The Ultimate Resolution

by Dave Sullivan

  The trip took a little longer than Bill Simpson's estimate. He took them out of Raspberry Bay, northeast alongside Oak, and up along Otter Island's southeast shore.

  Horvath was all business when they arrived. He wanted a full account of exactly what the two witnesses had seen and heard. He studied the ground around each place they identified as having to do with anything. And he took pictures. He took a lot of pictures, including one of McElroy and one of Simpson.

  "What are those for?" McElroy was a little startled when their pictures were taken.

  "Don't worry. They're just so the report fully identifies you. I always do it. I'll put them with the report I turn in . . . that's if you don't mind," Horvath said as he gave a questioning look to the two men.

  "No. I guess not," said McElroy, although he looked like he wasn't sure.

  "You sure seem to be thorough," said Bill Simpson. "I suppose the insurance company has to have all the information before it pays, huh?"

  Horvath hesitated. Then he said, "I'm sure the kid will be getting Worker's Comp insurance, and the company will have to know how the injury happened."

  They were on the path near where the tractor overturned.

  "What happened to the logs?" Horvath asked.

  "Right over there beside the path." Simpson pointed to a spot just down the hill. "We moved them down there by hand, one at a time, before we moved the tractor out of here."

  "Would you mind showing me how they positioned the logs as they towed them?" Horvath was walking toward the logs. He could plainly see the blood stain on one of them.

  "At first they put the third log on top of the other two, like a pyramid," said McElroy, "but that didn't work so well. They kept coming loose. Then they just lay the three logs side by side so they were all flat on the ground. That seemed to work better. That's how they were the last couple of loads, including when young Pallmeyer was hurt."

  "I see," said Horvath, softly. He made a note on the small pad he carried. Then suddenly, he rose and turned toward the boat carrying his camera.

  "I'd like to get statements from you both," he said abruptly and began walking toward the dock.

  There was little discussion on the trip back to Raspberry Bay. Simpson and McElroy silently watched ahead. Horvath was making notes on a yellow legal pad, oblivious to the beauty of his surroundings. When they reached the dock, McElroy and Simpson tended the lines. Horvath stepped on the dock before the boat was tied up. He waited for them to finish.

  When they were done, Horvath said, "I've written out your statements. Just need your signatures...for the file." His smile was too demeaning.

  Bill Simpson looked at McElroy. Mac shrugged his shoulders and followed Horvath toward the Ship's Store by the gas dock.

  The two witnesses signed handwritten statements Horvath had prepared on the way back from Otter Island. The facts related in the statements were substantially correct, but it seemed to them the statements dealt with points that were not necessary to determine if the insurance company should pay Bobby Pallmeyer's medical bills.

  When they were done, McElroy said, "One of my staff is here to take you back to Madeline, Mr. Horvath."

  "That's very kind," Horvath replied. "I've got to get back to Duluth to interview the other witnesses."

  "Go easy on them," said Bill Simpson, looking concerned. "They are all pretty upset about this."

  "Don't worry, I do this all the time." Again Horvath's manner was demeaning.

  When he was gone, Bill Simpson said, "Mac, I don't like that fella much...and there ain't many I don't like."

  "I know," said McElroy. "Something's funny, there."

  The next day Horvath met with Slattery and the two workers in Duluth. They sat at a rear booth in a restaurant in the west Duluth business section and drank coffee. Horvath was making notes.

  "Why wasn't the drawbar used?" he asked.

  "What's it look like?" Slattery asked, holding his coffee cup out to the waitress for a refill.

  "Here." Horvath opened an operator's manual for the T-350. "That's it right there." He pointed to the open page.

  "We never had one of those," said Slattery.

  "Well," said Horvath turning the pages of the manual, "You notice that it says right here never to haul without using the drawbar, see?"

  "We never had one of those neither."

  "What?"

  Slattery repeated, "We never had one of those neither. We never had one of those books."

  "So you didn't have a drawbar and you didn't have an operator's manual?" Horvath was writing on a legal pad.

  "I guess that's right," said Slattery.

  "Why do you think they weren't supplied to you?" asked Horvath.

  "I dunno." Slattery shook his head. "It's an old tractor. I doubt anybody's had a manual for years. I don't know about that bar."

  Horvath asked questions of Mullin and Schlicting, writing on the legal pad as he spoke. Finally he said, "I've written out statements to be signed by each of you. They state what you have told me about the accident. The statements are necessary for the file. I'd like to get a picture of each of you to accompany your statements, if you don't mind."

  Mullin and Schlicting looked at Fred Slattery.

  "Well, whatever we can do to help Bobby," said Slattery. "We'll cooperate."

  Horvath took a photograph of each of them out in the parking lot. The three men left in Slattery's truck to go back to work. Horvath put the statements in the file in his bag along with the camera in the rented car. Then he left for the Duluth airport on top of the hill.

  On his return flight, Horvath made notes for his report. He listed the several various ways in which the tractor was being used improperly. He listed the direct violations of the directions in the operator's manual. He outlined the conclusion he would dictate to the effect that Cherokee Manufacturing Company and the T-350 were free from responsibility for the accident which directly resulted from operator negligence and failure to follow the manufacturer's instructions.

  A good job, he thought. He accepted a complimentary cocktail from the first class stewardess.

  ************

  ***

  ************

  Richard Ellington had taken the phone call in Phillip Marquard's office. He replaced the receiver in the cradle on the console on Marquard's desk.

  "The investigator from Hobbs, Vance is on his way back from Wisconsin," he told Marquard. "He called in from the Minneapolis airport. The preliminary report is good. The investigator got written statements from the witnesses and photographed the tractor and the scene."

  "What do the witnesses say?" asked Marquard.

  "Operator negligence, all the way," replied Ellington. "No drawbar, didn't follow the manual, didn't even have a manual. Based on the statements and photos, our experts will say that the accident was caused by the failure to follow the manufacturer's instructions."

  "Good," said Marquard. "Make sure we have a good file here and one at Hobbs, Vance."

  "You got it," said Ellington. "Probably nothing will ever happen, but, if so, we're ready."

  ************

  ***

  ************

  Meanwhile up in Minneapolis, Jake Kingsley was trying a personal injury case in the Hennepin County Government Center. Judge Morken was presiding. The jury had been listening to testimony for four days. Judge Morken read instructions to the jury in a dull monotone. Shortly, the jury would retire to deliberate and the waiting game would begin. Jake felt his insurance company client should have settled this case, but the adjuster insisted and so it was tried and would soon be decided by verdict.

  PART FOUR: THE SAILBOAT

  CHAPTER TEN

  Never getting over his concerns about the practice of law, Jake finally left his practice in Minneapolis. With the reluctant agreement of his partners, he had left the firm of Stratton, McMasters & Hines to become the owner, occupant and resident of the forty-two foot ketch, Resolution, Hanson's Marina, Raspberry Bay, B
ay Harbor, Wisconsin.

  When Jake began talking seriously about leaving the practice of law, or taking a significant leave of absence, he was at first surprised by the firm's reaction. Later when he learned that the subject had been thoroughly discussed and some preliminary decisions made under the leadership of Stuart McMasters and Jim Decker, he understood and appreciated the loyalty of these two men.

  The firm took the position that Jake was too good a trial lawyer to quit or for the firm to lose for that matter. If he needed to get out and rethink things, it should be temporarily only. He could leave for a year or even two without pay and retain his position in the firm. He would of course have to leave his capital investment in the firm retaining his shares in the professional corporation. Also, in order to have his ownership of shares in a law firm be appropriate, he would continue on the letterhead in an "of counsel" capacity. If he withdrew his interest by having the firm buy or redeem his shares, the separation would be complete, and probably permanent, he was told.

  And so Jake made his choice. He elected to leave his investment in the firm and therefore his ticket to get back to a means of earning a living partly as the natural security it afforded and partly because it didn't amount to very much money under the firm's valuation system anyway. His choice was an indefinite leave. He would relocate to Raspberry Bay with, in his own mind, no intention of going back.

  Jake lived alone in Minneapolis. His home, which was bought partly as a hedge against inflation and a means of gaining some equity in something, was sold at a significant gain. He had, as Jim Decker was well aware, been saving for years to replace his thirty-foot fiberglass sloop with a ketch or yawl in the thirty-five to forty-five foot class. In addition, he had developed a modest stock portfolio, owned a duplex in the University area which had basically been paying for itself with its rentals and he had a fairly substantial pension to which he had for years been making the maximum tax-deferred contribution allowed by the tax laws.

  Everything but the pension was sold or otherwise liquidated. Although there were substantial capital gain taxes to be paid, Jake netted enough to buy the ketch and keep him alive for a couple of years.

  To start shopping, he went to the boat show in Minneapolis. He had looked at boats of the type he wanted for years. Following a lead from the boat show, he flew east and visited the Pearson Yacht Company's factory in Portsmouth Rhode Island. The hospitality afforded Jake at the factory was more than he had ever experienced, but he was, after all, a customer ready willing and able to purchase an expensive sailing yacht.

  He toured the plant for several days, planning the boat and selecting the hardware and other features.

  The boat he selected, or perhaps designed, with the help of the design engineers at Pearson Yachts, was a cutter-rigged ketch with two foresails. The length was forty-two feet. The hull was cream-colored fiberglass: what the manufacturer called "Narragansett White." Just under the gunwale was a wide brown stripe. It had a full keel from just abaft the bow all the way aft to the rudder. She drew three feet, eight inches with the trim board up into the keel and seven feet with the board fully extended. From the bow, an additional bow sprit of seven feet added to her length for sail purposes by extending the forestay. The standing rigging was heavily built and strong as were Jake's wishes and the standard designs of Pearson Yachts. For sails, she carried a mainsail and mizzen, two forward jib sails and two spinnakers were stored below. The spinnaker poles were stored on deck at the base of the forestays for the jibs.

  Jake named her "Resolution," a name he had long considered. The name was painted on the transom in large brown letters outlined in gold. To match the hull stripe, the main and mizzen were protected by sail covers of a rich dark brown on the booms, the main displaying the name of the boat in large gold letters on either side. The forward jib was a big Genoa jib, roller-furled with the foot and the leech reinforced with the same heavy material of the sail covers of the same dark brown which protected the sail from sun and weather when furled. The second, inner jib when at rest was stored in a sail bag of the same dark brown material that protected the other sails and remained on deck still attached to its stay for ready raising. This was a smaller sail, made self-tacking by cleating its single jib sheet to a cleat on a track on deck when in use.

  The boat was built in the late winter and spring while Jake finished up his work at Stratton, McMasters & Hines. It was to be ready for delivery in early spring.

  Jake had arranged for Resolution to be delivered to the Apostle Islands Marina in Bayfield. Hanson's had a lift that could handle the boat but getting the big truck and oversized load into Bay Harbor and down to the lakeshore was too difficult for the truckers. After delivery in Bayfield, Hanson's would send someone over for the cradle.

  Jake enjoyed the coming of spring to the Apostles as a guest of Professor Stanton at his cottage on Raspberry Point. He had taken a few weeks after leaving his office to clean things up in Minneapolis before joining Charles to settle in to wait for the arrival of the new boat. They talked about the coming summer which they planned to enjoy thoroughly, about the law, its good points and bad and some about their respective futures.

  When the boat arrived, Jake, Charles and Bert Hanson, from Hanson's Marina, went to Bayfield. Jake and the professor were full of enthusiasm. Bert brought along the tools and knowhow for much of what had to be done. They applied a coat of black anti-fouling pain to the hull below the water line. The boat was lifted over the water and launched in the marina. The masts were stepped and the sails rigged. Charles went to the A&P for groceries, ice, paper towels, etc. Jake got the chemicals for the head and teak oil from the Ship's Store. Bert filled the tanks with diesel fuel, started and tested the engine and checked all the hoses and connections to assure they were tight. He checked the rudder post through hull connection for any possible leaks. He was just checking the fire extinguishers while Jake was mounting the life saver horseshoe buoys on the stern rail, when Charles arrived with the groceries.

  "Looks like it's all set," he said carrying several large brown bags down the ramp to the gas dock where Resolution was tied.

  "Here, let me help," said Jake stepping onto the dock.

  "I stopped by Maggie's. They're holding our booth for us. What do you say?"

  Bert came up on deck from below. "I could have guessed. And did you already order the beer?"

  "I did. But, they won't draw them until they see the whites of our eyes."

  Bert said, "All we have left besides stowing your purchases is to fill the water tank. I can do that right now and she will be ready to leave after lunch."

  "Bert, can we leave your truck here to be picked up later and you go with us?" asked Jake.

  I thought you'd never ask, Jake. It was always my plan if okay with the skipper. I wouldn't want to miss her maiden voyage."

  After a lunch of burgers and beer at Maggie's on Manypenny the three friends motored the new ketch out of the marina and into the waters of the Apostle Islands. As soon as they were beyond the ferry entrance to the public dock, sails were raised, the engine silenced and Resolution sailed up the North Channel on a broad reach.

  "She's a beautiful boat, Jake!" Charles sat in the cockpit as they traveled along Madeline Island's west shore in the afternoon sun.

  "Well-built, too, said Bert who was up on deck checking the standing rigging and the sails.

  "Ready to come about!" called Jake.

  Charles and Bert manned the jib sheets for the Genoa jib. "Ready!" they answered.

  "Here we go!" Jake turned the big stainless steel wheel to port bringing Resolution's bow to the wind. As the bow crossed through the wind, Bert released the starboard jib sheet and crossed to the port side of the cockpit to tail on the winch for Charles as he cranked in the Genoa on the port side. Resolution continued close-hauled and heeled at only a little over five degrees and making nearly eight knots, her bow knifing through the water toward Hermit Island.

  "She's a stiff boat, too, Jake," said
Bert. "You could sail all day like this."

  "She has hard chines," answered Jake. "Unusual for a fiberglass hull on a boat this size, but it makes for comfort."

  "And comfort is the name of the game," said Charles. "How about a cold beer?"

  Resolution's maiden voyage took the three friends from Bayfield along Madeline Island, around Stockton Island, past Otter, Bear and Raspberry Islands and into Raspberry Bay to her reserved slip at Hanson's Marina.

  Over the next few days, Jake moved his things from the Stanton cottage to Resolution and began living aboard.

  One morning, Jake sat in the cockpit of the big ketch enjoying the early morning peace and quiet of the small marina. The commercial fishing boats had left before sunrise. At six-thirty, there was little activity. Most of the recreational boaters would not appear before seven-thirty or eight o'clock or later. This was a time Jake had always enjoyed.

  He sipped hot coffee and watched the seagulls flying overhead. A Mallard hen and her young swam in among the docks and boats in the still water of Hanson's Marina. As usual, a seagull landed on the dock and hopped up to the top of one of the support pilings to observe Jake and watch for possible food. Jake threw him a piece of toast.

  Resolution rested comfortably at her dock without stirring while the wind gently touched her upper rigging. Jake sat alone sipping his coffee, strong, black and steaming, from a large blue ceramic mug with a white line drawing of a sailboat bent against the wind and the words underneath in white letters, "Madeline Island."

  The radiant heat from the rising sun warmed his upper body against the cool of the early morning. He was dressed in faded jeans, an old, worn, pullover sweater and no shoes or socks. He listened to the wind chimes-like sound of the ringing of halyards fluttering against aluminum masts across the marina in the early morning breeze.