Brewster wrote the following article for Vol. II of The Trial Lawyer's Journal.
I met Harry Thompson in the late 1980’s.
Back then I was in my mid-30’s — and I was an aggressive young attorney. Some might have describedme as arrogant. With the perfect vision of hindsight, that label probably had some truth to it.
I was out to make a name for myself. In my mind, if I was not already the best malpractice defense lawyer in Virginia, I soon would be. As a trial lawyer, my fears were few. Looking back, it’s easy to see that I had not quite outgrown that sense of invulnerability which distorts the reasoning of young men. Of course, that is often not a good thing.
The first case we had together was a tough one. After what should have been routine surgery in a small rural hospital, the patient woke up blind. He then hired one of the toughest and most difficult plaintiffs’ lawyers in Virginia.
The St. Paul Fire and Marine Insurance Company, which at that time controlled about 75% of the Virginia market, retained me to represent the surgeon. Harry got the anesthesiologist. Just a cursory review of the records showed that this was going to be a sticky matter. In the operating room, the two doctors got into a fight about giving blood to the patient. No one could be faulted for lack of documentation. It was all there.
Even worse, the doctors hated each other.
In those days I was always in a hurry. I would do macho sorts of things like making a 36-hour trip to California for an expert deposition. No time to waste — and I was proud of not wasting time.
What a shock I got when Harry and I traveled to Cleveland for a deposition. Since we were being paid by the same entity, we coordinated our flights and shared a rental car. There was no leaving Richmond at 5:00 and getting to the hotel at midnight. We were there well before dinner time. Harry made it clear that a “nice meal” was important. I bristled, but I suppose I had enough good manners to have some respect (or indulgence) for this man who was a contemporary of my father. I did enjoy the meal and a few drinks. Harry had some great tales to tell.
We finished the deposition the next day mid-morning. Of course, I suggested heading to the airport so we could catch an earlier flight. Harry nicely vetoed that notion.
During WWII he had trained in Cleveland. He wanted to revisit some of the sites. We went off in search of a Ukrainian neighborhood church where Harry had gone to dances when he was an aviation cadet. He fondly recalled that he and his colleagues met a lot of “pretty girls” at those events, although he acknowledged those young women were a bit different from those he knew in Virginia. I rolled my eyes as we wandered through rather unsavory parts of that city. Clearly, the city had changed a bit since 1942, but we eventually found the onion-domed church he recalled.
Looking at that now derelict building, Harry got kind of wistful. But he quickly recovered his affable demeanor and suggested we find a good restaurant downtown and have a nice lunch. We ended up at a place on the top floor of a hotel. The meal was a leisurely one and the view of the lake was impressive.
Our case didn’t settle.
We headed toward trial. Somehow, Harry convinced his client that my doctor was not such a bad guy, and it would be best if everyone just got along. My surgeon went along with that scheme, albeit with some reluctance.
Back then, Southside Virginia was very rural and, unlike Richmond and points north, still very Southern.(It remains that way.) The courtroom was like something out of a novel — perhaps saying it was reminiscent of My Cousin Vinny would be a better way to put it. The judge was also a character. He spoke with such a pronounced accent that you almost thought it was a put on, but it was not — and he was extraordinarily sharp. The clerk told us to park in the no parking zone in front of the courthouse and then bring us the tickets. He would “fix” them for us. The jurors all seemingly knew each other as well as the courtroom personnel.
As expected, the trial was tough. The plaintiff’s lawyer attacked the doctors harshly. Harry remained unflappable, almost blasé. I was eager to do battle with the other lawyer. Sometimes when I was about to burst out of my chair, Harry would just pat my arm to encourage me to stay seated. Sometimes I did; sometimes I did not. At the time, I thought the process was ugly. With the perspective of several decades and at least a hundred more malpractice trials, it was ugly.
The other side’s experts were damning — and good too. However, both Harry and I were well-prepared. Our styles were different, but we both scored some good points.
When the blind plaintiff testified, Harry told me he would handle the cross examination. It was short, understated and effective.
We were on our game, so to speak.
On the third day of trial, all of us went out to lunch together. By then, the doctors had more or less bonded. (Shared adversity can have that effect.) As we sat there at Hardees consuming our hamburgers and curly fries, Harry looked across at me and said, “Brewster, can you believe we get paid for having so much fun?”
Both doctors almost gagged. I thought one or both might throw up. They had spent three days getting thoroughly bashed. To them, this was not fun — not fun at all.
If it was not the worst week of their lives, it would certainly be among the top five.
But it was fun. Difficult and ugly as it was, Harry and I were having a blast. We were in our element — and fully enjoying it. Here is the great paradox of being a trial lawyer — a real trial lawyer, that is: we are at our best and happiest when engaged in trial. Trials are intense and all consuming. It’s truly an adversarial process.
Challenging is an understatement. It’s hard to explain, but once a trial is going you just feel so alive.
On the other hand, trials are hard for clients. Indeed, trials are not fun for them. Few want to be there — and if they did want to be there one should be rightfully suspicious of them.
Harry had it right. Enjoy the process. If you must go to Cleveland, have a good time there. Go to trial and fight the good fight — but relish it like a happy warrior.
Don’t let the anxiety of trial — and, of course, there is no small amount of stress — distort that intense and often almost joyful focus that you need.
Harry died almost twenty years now. I am now the age he was when we met. I confess that getting a good meal when I travel is important. I don’t hurry either — no late flights or red eyes for me these days.
But trying cases is still my passion.
Our case from many years ago? We won.
I suppose I must modify Harry’s comment about getting paid for having so much fun. I am no longer a defense lawyer. No more hourly fees. I now take cases on contingent fees, so I guess I should say that I hope to get paid for having so much fun.
It’s no less fun, however.
Check out Brewster's article for the Trial Lawyer's Journal here: https://www.triallawyersjournal.com/articles/can-you-believe-we-get-paid-for-having-so-much-fun/
And here is a link to his profile on their website: https://www.triallawyersjournal.com/profile/brewster-rawls/
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