Kramer vs. Kramer

by Avery Corman

  Gressen, concerned about this testimony, decided to cross-examine.

  “Mrs. Willewska, you are in Mr. Kramer’s employ, are you not?”

  “Excuse?”

  “He pays you, doesn’t he?”

  The sarcasm that he was developing, that she had been bought for her remarks, escaped her entirely.

  “Yes, but my sister takes care of Billy today while I am here.”

  “This man gives you money, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know about today,” she said, confused. “Maybe he should pay my sister.”

  When the lawyer noticed both the judge and the court stenogra­pher smiling at the unassailable naïveté, Gressen withdrew, rather than engender more sympathy for the witness.

  “No further questions,” and he mustered a slight smile of his own in Shaunessy’s direction, professional respect—You got me on that one, John.

  Ted Kramer was to be next, the final witness in the hearing. They would begin in the morning.

  AT NINE-THIRTY, THE TESTIMONY began. It ran for the length of that day and through half of the next. What passed in the courtroom was a description of nothing less than a man’s life. They went back to the time of Joanna’s departure, to the decisions he made to keep the boy, to find a housekeeper, to keep the household stable, on through the day-to-day concerns of being with the child, winter viruses and a small boy’s social life, rainy Saturdays and 4 A.M. monsters. Shaunessy’s questions were delivered with feeling and compassion, as though a career of handling the niggling arguments of people in hate had suddenly been elevated by this one client who had become his cause. Give the man his kid, he seemed to be urging the judge. Look at what he’s done. They covered the long weekends, the clothes bought, the books read, the games played, the constant commitment, the depth of his caring, and somewhere in the closing hours of the testimony a change took place in the courtroom. Joanna Kramer, who had sat without expression throughout, modeling her indifference after her lawyer’s, began to listen, drawn into the testimony, the accumulation of detail, unable to take her eyes off the witness. Ted Kramer answered the last question—as to why he wanted custody, and he said, “I have no illusions about it, or that my boy will be grateful. I only want to be there, as I have been, because I love him.” A recess was called prior to cross-examination, the judge withdrew to his chambers, and Ted Kramer came off the stand, embraced by his lawyer and his people.

  IN CROSS-EXAMINATION, JOANNA’S LAWYER began to fire questions at Ted about hours, days, nights spent away from Billy, how often did Ted hire baby-sitters, leave the child to sleep with women, the lawyer attempting to impugn the witness on both his morals and his commitment to the child.

  “I don’t think, and do you agree, that we should add in as child care the time when you’re home and the child is asleep?”

  “You’re on duty then, too.”

  “Unless you have a woman in your bed then, too.”

  “Objection!”

  “Sustained.”

  “Mr. Kramer, have you ever had a woman in your bed while your child is in the next room asleep?”

  “I suppose.”

  “So do I.”

  Ted thought it was crude, an attack of innuendo and half-truth, but his lawyer had taken a low road with Joanna also, and it was as Shaunessy had said, a dirty game. Gressen now attacked Ted’s employment record with dates and places. Ted realized now that they had hired a private detective to find information to use against him. “How many months was that, Mr. Kramer?” “How many jobs does that make in the last two years?” What Ted had believed was an achievement, finding work, the lawyer was trying to turn into a character defect by stressing that Ted had been out of work in the first place.

  “I’m at McCall’s now. I don’t believe they are going out of business.”

  “How long have you been there?”

  “Two months.”

  “We’ll give you time.”

  “Objection, Your Honor!”

  “I’m only examining the man’s employment record, Your Honor. He pretends to fitness when he cannot hold a job. If the witness wishes to challenge these dates—”

  “Are they accurate, Mr. Kramer?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the whole—”

  “I have no further questions.”

  In his redirect examination, Shaunessy sought to reinforce his client’s position, wasn’t job turnover endemic to the field, hadn’t he improved his professional status over the years, wasn’t an adult social life and the hiring of babysitters common practice, and wouldn’t he go home that night after the hearing and administer to his child’s needs as he had been doing all along since his ex-wife’s abandonment?

  The petitioner’s lawyer had the opportunity for one final recross-examination.

  “Mr. Kramer, did your child nearly lose an eye when he was in your care?”

  For a moment, Ted could not absorb the question. They were bringing up the accident.

  “I say, Mr. Kramer, did the child injure himself while he was in your care and is he now permanently disfigured?”

  Ted Kramer suddenly felt physically ill on the stand. He looked over at Joanna. She was holding her face, her hands covering her eyes.

  “Objection, Your Honor. Counsel is raising a question that is not germane to these proceedings.”

  “While the child was in the care of the witness, he cut his face badly and is now scarred.”

  “Are you introducing the question of negligence here, Counselor?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “I see. Well, you’ll have to do better than that. Do you have any affidavits to support negligence?”

  “I do not, Your Honor, however—”

  “This is an isolated incident, Counselor, unless you can prove otherwise.”

  “Does the witness deny the injury took place?”

  “No, Counselor, I’m going to overrule you on this line of questioning.”

  “Then I have concluded my questions.”

  Ted stepped off the stand, still feeling ill. He walked slowly toward Joanna and stood in front of her.

  “The lowest, Joanna. The lowest—”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just mentioned it in passing. I never thought he’d use it.”

  “Really, now?”

  “Believe me, Ted. I never would have brought it up. Never.”

  But the events simply had gotten beyond her. Both sides had their lawyers, the lawyers had their tactics, the lawyers and the tactics had a life of their own. And now both sides had hurt and had been hurt.

  THE CUSTODY HEARING ENDED with the closing arguments by the lawyers, a summation of all the key points in their clients’ positions. The petitioner and the respondent would not speak again in this courtroom, not to the judge nor to each other. Counsel for the petitioner argued for motherhood, “that unique, life-giving force,” he said, “compared to which nothing on earth is more basic.” As part of his argument he said it was “unnatural to separate a child so young from its mother, unnatural for the child to be with his father when the mother is so obviously fit, ready and able to give a mother’s special love and caring.” Counsel for the respondent argued for fatherhood. “Father love is a powerful emotion,” he said. “It can run as deep as a mother’s love, as we have seen in the testimony in this courtroom.” And he argued for, specifically, the fatherhood of Ted Kramer. “It would be cruel and unjust to overturn custody in this case,” he said at the end of his argument. “Custody should remain in the warm home of a loving father, a man whose fitness for custody has been proven by the very conduct of his life.”

  And it was over. The judge would decide. He would analyze the testimony, be guided by the facts and the law, and make his decision. There would be no dramatic climax to the proceedings. People of furrowed brow would not wait to hear the decision, gripping the sides of tables, as in courtroom movies. The decision would not be given in the courtroom. It would be published routinely in a law newsp
aper, the newspaper would be delivered to the lawyers, the lawyers would telephone their clients. The announcement of which parent could keep the child would be cold, anticlimactic in style—but it would be binding.

  NINETEEN

  HE DID NOT PERMIT himself to ever be more than fifteen minutes out of reach by phone. He was also running a switchboard for other people’s anxiety. Among the callers, his mother was phoning daily from Florida.

  “Did you hear yet?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “You let me know.”

  “Mother, you’re not reducing the tension. Maybe you should call her.”

  “Her? I wouldn’t call her. I’ll call you.”

  He relived the custody hearing, second-guessed his lawyer’s strategy, critiqued his responses on the witness stand, and in the end, he was satisfied with the presentation of his case.

  During these days following the hearing, he performed in the manner that had been described in the courtroom, which was the normal conduct of his life. He spent his days at work and his evenings at home with his son. But the hours passed more slowly than any time he had ever known, more slowly than any time of his being unemployed, even more slowly than his first three weeks at Fort Dix when his orders had been misplaced and he remained in the reception center, officially in the Army, but not—time that did not count toward basic training. This was similar, worse—time that did not count toward anything but getting to the judge’s decision.

  A THREE-DAY WEEKEND WAS approaching for Washington’s Birthday, and Larry and Ellen offered to open the house on Fire Island. Since there was no water or heat, they would camp out in the house and use sleeping bags. Billy called it “a big adventure,” and for Ted it would be a chance to pass a long weekend and get to the next business day, when he would begin to wait again for the lawyer to call.

  As the time for the trip grew near he was becoming less enthusiastic about spending his nights in an unheated summer cottage by the ocean in the winter, but Billy was very excited, making certain he had fresh batteries for his flashlight so he could see skunks and raccoons outside the house at night, sharpening his plastic scout knife to do battle with wild bears. Ted amused himself with the possibility of a retrial on the basis of new evidence, freezing one’s ass off for one’s child.

  On Friday, the day before the weekend, his lawyer called.

  “Ted, it’s John.”

  “Yes?”

  “The decision is in, Ted.”

  “Yes?”

  “We lost.”

  “Oh, Jesus—”

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “The judge went for a motherhood ruling straight down the line.”

  “Oh, no. I think my heart is going to break.”

  “I’m upset, too. I’m very sorry, Ted.”

  “How could she win? How?”

  “She’s the mother. Ninety percent of the time, they give it to the mother. It’s even higher with little children. I figured this one time, just this time, we could sneak in there.”

  “No!”

  “It’s terrible.”

  “I lost him? I lost him?”

  “We tried, Ted.”

  “It isn’t fair.”

  “I know.”

  “It isn’t fair, John!”

  “Here. Let me read you the decision. It’s a very traditional ruling, I’m sorry to say.

  “ ‘In the matter of Kramer v. Kramer, the petitioner is the natural mother of the child, William, five and a half years of age. The mother in this proceeding seeks custody of the child from the father, in whose custody the child had been placed one year and a half ago in a prior divorce action. The court is guided by the best interests of the child and rules the best interests of this child, who is of tender age, will be served by his return to the mother.

  “ ‘The petitioner now resides in Manhattan and has taken steps to create a suitable home for the child. Prior determination of custody is not considered by the court to be conclusive, Haskins v. Haskins. The mother, having experienced stress at the time of the marriage, now shows every sign of being a competent, responsible parent. The father is also deemed a competent, responsible party. As between fit and proper parents, the court must make the best available choice, Burney v. Burney. The court rules the best interests of a child this young, Rolebine v. Rolebine, dictates a finding for the petitioner.

  “ ‘Ordered, adjudged and decreed that the petitioner be awarded care and custody of the minor child, effective Monday the 16th of February. That the respondent pay for the maintenance and support of said child, four hundred dollars each month. That the father shall have the following rights of visitation: Sundays from eleven A.M. to five P.M.; and two weeks during either July or August. No costs.’ And that’s it, Ted.”

  “That’s it? What do I get, Sundays from eleven to five? That’s what I get with my boy?”

  “At least you don’t have to pay her court costs.”

  “What’s the difference? I lost him. I lost him.”

  “Ted, you’ll still be in his life if you want to be. Sometimes the parents fight like hell for custody, and the one who loses doesn’t keep up, and never sees the kid that much.”

  “Either way, we become strangers.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Monday—it starts Monday. That’s right away.”

  “It’s not exactly permanent. If conditions should change, you could always bring a petition against her.”

  “Sure.”

  “We can also appeal. But you still have to comply. And they usually sustain.”

  “So I just turn him over, right? I just turn him over?”

  “Ted, I’m so sorry. I honestly believe we gave it our best shot.”

  “My Billy. My little Billy. Oh, Jesus—”

  “I don’t know what else we could have done—”

  “Terrific. And now the one who’s supposed to be unfit to keep him—I’m the one who’s in charge of telling him. Oh, Jesus—”

  Ted Kramer left the office for the day, too sick in spirit to work. He went home and rummaged through Billy’s room, trying to determine how you managed it. Did you pack up his entire life in boxes? Did you leave pieces behind for when he might come to visit? He tried to plan what he could say to him, how you explained.

  Ron Willis, serving as an intermediary for Joanna, called after trying to reach Ted in the office. He was courteous on the phone, the party assuming power being gracious to the losing side. He wanted to know if Monday morning at ten would be convenient and if Ted could put together a suitcase or two of Billy’s key possessions. They could arrange for any other toys or books later on.

  Etta returned from food shopping and Ted informed her that Joanna had been awarded custody of the boy. The time she had spent with Billy had been invaluable, he said, and Billy would always have a good foundation from the love she had given him. He had decided to make a request of Joanna that she retain Etta as a housekeeper, and Etta said of course she would be willing to take care of Billy. Then she got busy in the house, putting away food. A little while later he heard her. She was in the bathroom, crying.

  Billy was to be finished with his school day shortly, and Ted asked Etta to take him to the park for a while. He had unfinished business and he could not bear to see him just now. He began making phone calls to tell people, hoping to reach secretaries, third parties, answering machines, preferring to just leave messages and not have to get into conversations. He thought it would be best to leave the city for the weekend as planned, for Saturday and Sunday anyway. Ted could get away from the phone, and Billy would be deeply disappointed if the adventure were canceled. After he left his messages, spoke to friends, shared their regrets, he called his mother. Dora Kramer did not howl as he expected she might. “Joanna won custody,” he told her, and she said quietly, “I was afraid of that.”

  “Will I never see him again?” she asked, and Ted was not clear for the moment how
visitation rights worked for grandparents.

  “I promise you, Mother, you’ll see him. If nothing else, on my time.”

  “My poor baby,” she said. He was about to answer her with some invented reassurance about Billy, when she said, “What will you do?” and he realized his mother was referring to him.

  The question of Etta was an immediate concern to Ted. He wanted to get to Joanna before she made plans. If he mailed a special­-delivery letter immediately, Joanna would have it in the morning. He did not care to speak to her. There were other things to be communicated about Billy, as well. He could not pin a note to his jacket as though the child were a refugee. He wrote:

  Joanna—This is by way of introducing William Kramer. He is a sweet child, as you will see. He is allergic to grape juice, but will more than make up for the loss in apple juice. He is not, however, allergic to grapes. Don’t ask me why. He seems to also be allergic to peanut butter from the health food store, fresh ground, but not the stuff they sell in the supermarket—and don’t ask me why. At times, in the night he will be visited by monsters, or one particular monster. It is called The Face. The Face, as best I can determine, looks like a circus clown without a body, and from what the pediatrician says, and what I have read, may be a sexual fear of losing his penis, or a fear of his own anger, or just a circus clown he saw once. His doctor, by the way, is Feinman. His best medicine for colds is Sudafed. His best stories have been Babar and Winnie the Pooh up to now, with Batman moving up. His housekeeper has been Etta Willewska and is a main reason for this note. She is a loving woman, conscientious, very concerned about Billy, experienced, anything you’d want in a housekeeper. Most important, Billy cares for her and is used to her. I hope you don’t feel the need to make such a clean slate that you won’t consider her. I urge you to retain her. Her number is 555–7306, and I think she will take the job if offered. I’m sure other things will come up. Ask me what you need to and I guess eventually we’ll talk. That’s all I can think of right now. Try to speak well of me in his presence, and I will try, against my feelings, to do the same for you, since it would be “in the best interests of the child,” as they say. Ted.