The Ultimate Resolution

by Dave Sullivan

  After a while, they heard the tractor coming down the path. Slattery and his crew appeared. When they got to the beach, Schlicting shut off the tractor's engine. Slattery walked over.

  "Hi, Bill," he said. "When did you get here?"

  "Just got here a few minutes ago, Fred. How's it going?"

  "Okay." Slattery nodded at his crew. "The boys have earned a little lunch break. Join us?"

  "You bet," grinned Simpson. "My lunch is on the boat."

  "Mine too," said McElroy.

  The two men walked down to the dock while Slattery and his crew found their lunch buckets and a comfortable spot to eat. Mullin and Pallmeyer sat on the sand leaning against the large driftwood log, legs extended straight out in front of them like men who had worked hard and would enjoy the relaxation of the tired.

  "When do we start setting the logs, Fred," asked Mullin, brushing his long dark hair from his eyes.

  "As soon as we get the last of the logs off the beach," said Slattery.

  "Good," Schlicting said. "It's time to teach young Bobby here the log building trade."

  Bobby Pallmeyer looked at the amused expression on Paul Schlicting's face. He was only a few years older than Bobby. He chewed his sandwich. "I'm ready anytime ," he smiled.

  "Actually, you might like it, Bobby." Slattery looked at him. "It's interesting the way these log buildings go up. Paul and Larry make a good crew. We can put one up pretty fast, and right, too."

  Larry Mullin asked, "Fred, why'd we haul logs from Duluth? Why not just have the loggers cut 'em right here on the island? He looked beyond the beach at the lush green woods.

  "Forest's not mature enough for the logs you want," said Simpson as he and McElroy sat down with their insulated lunch coolers.

  "You wouldn't believe it today," Simpson continued, "but this island was clear cut in 1956, for a Boy Scout Jamboree. I was here."

  "What?" McElroy looked at Simpson in surprise.

  "That's right," Simpson said, "Otter Island. Wasn't a tree on it. Just grass and tents everywhere."

  "They'd sure raise hell if you tried to do that, today," said McElroy.

  "I hear that," acknowledged Simpson. "And the Boy Scouts, too. Times have sure changed."

  "Where are these logs from?" asked McElroy.

  Slattery answered. "They were logged up north of Two Harbors and seasoned in the field. Then they were trucked down to Duluth and over to Bay Harbor, where Bill met 'em with his barge."

  The men enjoyed their lunch and conversation in the noon day sun.

  About forty-five minutes later, Slattery glanced at his watch. "Back to work, crew," he announced.

  The three young men slowly unfolded themselves from their half sitting, half lying positions and started for the tractor.

  "Get three more ready to haul," called Slattery.

  "When do you need the barge?" Simpson asked Slattery.

  "Not 'til next week," replied Slattery. "We'll get the logs up to the site and start setting the logs this afternoon, but we won't finish this week. We'll still need the tractor next week, so all we need from you is a ride back to Bay Harbor, Friday night."

  "You got it," said Simpson. "What time?"

  "About 4:30 or 5:00 okay?"

  "Good. I'll be here." Simpson turned to return to his boat. "Don't work too hard, he said as he waved good-bye.

  Slattery returned to his crew. They had three more logs on the old blue car hood behind the tractor. Slattery checked the chains and nodded. Bobby Pallmeyer was up on the tractor.

  "Okay, Bob," yelled Slattery over the noise of the tractor's engine.

  Pallmeyer hit the throttle and the logs slowly began to move forward, the big rear wheels digging in the sand.

  McElroy watched the procession repeated. Slattery and two of his crew walking behind the logs as they were skidded up the hill and young Pallmeyer sitting tall up in the tractor seat. He started down toward the dock to help Bill Simpson cast off.

  As he walked down the dock, Simpson was standing by his boat ready to cast off. He was watching the work crew.

  "Looks like they have a problem up there," he said.

  McElroy turned to see the procession stopped half way up the path. Slattery and the others were huddled over the blue car hood pointing and talking. Bobby Pallmeyer sat in the tractor seat watching the others working on the logs below him.

  Then the three men on the ground backed away from the logs. Slattery held his hand up as a signal for Pallmeyer.

  The men on the dock saw Slattery motion with his raised hand. Pallmeyer, still looking back watching the logs, worked the tractor's throttle. Several times on Slattery's signal, Bobby gunned the engine and jerked the chains trying to free the logs. A couple of times the front wheels of the tractor lifted off the ground, Simpson noticed.

  "Looks like that car hood skidder has hit something or the logs slid off and dug in the dirt, I can't tell," said McElroy.

  "Lotta power in that old tractor," said Simpson. "They'll be able to free it up." He untied the spring line.

  McElroy was still watching the work crew.

  Simpson coiled the spring line and tossed it into the Boston Whaler. He looked up the path and saw Slattery motion forward with his whole arm like a wagon master in the old West.

  Bobby Pallmeyer turned in his seat to face forward. He hit the throttle and kept it on full.

  The men on the dock watched.

  The tractor engine roared. The big rear wheels vibrated but didn't turn.

  Suddenly the front of the tractor rose up in the air, like a bucking bronco. But it didn't stop. The whole body of the tractor spun around the big rear wheels slamming Bobby Pallmeyer onto the logs.

  Simpson and McElroy stood on the dock in shock. One minute, the tractor was pulling against the logs and in what seemed like less than a second, it was upside down, lying on top of the logs it was pulling. And someone was underneath it.

  "Holy shit!" cried Simpson as he and McElroy both ran down the dock.

  Up the path, Slattery's crew was struggling to get at Pallmeyer.

  "Oh, my God!" McElroy was out of breath as he reached the tractor. "What happened, Fred?"

  "I don't know!" cried Slattery. "The tractor just came over on him.

  The dusty red tractor body lay directly on top of the logs. McElroy saw an arm extended from under the tractor. Red blood ran down the forearm onto the peeled log below, leaving a dark stain.

  "Shit!" said Simpson when he saw Pallmeyer's arm and the blood. "Let's get the Coast Guard." He turned and ran back down the path.

  McElroy said, "I'm coming with you. Little Sand Bay Ranger Station may be able to help."

  Slattery was regaining some composure. "We've got to get this tractor off of him." He barked commands at his crew. "Larry, get the chain off the back of the logs. Be careful! Paul, run down to the beach for the block and tackle and an extra rope."

  The stunned crew members leaped into action. Slattery examined the tractor for places to get enough purchase to lift the tractor body.

  "We'll have to get it in neutral first," he said to Mullin.

  "Coast Guard, this is National Park Service Vessel NP 365 on Sixteen," Angus McElroy spoke into the microphone he held in his hand. He and Bill Simpson were on the Park Service boat McElroy had brought over that morning. Simpson kept an eye on the crew up at the tractor.

  "Sand Bay Station will hear us and get ready to help, too," said McElroy.

  The marine radio's speaker crackled, "Vessel calling Coast Guard, this is Coast Guard Group Duluth. Switch to Channel Twenty-two Alpha."

  McElroy turned the knob on the radio. The speaker crackled again.

  "Vessel calling Coast Guard, this is Coast Guard Group Duluth on Channel Twenty-two Alpha. Go ahead."

  "Coast Guard, this is National Park Service Vessel NP 365 calling. We have an injury out here on Otter Island. We need help, fast! Over."

  "Park Service - Group Duluth. Say again your location, please, sir. Over."
>
  "This is the Park Service boat. We're on Otter Island. That's Otter, not Outer. O-T-T-E-R," McElroy spelled out the name. "Over."

  "Park Service Vessel - Group Duluth. Are you on land or on the water, sir?"

  "This is the Park Service boat. We're at the dock on the northeast end of Otter Island. There's been a tractor accident on the island. Someone is badly hurt. Over."

  "Park Service Vessel - Group Duluth. Standby, sir. We are locating help. We will call back. Will someone be by your radio, sir? Over."

  "We'll be right here, Coast Guard," McElroy answered without the formalities. "Hurry up!"

  While McElroy stayed by his boat to hear the radio, Bill Simpson ran back up the path to the crew. Slattery had hooked up some block and tackle gear from the underside of the tractor body to two popple trees standing close by the path just uphill from the fallen tractor.

  "They're not huge, but we need the height to be able to pull the front end over the top. So I tied it to two of them hoping for more strength," Slattery told Simpson. "We can't just lift it and slide Bobby out of there. We don't dare move Bobby."

  "I agree," said Simpson.

  Using the mechanical advantage provided by the block and tackle, the four men slowly lifted the tractor pivoting on its rear axle. A back up holding line had been rigged to prevent the tractor from falling forward once it reached the top of the arc. At that point the block and tackle was switched to the backup line and the tractor was lowered to its upright position with the front wheels back on the ground.

  Bobby Pallmeyer lay face up on the logs.

  McElroy shouted from the dock. "The Coast Guard is sending a MedEvac helicopter. It's on its way now."

  "Where the hell will it land?" Simpson asked of nobody in particular. He started down the path to see what should be done for the helicopter.

  The helicopter was able to land on the beach where Simpson had cleared the driftwood with the help of Mullin and Schlicting. The paramedics used a backboard to move Bobby Pallmeyer to the helicopter for transfer to St. Mary's Hospital in Duluth.

  ************

  ***

  ************

  In his office in Minneapolis, Jake Kingsley dictated into a hand held recorder.

  "Therefore, the Court should enter summary judgment in Defendant's favor on the following alternate grounds: 1) Plaintiff has not shown any genuine issues of material fact relating to any claimed defect in Defendant's product, 2) failure of Plaintiff's counsel to give timely notice pursuant to Minn. Stat. sec. 604.04 within six months of the formation of an attorney-client relationship with Plaintiff has unfairly prejudiced Defendant, and 3) the injury was sustained following the expiration of the normal useful life of the product within the meaning of Minn. Stat. sec. 604.03."

  He shook his head. Pure bullshit, he thought, but the client and the insurer would be unhappy if these defenses were not asserted. Hell, under the current standards of practice, failure to argue them would be malpractice. Bullshit! he repeated to himself.

  He clicked the thumb control on the dictator and spoke. "Respectfully submitted, Jacob R. Kingsley, Attorney for Defendant."

  ************

  ***

  ************

  In St. Louis, Phillip Marquard reviewed a litigation report from Cherokee's St. Louis law firm. The report was addressed to Richard Ellington who was the company's principal liaison with the firm. The report covered the status of several lawsuits against Cherokee across the country. Like any of the major manufacturers, Cherokee had its share of litigation. Unlike some of the others, Cherokee's instructions to its lawyers were to take a hard stance against liability from the beginning ... sometimes even before suit. These were the instructions of the company president, Phillip Marquard.

  CHAPTER NINE

  George Horvath studied the newspaper article in his seat in the first class section of Flight 417 from St. Louis to Minneapolis. He had been an investigator for Hobbs, Vance, Bruckman & Rosen in St. Louis for ten years. Whenever the Cherokee account had a new accident to be investigated, they called on him. The cases needed special attention early. For this one he was flying commercial to Minneapolis, switching planes there to go to Duluth and from Duluth, chartering a small plane to Madeline Island in northwestern Wisconsin.

  The news article was less than a week old. It didn't identify the make of the tractor. The people at Cherokee who watched such things had made some phone calls and then alerted the law firm. The assignment memo Horvath received from his employer identified the tractor as an old Cherokee T-350.

  The witnesses had been interviewed by reporters. Since the accident had occurred on an island in a national park, there were not many witnesses. Good, he thought, this will be easy. Horvath's job was to pin down the witnesses and the evidence to be in Cherokee's favor before anyone else got to it. Of course there were official investigations, but they didn't worry about the issues with which he was concerned and usually didn't affect the success of his investigation.

  On the flight from Duluth, the small charter plane flew over part of Lake Superior and the Apostle Islands. It was a clear August afternoon. Horvath could see clearly the green islands on the blue water in a cluster around the Bayfield Peninsula. Which is Otter Island? he wondered.

  As the small plane approached the airfield on Madeline Island, Horvath could see the shops and restaurants of La Pointe and the large ferry dock. A ferry was unloading cars and passengers. Nearer the airfield, he saw a golf course and a marina filled with sailing masts.

  A National Park Service pickup truck was parked near the tarmac. Horvath saw a medium built man of about fifty leaning against the front fender.

  "Mr. Horvath?" The man by the truck spoke.

  "That's me," Horvath responded.

  The man came to meet him. "I'm Angus McElroy. People call me 'Mac'. We spoke on the phone." He extended his hand.

  "George Horvath. Thanks for meeting me."

  "Get in." McElroy pointed to the truck. "We'll take the ferry across to Bayfield and drive over to Bay Harbor. Bill Simpson's going to meet us there."

  "Sounds good," said Horvath. He placed his bag in the back of the truck and climbed into the passenger seat.

  "While they waited in line on the ferry dock, McElroy said, "The tractor is at Hanson's boatyard in Bay Harbor. Simpson brought it back on the barge two or three days ago."

  "Much damage?" Horvath asked.

  "Really not that much," said McElroy. "It's dented some on top, where it hit the logs."

  "I'll be interested in seeing it," said Horvath.

  A ferry crew member signaled McElroy to drive up on the ferry's deck. After McElroy turned off the engine, he asked, "Who are you investigating for again?"

  "I work for a law firm that represents insurance companies. One of their clients needs this accident investigated." Each of the parts of Horvath's answer was technically true. Combined, however, they were just exactly as misleading as Horvath intended. What he didn't say was that in this case he investigated for the tractor manufacturer who was self-insured. What he left hanging was the possibility that he represented an insurer for Bobby Pallmeyer who needed certain information before paying for his medical expenses and other needs.

  The ferry docked in Bayfield about twenty minutes later. McElroy steered the pickup off the ferry and out of the parking lot onto Highway 13 going north out of Bayfield. Shortly, he took the cutoff to Bay Harbor.

  When McElroy and Horvath arrived at Hanson's, Bill Simpson was waiting for them.

  After introductions, Bill Simpson explained, "We put the tractor out behind Hanson's shop there. It's covered with a tarp to protect it from weather."

  "Let's take a look," said Horvath, reaching for his bag and camera.

  They walked through Hanson's shop to the back door to the yard.

  The tractor was parked in a rear corner of the yard covered by a blue boat tarpaulin. McElroy and Simpson peeled back the tarp. The top of the tractor had several scrapes in the
red paint. The metal cover directly in front of the steering wheel was dented in several inches. The tractor seat was bent and collapsed.

  Horvath began taking pictures. He took several shots of the tractor from far enough away to get the whole tractor in the picture. Then he began a series of close-ups of the damaged areas.

  As he kneeled to photograph the rear end of the tractor, he asked, "Where's the drawbar?"

  "The what?" asked McElroy.

  "The drawbar," repeated Horvath. "It's supposed to be right here." He indicated a place in the rear of the tractor.

  "You're lookin' at everything that was there on the island," said Bill Simpson. "Fred Slattery and I brought it off the island three days ago. We put it right here and covered it up."

  Horvath moved in closer to get a good shot of the place he had indicated where the drawbar was missing.

  "They were hauling logs, right?" Horvath looked up at McElroy and Simpson.

  "That's right," McElroy answered.

  "How were they hooked up to the tractor?"

  "By a chain," said McElroy, "and the ends were on an old car hood they used as a skidder."

  "Where's the car hood?"

  "Right over there." Simpson pointed to the side of the yard where the blue car hood stood leaning against a chain link fence.

  Horvath rose and walked to the car hood for several pictures. When he had finished, he asked, "Can you take me over to the scene?"

  "Sure," Bill Simpson replied, looking out at the lake and up at the sky to the west. "Good weather for it, too. We can shoot right over in Hanson's Boston Whaler. Mac?"

  "Okay with me," McElroy said. "I'd offer a Park Service boat, but I came by truck this morning."

  "Let's go then. Mr. Horvath, the boat is right around the building here at the gas dock."

  "How long will it take?" Horvath asked.

  "Oh, let's see," Simpson thought aloud, "'bout twenty minutes to get to Otter Island and twenty minutes back, give or take. Once you're there, it depends on you, but it all happened pretty close to the dock we'll tie up at."