Savannah Law

by William Eleazer

  “Honda Shadow. Got it for my wife.”

  “For your wife?”

  “Yeah, pretty good trade, don’t you think?”

  They both laughed. Jimmy’s wit was well known and at times predictable, as just demonstrated. But Jaak loved him dearly and always gave his jokes a hearty laugh. Jimmy ran an insurance agency and dabbled in real estate. Besides motorcycles, his true love was the outdoors: fishing in the summer, and any kind of hunting—deer, duck, dove, but especially quail—in the fall and winter. He had the perfect gun for every type of hunt. For Jimmy, recreation was time to be spent in the field. The exception was poker; he rarely missed Jaak’s Sunday night games.

  The poker group had been meeting Sunday evenings in the lounge at the Library for almost six years. This was the first game after the summer hiatus. There were seven regulars, including Jaak, and three or four alternates who filled in when a regular was unavailable. Juri was one of the alternates, but he only played when Jaak was away.

  Malcolm Zitralph, a retired Savannah Police Department Detective, was the next to arrive. Jaak met Malcolm soon after Jaak opened his first bar, Tun Tavern. Tun Tavern was located in a prime spot in the high-rent district on River Street. It was an expensive undertaking, made even more so when it was hit by a burglary during which Jaak lost not only his new safe but also several cases of bar supplies. Malcolm worked the case, solved it, and he and Jaak became close friends. After retiring from the police department, Malcolm went to work for Verizon Wireless, working as a network trouble shooter.

  The rest of “the usual suspects,” as Juri enjoyed calling Jaak’s poker friends, arrived soon afterwards. Professor Denis Nolan was the only player in the group from Savannah Law. He was an early patron at the Library, often stopping by after classes to chat with students and have a beer. And, being a bachelor, he frequently had dinner there. When Denis spied the poker table in the lounge, he asked to be included should a game be organized. When Jaak hosted the first game, he invited Denis to join, and he had been a member of the group since. Another regular was Rench Renshaw, a Savannah banker who worked with Jaak when Jaak purchased some business property on East Bay Street in the early nineties. Pete Hanson, Jaak’s accountant, and Bill Northrop, an architect who had been active in the Historic Savannah Preservation projects, were the other regulars. Jaak consulted with Northrop when he was renovating the Library, and it was Northrop who had suggested and designed the custom-made poker table. Bill was the last to arrive. Chips had already been distributed, and Malcolm had won the deal.

  Bill was carrying an ice chest as he walked through the door. “Kodiak Brown Ale. Who’s ready?”

  All hands went up, and he began popping the bottle caps. The beer came in twenty-two-ounce bottles from the Midnight Sun Brewing Company. His brother in Anchorage sent a case of this special brew every summer, and Bill always shared it with his poker friends.

  Bill threw his twenty into the box holding the “entry fees,” and with these preliminaries completed, Malcolm started to deal. He looked at the ante on the table and declared, “Pot’s light—ante up!” A chip was flipped into the pot by Pete.

  “You accountants, always hiding the money,” said Malcolm, and then, in a monotone sing-song chant, he continued: “Omaha high-low, double flop, pot luck, rotation betting, cards read, discard one.” And with that, the Sunday night poker game began.

  When the evening ended, the winners were the usual winners and the losers, the usual losers. Top winner this night was Pete, who had an accountant’s approach to the game: cautious and patient. His winnings were $55, which was about average for a top winner on any evening. The “big loser”—which in this low-stakes game was a term impacting ego, not finances—was Denis, at $65.

  “Glad to help with your daughter’s tuition, Pete. And your wife’s kitchen renovation,” Denis said with a forced laugh as he was leaving. But there was no mistaking the disappointment in his voice.

  CHAPTER 8

  Monday, August 21

  Winston Adams was in a reflective mood. He sat at his desk and gazed out the window onto the courtyard. He had been dean of Savannah College of Law since it opened, but this would be his last year. He would officially announce his retirement plans Tuesday afternoon at the first faculty meeting of the new semester. It would not really be news—almost everyone at the school already knew. Savannah College of Law had grown in enrollment, endowment and, more important, prestige during his administration. It was now fully accredited. The faculty was stronger, and new buildings graced the campus. An accreditation visit by the ABA inspection team was scheduled for the spring semester. Accreditation visits were scheduled every seven years and were heavy administrative burdens on law schools, even well-established ones. But Dean Adams was actually looking forward to this inspection visit. He was confident that the faculty and the trustees would be proud of what they would find in the final report.

  Roxanne Kennedy, his secretary, buzzed to tell him that the registrar, Deborah Channing, was on the phone. Deborah was one of his first hires when he was appointed dean. He had previously served as dean at two other law schools and as assistant dean at two more. She was by far the best registrar he had worked with. In fact, he had “stolen” her from the last school where he had served as dean. They shared many school secrets and had tackled many problems as a team. Next to his wife of forty years, she was his closest confidant. She was also serving temporarily as Director of Admissions while the regular director, Kathy DeBarr, was on maternity leave. He picked up the phone on his desk.

  “Winston Adams,” he answered.

  “Dean, this is Deborah. I have the initial statistics for this semester’s entering students. Would you like me to bring them over now?”

  “Yes, this is a good time,” he said. He put down the phone and continued to gaze out the window, reflecting on how fast the time had passed. While Savannah College of Law had not grown into one of the so-called elite law schools, it had grown considerably in peer respect during Winston’s deanship. U.S. News and World Report, which purports to rate all accredited law schools in the United States, had given it a higher rating each year. Almost seven hundred applications had been received last year, and Savannah College of Law had accepted only 185. Total student enrollment was now 480, and Winston was proud that he knew most students by name, a claim few law deans could make.

  The financial scandal that hit Savannah College of Law in its third year was a distant memory to most at the school, although Winston thought of it often. It resulted from the Board of Trustees’ eagerness to expand the physical facilities on the campus. Winston vigorously opposed the idea, arguing that the small endowment should be used to attract outstanding new faculty and not for new buildings. Nevertheless, the trustees, led by the board chairman, Howard Nolan, proceeded with their plans, which included a new administration building, a large classroom building, and two large wings to the library.

  After Winston realized that they were going ahead with the building program despite his advice, he tried to have them substitute a courtroom for the reading room that was planned for one of the wings to the library. Instead, they added a complete new building with one large courtroom. The building was later named “Thomas Courthouse.”

  Howard Nolan, as chairman of the Board of Trustees, appointed a committee chaired by a close friend to oversee construction of the project, and he instructed the committee to proceed with all due haste. Proceed with haste they did. The job was awarded to one of Howard’s own construction companies on a cost-plus contract. With little incentive to keep the cost down, and no independent oversight, the cost skyrocketed, and the school’s endowment vanished. Howard, already one of the wealthiest men in town, became wealthier.

  Winston spent the next three years in a campaign to complete the buildings and restore the endowment. He was successful with both projects. Because the school had been in existence for such a short time, there were no rich alumni available to replenish the depleted funds. But Sava
nnah business and civic leaders were anxious to have the school succeed, and they assisted with the endowment drive. Buildings and classrooms were named in honor of major contributors, and the necessary funds were raised. Soon Savannah Law’s endowment was greater than it had been before the construction project depleted it. But Winston never forgot how the trustees had failed to exercise any fiscal oversight on the building project. He was convinced that others on the board besides Howard had shared in the spoils from the project.

  When it became clear that the school had weathered the storm, Winston decided it was the appropriate time to retire. He could now retire with pride in his accomplishments and a feeling of assurance that the school was ready for its future challenges.

  There was a gentle knock on his door. Deborah entered, and before either said a word, they went through their private, silent ritual. To any observer it would be unremarkable. But to Winston and Deborah, it was a ceremonial occasion. The ritual dated back to those turbulent years when the trustees overruled Winston’s objections and began the new construction project. Winston had a group photo of the Board of Trustees prominently displayed on the wall. One day while Deborah was in his office, he was fuming about the “crooks” involved in the building process—“they’re just a bunch of crooked bankers and real estate developers!” Then he walked over to the photo and moved its horizontal axis, leaving it on an odd tilt. “There, now we can see you for what you are—crooked!” he shouted. As Deborah left, she walked to the photo, straightened the frame, and silently walked out the door. The next time, however, it was Deborah herself who walked over to the photo and angled it in the same crooked position in which Winston had placed it during her last visit.

  And thus the ritual began and continued. Each time Deborah visited, she would turn the photo, and each time upon leaving, she would return it to its original position. The ritual, as silly as it was, never failed to get a chuckle out of Winston. Though he was eventually pleased with what the building project accomplished, he never changed his conviction that they were indeed a bunch of crooks, especially the board chairman, Howard Nolan. Winston was convinced that Howard had personally, substantially, and illegally enriched himself through the building project, backed by loans from Howard’s own bank and built by his construction companies.

  So, on this Monday morning, the first day of classes for the new semester, Deborah marched in, tilted the photo, and immediately took a seat in a chair beside Winston’s desk. She did not wait for Winston to suggest that she be seated. Such formalities had been dropped between them years ago. However, one formality Deborah observed was the use of his title. She always addressed him as “Dean.” They quickly got to the business at hand.

  “You are going to be pleased with this entering class,” she said. She handed Winston a chart that she had prepared that morning. “I’ve listed the twenty-fifth to seventy-fifth percentile LSAT scores and GPA ranges for the past three years. You can see they get better each year.”

  Indeed, Winston was pleased. “Kathy has done a wonderful job. She sent me a picture of her new baby and says she will be back in early October. I surely look forward to that.”

  “Not as much as I do,” said Deborah.

  “Anything else of interest that I should know? You have toured recently with your divining rod, haven’t you?”

  In Winston’s early days as dean, he made a practice of walking around the campus daily and talking to the students, as well as visiting the staff offices at least two or three times a week. Recently a set of bad knees had cut down on his walking, and he relied heavily on Deborah as his eyes and ears. She was a popular member of his staff and had many friends and confidants. Her job kept her in constant contact not only with students but also with faculty. Should something new or awry occur, she would be one of the first to know.

  “Everyone, or most everyone, has heard that you are going to announce your retirement. And, of course, there is much curiosity and speculation about your replacement.”

  “That’s understandable; I kind of wonder about that myself,” said Winston. “Any rumors or bets?”

  “Not exactly, but I have heard that Professor Nolan is planning to apply.”

  Deborah noticed a distinct frown on Winston’s face. Any decision on a new dean was months away, and even speculation was a bit premature. She knew, however, that politics within this faculty— any college faculty—could be intense, and sometimes cutthroat and devious. She was not one to repeat pure gossip, but Winston should not be caught unaware.

  “I don’t have personal knowledge of this, but I have heard from a pretty good source that Professor Nolan has approached most of the younger tenure-track professors for support.”

  That did not surprise Winston. But the prospect of the son of the “crooked banker” taking over was not a pleasant thought. He did not expect Denis’s efforts to receive much traction, as he had limited teaching experience and no administrative experience. Nevertheless, he enjoyed a strong camaraderie with the younger members of the faculty, and now there were as many of those as older faculty. And Winston knew a well-orchestrated bid, with the support of the younger faculty, could bring a disrupting influence that would be felt for years.

  Winston recalled the events that led to Denis’s hiring. His father, Howard, was chairman of the Board of Trustees from the school’s inception. During Winston’s first few months as the new dean, before the school opened, he kept the trustees apprised of progress, including the hiring of staff and faculty, by weekly reports. For the first semester, they would need only five full-time professors plus two research and writing instructors. In one of their conversations on staffing, Howard informed Winston that his son, Denis, was an attorney in Chicago practicing real property law. He asked Winston to consider Denis for the property slot. Howard knew the position had not been filled, and Winston felt he had little choice but to at least consider Denis. Besides, the new school was not yet offering salaries that would attract prominent or experienced professors, and Howard’s son had some experience in real property law, limited as it was.

  The weekend Denis flew down from Chicago for his interview, Howard hosted a party at his luxurious beach house overlooking the ocean on Tybee Island. He invited all of the members of the Board of Trustees, Winston, Vice Dean Bechtel, and the three faculty members who had previously been hired, along with a number of prominent Savannah business leaders and their spouses. It was quite an affair, with a lavish menu of superb food and wine and a live band playing on the patio. Howard spent the evening introducing or reintroducing his son to the guests.

  Winston remembered that he had been quite impressed, not only with the event, but with the number of prominent Savannah civic leaders in attendance. Conspicuously displayed in the large entry foyer of the house was a mock-up of the new Savannah College of Law campus, including models of all the buildings then under construction. Designed by a team of seniors at Savannah College of Art and Design, it was beautifully done. Winston had to give Howard high marks for the promotion of the law school—and his son—that evening.

  Winston found Denis to be personable and intelligent. Denis was a magna cum laude graduate of the University of Virginia School of Law with a couple of years of experience in real estate practice, and Winston could envision him as a very valuable addition to the faculty. Winston was a pragmatist; having the son of a major benefactor and chairman of the board on the faculty should be a positive factor in ensuring continued financial support for the school. On the other hand, Winston could see the potential disaster should Denis not prove equal to the task. It would be messy, perhaps ruinous to the school, should it be necessary to terminate him for any reason.

  The Faculty Hiring Committee met with Denis for a couple of hours and discussed his application but did not insist on a full law school transcript. Had they done so, they might have noted that he “sat out” the spring semester of his second year. The transcript would not have provided many facts, but perhaps it would have precipitat
ed further probing and uncovered the reason: he was facing a plagiarism investigation.

  It was only by chance that Winston learned of the plagiarism accusation. He was at an academic conference the year after Denis was hired when he met a professor from the University of Virginia who was familiar with the incident. The professor merely mentioned to Winston that he had heard that Denis Nolan was teaching at the new law school in Savannah and was happy to know that Denis was able to put the unfortunate matter behind him. When Winston inquired about the “unfortunate matter,” the professor became reticent and appeared embarrassed. Upon being pressed by Winston, he eventually told of Denis being accused of plagiarizing a seminar paper. The professor was not involved in the investigation but recalled the incident because he was Denis’s faculty advisor. This was an extremely severe accusation at the University of Virginia. Since 1842, under its honor system, expulsion was the required sanction for any student found guilty. The investigation proceeded slowly. Denis decided not to register for classes until the matter was resolved. The trial was scheduled for February. When February arrived, it was discovered that the plagiarized paper was missing and could not be located. Exactly who had it last was never determined. Without the paper, the trial could not be held, and the case was closed. The school agreed to expunge all reference to the charge and the investigation from Denis’s official files, but the record of a lost semester on his transcript was unavoidable.

  Winston had never mentioned this disclosure to anyone. However, now that Denis was considering applying to succeed him as dean, he could not help but wish that someone at the University of Virginia would suddenly find that missing plagiarized paper and resurrect that canceled student trial.

  After a moment of deep thought, Winston responded to Deborah’s news. “Professor Nolan is an ambitious young professor. But I wonder if he has given any thought to what is required of a dean. Setting salaries of your close friends is difficult and can have a chilling effect on the relationship. Denis would find that being dean can be a very lonely job.”