only once in a while, like now. They are in the period when you have to work, like I'm starting. No more summers off." He shook his head and smiled wistfully.

  "Unless you teach," Stanton chuckled.

  "Well anyway, my grandfathers taught me to sail and know my way around the Apostles."

  "Sounds like it was a wonderful time."

  "It was," Jake agreed. "When you see Raspberry Bay you'll know why I decided a long time ago I had to have a job that I could do and live there or make enough money to get there often."

  "Anyway," Jake continued, "your sailing lessons will start tomorrow in Raspberry Bay. For now I need to give you some nomenclature and principles."

  "Oh great. Start with the fundamentals." Stanton rolled his eyes.

  "Well, you don't know anything about sailing do you?"

  "That is a fair assessment of the state of my knowledge."

  "Okay, then," Jake began, "we'll start now. The boat we'll be using is a sloop. That's a single-masted boat with a mainsail and a jib. The mainsail is like an airplane wing. It pulls the boat through the water, the way a wing gives lift to a plane, if you are on a beam reach or close hauled, meaning you are not sailing downwind with the wind right behind the sails. At these points of sail, the front sail or foresail or jib serves the purpose of guiding the air along the leeward side of the mainsail to add to the lift or pull."

  "I see I have a lot to learn. Will there be a quiz?" he grinned.

  "Damn right." Jake smiled.

  "Is this our turn?" Stanton nodded toward a sign announcing the junction at Trego where Highway 63 turned off to the right.

  "That's it," said Jake. "Turn right."

  "Tell me about this beloved Raspberry Bay of yours," said Stanton as he slowed the car and turned the Oldsmobile on to Highway 63.

  "Raspberry Bay is near the north end of the Bayfield Peninsula in Lake Superior. The Apostle Islands surround the tip of the peninsula. The closest to Raspberry Bay is Raspberry Island that looks like it was plucked from the mainland, leaving the bay where the island had been.

  "Bay Harbor is a little northern Wisconsin town. It's located on Raspberry Bay. That's where it gets its name."

  Jake continued his description as they traveled north toward Hayward alongside the Namekagon River.

  "Raspberry Bay is about a mile and one-half wide at its mouth, a mile wide at the shore, and about a mile in distance from the mouth to the inner shore. It is between Raspberry Point on the East and Point Detour on the West. The bay is a protected anchorage from many winds, but it gives you nothing in the face of a nor'easter. Raspberry Bay receives a northeast wind like a catcher's mitt receives a pitch. So there's a long, rock-filled breakwater, built years ago so Hanson's and the little harbor was protected in all winds."

  "Hanson's?" the Professor queried.

  "Hanson's Marina, they're calling it now," said Jake grinning. "It was always just Hanson's Dock. Provided a big dock for the commercial fishing boats protected by the breakwater. It had a building with a big shop in back for working on boats, motors and fishing gear. In front there was a store with some bait, a little tackle and some pop and a few food items. People like my grandfathers had boats there. Old Hanson is a crotchety old guy, but he takes good care of the locals. Now he's adding a couple of docks with the sailing boom in the Apostles and he's changing the name to Hanson's Marina. I don't know if he likes the new people, but he likes their money. I used to work for him."

  "Sounds like a colorful character." Stanton said as they entered the next town.

  "He is."

  "My God, what's that?" Stanton pointed to an enormous fish off to the right of the main street."

  Jake laughed. "This is Hayward, 'The Musky Capital of the World' and that's the 'World's Biggest Musky'. You can walk inside that, go up a stairway and come out the mouth. The lower jaw is an observation deck."

  Stanton looked in wonderment, the giant green fish had its mouth raised and open like it was coming up to attack its dinner or some giant fisherman's bait.

  "Pretty soon, I'm going to let you drive. I'm starting to see strange creatures."

  "Anytime," smiled Jake.

  Stanton eased the Olds up to highway speed as they left Hayward.

  "How long has the town been there on Raspberry Bay?" he asked.

  "Bay Harbor has actually been there a long time," Jake replied. "I think it was an old fishing camp. Like Cornucopia and Bayfield, Bay Harbor had its own small commercial fishing fleet and a dock for the boats. A few adventurous summer people like my grandparents built cabins near the camp, somebody put in a store, a gas station and a coffee shop and that made a town... Bay Harbor. It isn't much more, today."

  "Sounds peaceful," said Stanton.

  "It's really kind of pretty, too, if you like boats and harbors. The land just behind the beach is flat for quite a way back and swampy. But on the east side of the bay, the high ground of Raspberry Point starts and rises up pretty quickly. The road comes in to the southeast corner of the bay where the land is still flat. Just up to the right, the cabins are built up the hillside, so they all have a view of the harbor and the lake."

  "Ah!" Stanton sighed. "Like a quaint New England fishing village."

  "Maybe," Jake thought aloud. "It's not very big. Most of the east side of the bay is undeveloped and heavily wooded. The beach is untouched, with the swampy ground just behind. The whole town sits in that little corner of the bay."

  They crossed the Namekagon River again.

  "How many times do we cross the same river? That's the second or third time," remarked Stanton.

  "At least several," said Jake. "The Namekagon runs from Lake Namekagon, which is east of Cable, all the way down to join the St. Croix just north of Danbury. This highway pretty much follows its course between Cable and Trego."

  "The St. Croix," repeated Stanton, "the river that makes the Minnesota-Wisconsin border down by the Cities before it joins the Mississippi?"

  "That's it," Jake said. "You know how beautiful the St. Croix is from Taylor's Falls to Hudson and farther south, well it's really pretty up this way. Not as big as the St. Croix you're used to. And the Namekagon is pretty and undeveloped. It will be protected by the wild river system the government is developing."

  "We've crossed this river so many times, I thought I wasn't getting anywhere and should let you drive. How about it?"

  "Sure," said Jake, "Cable is just a mile or two ahead. I'll tell you when to pull off."

  They passed a wooden sign announcing they were entering Bayfield County.

  "Turn off here." Jake pointed to the right as they approached the main intersection of Cable.

  Stanton pulled the big station wagon into the parking lot of The Corner Bar. They got out and switched seats.

  Jake fastened his seat belt and started the engine. He hooked a thumb toward The Corner Bar. "We should stop there on the way back. Great hamburgers and soup."

  Stanton was adjusting his own seat belt over his large stomach. He looked out the passenger window at the small unpretentious building. "It's places like that where you find the best f
ood. That's true."

  As Jake drove north, Stanton turned to subjects of the law.

  "You know, Jake," he began, "I'd be the last one to dampen your spirits about beginning your practice. Heaven knows I used your excitement and idealism and even nurtured them in law school."

  "I'd say so," said Jake, looking at the road ahead. "If I'm excited and interested, you're largely responsible. I think that's a good thing."

  "Oh, it is." Stanton put a large beefy hand on the dashboard. "But sometimes, the actual operation of the law doesn't work like we professors in our ivory towers say it should. Sometimes the adversary system gets down and dirty."

  "You mean it's a jungle out there?" Jake turned to look at Stanton in mock surprise.

  The professor laughed. He guessed Jake was ready. He had all the confidence of a twenty-five year old. Stanton just worried about his new graduates sometimes, like a mother hen. And this new graduate was his favorite.

  "Get ready for the grand view of Grandview," announced Jake.

  Yet another town passed that was little more than a few buildings, a grocery store, a bar and a gas station that could easily be seen from the highway. Stanton could see there were residences on unseen streets off the road. As they left the town there was indeed a grand view to the north. Stanton could see a long, long way to the north.

  "We are on top of a big ridge," Jake explained. "There's a continental divide just a few miles back near Drummond. The rivers run north now and the big Lake is up there." He nodded in the direction they were traveling.

  Jake drove down the hill out of Grandview onto the flats and north up to U. S. 2, where he turned east toward Ashland. Just before Ashland, he turned north again on Highway 13, traveling alongside Chequamegon Bay and through Washburn.

  North of Washburn, Jake pointed to the right across the water. "There's Madeline," he said.

  Stanton looked at the strip of wooded land a few miles across the water of Lake Superior.

  "Madeline Island is the largest of the Apostle Islands." Jake assumed his tour guide voice. "It is the only island in the archipelago that's still mostly privately owned. It has year round residents, restaurants, a golf course and even an airstrip."