The Ultimate Resolution

by Dave Sullivan

  "That's part of it." Jake leaned forward and picked up a daily time sheet form and held it in the air. "We play this game every day. Fill in this thing as you work. Turn it in every morning and God help you if you don't have 1800 hours every year, or 2000 or whatever you happened to be assigned. Some firms are now requiring more than 2000 billable hours per year of new associates as a condition of employment."

  Decker listened in silence. Jake was on his feet.

  "And that, friend, is rank bullshit! You know what happens. Lawyers play the time sheet game. Large blocks of time are set aside for cases, lunches are scheduled with clients and other lawyers, so lunch hours can be billed. Time sheets are kept by home phones. Members of this office take books or correspondence into the john so they bill a client for taking a crap, for Christ's sake." Jake turned and stared out his office window to the roof tops of downtown Minneapolis.

  "Eat, sleep and shit the law," Jim Decker said soberly, "We certainly did it in law school, why not now, and ...," he added sarcastically, "... for profit."

  "And, as you know, it gets worse. In my field, a lawyer with time sheet goals and competition affecting his practice can schedule out of state depositions in more than one case and bring still other files to work on. As a result some lawyers double and even triple bill travel time. Even the most conscientious will bill one client for travel time while billing another for work on a file while sitting on an airplane."

  "It's the old story of the lawyer who died and went to heaven," grinned Decker. "When he complained of his early demise at age thirty-six, St. Peter replied that he was eighty-four and they had his time records to prove it." He reached for his coffee cup. "You haven't added that imposing such high time requirements on younger associates makes it more difficult for senior partners to look good by comparison and the problem is compounded."

  "I was getting to that," Jake sat on the edge of the counter beneath his window and faced Decker, "Older lawyers compete with younger lawyers who are only trying to comply with the time requirements imposed by the seniors. Senior lawyers look for and take the work that lends itself to larger blocks of time even though it could be handled by a younger lawyer and more efficiently for the client. Time sheet totals go up, and the system falls down."

  "And apparently falls down around your ears, or so you think." Jim Decker regarded Jake with concern.

  "No, not me, personally, but you'll agree it's a problem."

  "It is."

  "And it affects my practice."

  "Apparently, but more than it should, do you think?"

  "I don't know," said Jake, "Maybe. That's why I'm talking to you."

  Decker looked at the ceiling and counted on his fingers as if recalling each of James' enumerated complaints as he ticked them off. "That's three, he observed, "How about four and five?"

  "Four and five are easy," Jake said. "Four is the effect of modern legislation which seems directed at cutting out the lawyer and preventing him from being able to provide effective representation as if the economics we've talked about weren't already enough. You watch, Jim. You spent years developing a system of forms so you can provide quality and effective representation at a reasonable cost. One day the legislature will take your forms, print them in the statutes, publish them in printed sets and invite members of the public to buy them for a couple of dollars and apply at the courthouse for a marriage dissolution. No lawyer needed, none requested."

  Decker looked hurt, for effect.

  "No amount of preaching, arguing or lobbying by lawyers will convince legislators or their constituents that your forms developed through your expertise allow you to handle the easy part with almost no charge to the client and that their attorneys' fees dollars can be directed to the aspects of divorce requiring a lawyer, such as court appearances, asset evaluation, determination of tax consequences, advice regarding child custody, and on and on."

  Decker looked like he felt better but not much.

  "And that brings me to five," Jake went on. "Five is the problem of the reputation of the lawyer. Ordinarily, I don't mind the shyster jokes or even much of the derogatory stuff in the newspapers. However, when you try to argue for improvement of the legal system and preservation of the right of access to the courts and you catch shit for doing it to protect your own pocketbook, it is Goddamned frustrating. If they do streamline divorces to eliminate the need for a lawyer and you argue that it’s not in the best interest of the people getting divorced, they'll have your ass in the papers and show you to be the mercenary son of a bitch you really are." In disgust, Jake sat down in his chair.

  Decker looked hurt again.

  Then he stood up from the client's chair. "Well, your five complaints are nothing new, although I'll admit they seem to be getting worse. They don't exist to the same degree in my field or at least I think they're easier to resolve."

  Decker took each of Jake's five complaints and discussed them in terms of his own practice. Economics, number one, was easier to deal with because getting someone a divorce was a basic service warranting a basic charge like drawing a will or forming a corporation. Beyond that, any increased cost was up to the client. If the size of the marital estate warrants, considerable time of attorneys and expense for accountants and depositions are in order and always not only approved, but desired by the client. If increased costs are simply due to fights for bitterness between spouses, the client can simply be educated and then spend the money in attorneys' fees if the fight is felt to be worth it.

  Client domination or control, which was two, is easily converted to cost to the client in divorce cases, since the way in which a case is handled has so much to do with its cost.

  The third item, case load and docket control, Decker conceded to be a problem, but not the same as Jake's. "You have too wide a variety of cases," he said. "If you handled only automobile cases, you wouldn't have the same analysis and legal research needs that you can't get to. While I still analyze and research, it’s only the detailed stuff, the basics don't have to be redone and research in one case helps all my others."

  The fourth and fifth items didn't trouble Decker in his practice. "Shit, Jake, divorces are on the increase. More frequently they involve significant assets such as recreational vehicles, equity in homes, small businesses, pension plans, and even professional licenses. They can legislate and re-legislate divorce procedure, but they'll have to eliminate marriage to eliminate divorce and the divorce lawyer. Hell, divorce lawyers can even operate without marriages. Look at the 'palimony' cases," he laughed. "Seriously, all the legislators in the world can't legislate agreement among divorce litigants or devise a formula that can be fairly applied in all cases. Ergo, I shall survive because I shall continue to be needed."

  Decker also maintained that he felt that he was doing what he could to fairly represent clients at a reasonable cost and turn out satisfied clients. That was itself a means of combating the lawyer reputation problem.

  He did not however have the answer to resolving the five complaints in the general litigation area other than to suggest that a more narrowly defined litigation specialty, perhaps employing the contingent fee system representing injured plaintiffs, might ease their effect, although the reputation problem might continue to exist by association. Plaintiffs' lawyers have always managed to have their ups and downs in the public eye.

  On a rare weekend in Raspberry Bay later that summer, Jake had spent a whole day at anchor off the Raspberry Island sand spit looking across at Bay Harbor, Hanson's Marina and the little cottages on the hillside while thinking about the misgivings he was having about his practice.

  He fed bread to the seagulls and mallards off the stern rail and wondered what he should do. He should just quit worrying and do what the practice required.

  "Attitude is everything," he said to a gull floating patiently behind the boat, quoting the countless people who said and believed that. Sure, he thought, attitude is everything, and I've got a bad one.

  At later meet
ings, senior partner Stuart McMasters joined Jake and Decker. He shared Jake's concerns, but the practice of law was more of a business to Mac. The problems of which Jake complained were best overcome by handling themselves as lawyers in such a way as to improve the image of the profession, while striving to provide high quality representation to all clients at a reasonable cost. Mac was an excellent and honorable lawyer. He did not oversimplify as a rule. That his comments in these discussions were so simple and conclusionary, providing the answer without the means perhaps, was an indication to Jake that maybe there was no real good answer; not if Stuart "Mac" McMasters didn't know it and express it with accuracy and eloquence.

  Another time, Jake spent a long weekend with his old friend and mentor Charles Stanton sailing and sitting on Stanton's deck overlooking Raspberry and Oak Islands.

  True to his word after his first visit to the Apostle Islands with Jake on that trip after Jake’s law school graduation, Stanton had come back. He’d come back again and again, sometimes seeing Jake and sometimes just visiting on his own with his wife Mildred. They had developed a true love for the lush green islands, the forested Bayfield Peninsula and the crystal clear, blue waters of Lake Superior. Mildred was taken ill and passed away before Charles retired. Devastated, Charles buried himself in work at the law school for a while, but then began to return to the area and to Raspberry bay.

  On one of the rare occasions that Jake’s practice let him get up to Raspberry Bay, he was cleaning the deck of his fiber glass sloop when Professor Stanton walked down the dock, said, "Hello, there, Jake." Shocked by the professor’s unannounced appearance, Jake’s surprise went off the chart when Stanton added, "Come on up to my place for a beer."

  While Jake was busy practicing law, Charles Stanton began considering his retirement. He loved Bay Harbor. He had come to know old Hanson and many of the "locals." He was liked by everyone. Somehow, no one knew quite how, Charles came to know some of the leaders of the Chequamegon Chippewa Band. He did what no one else had ever been able to do. He was granted a lease by the Band for a building site on Raspberry Point, just east of Bay harbor and up at the top of the hill overlooking the Lake and the Islands. He designed a cottage with large picture windows and decking taking advantage of the magnificent view the site afforded.

  Charles intentionally kept the construction of the cottage a secret from Jake. It was like Charles to do that and to be able to surprise Jake just the way he did that day at the dock.

  Later when Stanton and Jake talked about Jake's concerns, they did so at Charles’ cottage on Raspberry Point. They talked about the conversations Jake had had with Jim Decker and Stuart McMasters.

  "Well Jake," Stanton said as they looked out across the lake from Stanton's deck, "Your concerns are certainly well known to me. Remember, I stayed at the law school and became a professor."

  "Is that why?" Jake asked.

  "Oh no," answered Stanton, "but, it's part of it. I wanted to teach, certainly. That was my principal motivation in choosing my career, but I was aware of the problems which concern you now, even when I started."

  "What's the answer?"

  "From the way you describe your discussions with your partners, it sounds like you all have it covered pretty well." Stanton rose from his deck chair and reached for Jake's glass. "More lemonade?" he asked.

  "Yes, please," Jake answered as he got up to follow Stanton into the cottage. At the kitchen counter, Stanton poured lemonade from a glass pitcher. "You know, Jake, you can't always control problems like those of which you complain. The solutions are not black and white. They are not all or nothing."

  He handed Jake his lemonade and moved into the living room. Standing by one of the large picture windows, he looked out at Lake Superior and said, "Your partners are dealing with the same concerns, but they are not trying to cure them all at once. Each has ways to deal with the problems or lessen their impact in his own practice. That's probably the best you can do as well."

  Jake sipped his lemonade. "I know what you're saying is right. I felt the same about Jim Decker's comments and Stu McMasters'. But I'm not sure that's enough for me."

  "Well," said Stanton, "if one is truly dissatisfied with one's lot in life, then perhaps drastic change is in order. But you be careful."

  Jake continued to have misgivings about the practice of law in his particular field. He also continued to seek the advice and counsel of his partners and his mentor, Professor Charles Stanton.

  The professor was right of course, Jake thought. Change was the ultimate resolution. How drastic the change should be was another question.

  PART THREE: THE ACCIDENT

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It happened in July of 1990 on Otter Island. It happened just after lunch. Angus McElroy was there for the Park Service, having come over from Little Sand Bay Ranger Station that morning.

  Fred Slattery was in charge of the private work crew from Duluth.

  The two men sat on a large driftwood log in the warm sunshine watching the young crew members at work.

  "Good crew?" asked McElroy.

  "You watch 'em work for a while," answered Slattery. "These are good kids. The youngest there, Pallmeyer, is a college kid, but he works as hard as any of 'em."

  The three young men were stripped to the waist in the hot sun moving peeled pine logs from a pile near the dock to a spot where they could be chained to a tractor to be pulled off the beach up the hill to the cabin site. They were Paul Schlicting, Larry Mullin and Bobby Pallmeyer.

  Slattery watched his crew work. "As soon as we get the logs up the hill, we'll start setting them for your ranger house. 'Course it would have been a mite easier, Mac, if you'd have the ranger house a little closer to the beach." He grinned a toothy grin.

  "Mac" McElroy poured coffee from his thermos. "Can't have that," he replied. "The Park Service doesn't want the building visible from the shore. When people do get up the path to it, it's got to look damned rustic. That's where you log builders come in."

  The crew finished attaching the hauling chain to a group of three logs. They used an old blue car hood as a skidder for the front ends of the logs which were tightly chained to the tractor to lift the log ends slightly off the ground. The car hood kept the log ends from catching in the dirt as they were skidded up the path. At the back, the logs were wrapped with a single heavy chain to hold them together.

  Paul Schlicting climbed to the seat of the old red tractor and started it up.

  Slattery stood up to go supervise his crew. Over the noise of the tractor engine, he said, "See you later, Mac. After this load, we're breaking for lunch. You going to be here?"

  McElroy nodded in the affirmative.

  Slattery walked over to the waiting crew. He checked the load, touched the taut chain and nodded approval.

  "Okay, Paul," he said to the tractor operator. To the others he said, "You guys watch the back end of those logs. If that chain back there starts to loosen, holler out. Bobby, stay back behind the logs. If that chain gives way, the logs will fan out to the sides."

  "Okay, Fred," said Bobby Pallmeyer.

  Slattery gave a thumbs up to Schlicting on the tractor. The tractor coughed and the engine revved. The big rear wheels started to slowly turn. The logs and the blue car hood began to move.

  McElroy watched the crew start slowly up the hill. Schlicting, who had been turned in his seat watching the logs as they started out, turned back to face the path ahead. Slattery and the other two followed along behind the logs. A hundred yards up through the woods, they would drop the logs at the new ranger cabin site.

  He heard a boat's motor and turned toward the beach. A Boston Whaler came up from the south. He recognized Bill Simpson standing at the steering pedestal.

  McElroy set his coffee cup on the driftwood log, stood and walked across the sand beach to the dock. The dock was a large rectangle filled with big boulders with a wooden walkway and docking cleats for boats on three sides.

  As the Boston Whaler came
alongside, McElroy took a line from the operator.

  "How's Bill?" McElroy spoke the greeting as he cleated the bow line.

  "Fine, Mac, thanks." Bill Simpson stepped onto the dock and cleated a stern line. He glanced out towards the lake, made a judgment, and reached into the boat for a spring line.

  When he was done, he reached for McElroy's hand and shook it vigorously. He looked across the beach.

  "Ah. Progress," he said looking at the procession going up the path.

  "I thought you didn't think the Park Service building docks, signs and buildings was 'progress', Bill." McElroy issued the friendly challenge.

  "Well, I don't," Simpson smiled easily, "but you're here to stay and that's probably best for the islands in the long run. Actually, though, I was referring to progress in getting these logs off the beach."

  "What brings you here today, anyway, Bill?"

  "Just came over from Bay Harbor to see when they might need the barge back for their equipment and stuff. We brought the logs over Monday."

  "Your radio doesn't work?" chided McElroy.

  "Beautiful day like today, I figured it was easier to just hop in Hanson's Whaler and zip over here," he grinned. "Seriously though, these land crews don't monitor the marine radio. They've got handhelds at their camps so they can call out, but otherwise, they don't use them."

  The tractor and its entourage disappeared around a bend in the path near the top of the hill.

  The two men walked along the sand beach looking out past their boats toward Ironwood Island to the east and south to the dock and fish camp on Manitou Island.