Novel in Progress

THE LAST OF THE GREAT TRIAL LAWYERS

an original novel by Glenn Edward Bradford

CHAPTER ONE

            Earl Griggs puffed on his last Camel and studied the bright Missouri moon.  It was late October in Kansas City and starting to get cold.  Earl pulled his windbreaker up around his neck and took a final drag on his cigarette.  Anyway, it was time he got back up to Bobby’s room to give him a last pat of encouragement before the big operation tomorrow morning.  Earl had to chuckle to himself as he thought of the boy’s excitement on the way to the hospital earlier that evening.  How in the world could anyone actually be excited about undergoing surgery, Earl wondered.

            Bobby had been born with a cleft palate, a cleft lip and a slightly deformed nose.  Half- a-dozen operations when he was small had greatly improved Bobby’s looks and his self-confidence.  When he was eleven, the plastic surgeon had advised Earl and Betty to wait until Bobby finished growing to schedule the final and hopefully concluding surgery on Bobby’s lip and nose.  The boy was seventeen and a senior this year and he had been asking Earl about the operation for a couple of years now.  Earl was all for the surgery to please his only son but he had no health insurance at Earl Griggs Auto Body and it had taken a while to save up the $8,000.00 the doctor and the hospital had wanted to do the operation.

            Earl turned and  walked back in the front door of Methodist Hospital.  He figured he would be back out here on the front porch a few times tomorrow.  Hopefully, Dr. Adkins was right and Bobby could go home with him Wednesday morning, two days from now.

Earl stopped in the lobby and called Betty and Lloyd.  Earl and Betty  were not the best of friends since the divorce but they tried to be cordial and cooperate where their only child was concerned.  Earl assured a nervous Betty that all was progressing well,  as Dr. Adkins had promised.  Betty thanked Earl for his call and told him to wish Bobby well and give him her love.  Betty would be in from Sedalia about noon,  she told Earl for the fourth time.  It was those fourth times, Earl reminded himself,  that had helped make his sixteen years with Betty such an ordeal.  Betty was a decent woman, Earl allowed,  but she was compulsive and demanding and had literally driven him to drink. Her constant obsession with her charismatic religious sect had particularly bothered Earl, a believer but no churchgoer. She was now in her fifth year of driving Lloyd to drink. 

            Earl had considered having a heart to heart talk with old friend Lloyd  before the wedding but he had ultimately decided that Lloyd was just going to have to learn for himself.  Besides, it was good not to have to pay alimony.  As a bonus, the fastidious  Lloyd  had not been enthusiastic about inheriting a raucous and headstrong 12 year old boy and thus had Earl gotten his son back.  The happiest day of his life, Earl reminded himself.

            “He just fell asleep a few minutes ago, Mr. Griggs,” said the young night nurse.

“He’s real excited,” said Earl, “he’s going to be ‘cute’ in a couple of days.”  “He told me that he has his senior picture coming up for the yearbook,” she continued.  “Yes,” said Earl, “Senior at Taylorsville High this year.”  “He has carefully timed his surgery so that he will all be healed up in time to be immortalized in the Taylorsville Herald.”  “The doctor wrote orders for a sedative and I gave him a shot just a few minutes ago.”  “Yeah,” said Earl,”he seemed pretty hyper.” “They brought up your cot a little while ago and there is a pillow and some bedding.  If you need anything else, just let me know.  I’ll be on duty until 11:00.” “Thank you very much,” said Earl, as the young nurse stepped out the door of Bobby’s private room.

            Earl walked over to the side of Bobby’s bed and gazed fondly at his only child.  The only child he would ever have, thought Earl.  He sure hoped Bobby didn’t turn out to be an old bachelor or, God forbid, gay.  Earl wanted grandchildren.  Bobby hadn’t shown much interest in the girls but he really hadn’t had much of a chance at that so far, the poor little guy.  He wasn’t ugly, Earl told himself, but he was no beauty.  Maybe the surgery would help the kid out, thought Earl.  With his lip and nose cleaned up some,  maybe he would fare a bit better with the ladies.  The extra confidence alone would go a long way, Earl knew from his 47 years of life experience.  

            Earl gently patted his son’s brow and tucked him in.  This used to be Earl’s nightly assignment but Bobby had stopped that nonsense when he had reached the mature age of 11.  Earl secretly missed his little son of so long ago.  But really not so long ago, mused Earl.

            Hickory-tough Viet Nam veterans  aren’t supposed to want to have closeness with their children.  Earl felt that he must be some kind of an aberration.  He had long enjoyed his closeness with his boy but he had never, ever, been able to speak of it to anyone--except in his prayers. Please, Lord, let this surgery go well for my boy and let him be handsome as hell, Earl thought to himself.  Well, not the hell part, but you know what I mean, Lord.  I love this youngster more than anything in the world and I would do anything to make sure he is healthy and happy. The look  of excitement in Bobby’s eyes as they drove to the hospital had damn near brought tears to the eyes of the world-weary Earl Griggs.  He prayed that he would get to see that look again when the surgeon’s work was done.

            He may not be a beauty, thought Earl, but he has the heart of a lion.  Earl had once seen this boy win a National Karting Championship, the cherished “Duffy,” while driving with a wrist broken in a crash in a heat race.  Bobby hadn’t even mentioned the wrist until he had taken the checkered flag and his victory lap.  The pain had been so great that Bobby had not been able to attend the trophy ceremony, being in surgery to repair his badly-broken wrist at the precise moment when the trophies were being given out.  He was still miffed about that.

            Bobby had also cold cocked more than a few opposition running backs for the Taylorsville Tiger football team for which Bobby was a 5' 11", 160 pound linebacker. A real “headhunter,” Coach “Red” Thomas had called Bobby Griggs in the Kansas City Star article which appeared during last year’s state playoffs. Earl still had that article in his billfold. Earl gave his son a final pat and slid under the covers of his cot.  “Good night, son of mine,” Earl said softly to his sleeping son.

            Morning came quickly and Earl was just finishing up shaving in the bathroom of Bobby’s private room when the anesthesiologist, Dr. Kuhn,  came in to give Bobby his sedative.  Soon after, the hospital orderlies came and Bobby was wheeled from his room to the operating room up on the 5th floor.  Bobby was groggy, but happy, as the orderlies wheeled  him out of room 322.  “See you later, Dadster,” said the young man on the morning he had been looking forward to for so many years now.   Earl smiled at Bobby and playfully patted him on the arm. He had no way of knowing it at the time but those would be the last words that Earl Griggs would ever hear his son speak.

           

           

CHAPTER TWO

            Alexander P. Hunter, III, got out of his Lexus Coupe and ever so gently closed the door.  This was his fourth Lexus and his favorite.  He couldn’t help but glance back over his shoulder at the sleek, black automobile as he waited for the elevator which would take him from the parking garage to his top floor office. It was nearly as sleek as he was, he thought to himself.

             It took only a few moments to complete his morning journey to the 47th floor of One Kansas City Tower, the newest, tallest, and undoubtedly most impressive building in downtown Kansas City, Missouri. The top floor of the tallest building in Kansas City, he proudly noted for maybe the hundredth time since the firm had moved in last winter. Hunter was one of the senior partners in the largest and most prestigious law firm in the city, Gallagher and Tate.  The firm now had over one-hundred and seventy attorneys and Hunter was chairman of the medical and hospital law section of the firm. Hunter controlled more clients and accounted for more dollars billed per annum than any other lawyer in the firm.  He was not the most senior partner in the firm but he was unquestionably the most powerful.  As he stepped off the elevator and into the firm’s plush offices, he was the very embodiment of the big time, silk stocking lawyer.  And he very much looked the part.

            Hunter gave out his usual cordial good mornings to the 47th floor receptionist, Gina Preston, and the rest of the staff members he encountered on the way to his spacious corner office with its fabulous view of  the confluence of the Missouri and Kansas Rivers.  Alexander Hunter was 58 years old and in the peak of health.  He made sure of that by religiously maintaining his exercise regimen of tennis and handball.  He was 6'2" tall and a trim 180 pounds, just five pounds more than his weight as a tennis star at the University of Kansas nearly forty years ago.  Only a bit of gray at the temples and fine lines around his mouth and eyes had compromised the Ivy League good looks of his youth.  He could have passed for 35 this morning, he thought.  And he was right.

            Hunter felt particularly expansive this morning.  He had been notified yesterday that he had been elected to the prestigious International Society of Barristers.  This would complete his spectacular triple play, membership in the three most prestigious litigation organizations: The American College of Trial Lawyers, the International Academy of Trial Lawyers, and the International Society of Barristers.  He would be formally inducted, he had just been advised, at he annual meeting in Toronto next spring.  His Yale connections had once again paid off as they had for so long.  Merton Bevans of Huffington, Wilmer, Davis and Dopor of Chicago, and a Yale Law School classmate, had called him yesterday afternoon with the good news.

            Thankfully, Menton had gotten the admission’s committee to forget about the bothersome chore of having Hunter list out all his many trial and appeal victories.  There had been so many, Hunter had assured Merton, that it would take him forever to fill out the application.  The International Society of Barristers had thus decided to receive the renowned Alexander Hunter, III, without the usual compilation of actual trial accomplishment.  After all, would the American College of Trial Lawyers and the International Academy of Trial Lawyers take someone without a long and sparkling record in the courtroom, Bevans had argued to the committee.  The International Society of Barristers had thus added the illustrious Alexander P. Hunter, III, to their ranks without the usual careful scrutiny of the trial record.  That formality was clearly unnecessary in the case of one of the Midwest’s most successful and powerful attorneys.

            Mrs. Leonard appeared at the door with the morning mail and brought Hunter out of his pleasant reverie.  “I hear that congratulations are in order, once again, Mr. Hunter,” intoned the always reliable Mrs. Leonard.  “Thank you, very much, Mrs. Leonard, said Hunter, pleased as always with the unmitigated hero-worship which Mrs. Leonard unfailingly exuded in his presence.  I understand that you are the first member of Gallagher and Tate to be elected to the organization, said the ever-loyal Mrs. Leonard.  “Am I, I didn’t realize that,” fibbed Hunter with as much false modesty as he could summon. 

            “You have already had a call this morning from Clayton Reedy of the Methodist Hospital Board,” said Mrs. Leonard, quickly shifting to the business of the day,“he wants you to come out for lunch today, if you are available.”  “I believe I can be available for Clayton Reedy.  I think that the hospital is going to hire me, er us, to be the new counsel for the hospital” “Why would an old, established hospital like Methodist be looking for new attorneys,” said Mrs. Leonard.  “Apparently, the Board has been unhappy with the losses in several big cases the last couple of years by Ringler, Spence,” surmised Hunter. 

            Martin Ringler wasn’t what he used to be and he always had been overrated thought Hunter to himself.  Ringler had always managed to go to trial and lose cases that Hunter would have gotten settled.   “Oh well, our good fortune,” said Mrs. Leonard.  “You are going to represent every hospital in the city before you’re through,” she continued.  Hunter smiled and started to go through a typically thick stack of morning mail.

CHAPTER THREE

            David Butler stood on the corner for a moment to admire the black Lexus as it turned  into the parking lot of One Kansas City Tower.  “What a car!” he muttered to himself, as he adjusted his new bifocal glasses to get a better look.  Someday he would have one of those, he thought to himself, but he knew well enough already that he would never have the disposable income--or the vanity--for such an expensive automobile.  Oh, well, he could always hope.  Maybe when his three children were out of college he would splurge and pop for a Lexus.  Since, Peter, Meredith, and Andy were 11, 9, and 6, respectively, Butler knew that any hypothetical Lexuses were a long way in his future.

            Butler walked another block,  crossed with the light and entered his office in the Regency Building, an old building built in the 1920's and rehabbed in the late 80's.  Butler loved the classic beauty of the outside of the old structure but also was thankful for the new elevators, heating and air conditioning units which had been added in the restoration.  He got off the elevator at the third floor and once again enjoyed the view of the beautiful atrium which constituted the centerpiece of the interior of the restoration.  He put the key in the lock and opened the door to his office suite but was surprised to find Jim Deitrich already in the office at this early hour of 8:00 a.m. 

            Jim was a hard worker and an excellent lawyer but he rarely appeared in the office before 9:00 a.m.  “What’s going on, Jimmy,” called out Butler, taking the opportunity to needle his affable younger law partner.  “I have the closing on the Beaumont Hotel property today,” explained Deitrich.  “I though I had better get in here and make sure all the closing documents were in order.”  “Some day we’ll have a whole fleet of paralegals and associates to handle the details,” consoled Butler. “ I hope not,” said Deitrich, “I had enough of that at Gallagher and Tate.”  “That’s why you’ll never get rich as a lawyer, Jimmy, you actually like to do legal work.  I don’t think partners at Gallagher and Tate actually do legal work, do they?”  “I was never sure exactly what the partners at Gallagher and Tate did.”  “I certainly never saw any of them in the library or at the courthouse,” reminisced Deitrich. 

            After starting the day with good natured bantering with his young law partner, David Butler made his way into his office overlooking Twelfth Street and Grand Avenue, once the most compelling corner in Kansas City, but now somewhat less than glamorous.  It was only the third floor but David liked being down where the world is actually in progress on a given day.  Not every lawyer in Kansas City would  have relished his view of Twelth Street and Grand Avenue, but David Butler truly did. 

            Butler momentarily caught his reflection in the window and paused to admire his still full head of hair.  If he had to be 41 years old, at least he still had his sturdy physique and full head of thick brown hair.  He had never considered himself handsome but the years had clearly been kinder to him than to many of his contemporaries.  He was over six feet three inches tall and only slightly overweight at 218 pounds.  He was going to lose that extra ten pounds, he reminded himself.  He had made a solemn promise to his mother when she had visited on Labor Day.  His mother even thought that his new gold-framed bifocals gave him an air of maturity and dignity, as befitting a counselor of his years at the bar.  David reminded himself that he needed to call his mom and dad in Hannibal, the small town in northeast Missouri where he was born and raised.

            Butler had been exceptionally busy lately, even by his own hectic standards.  He had tried 14 jury trials in the space of thirty months, an extremely heavy trial schedule for a modern urban trial lawyer.  However, he knew from experience that it might be two years before another trial came along.  You could never predict what particular case might end up in trial.  David Butler was an absolute river boat gambler by lawyer standards, however, and it usually wasn’t long before a trial opportunity presented itself.   He liked to try cases, particularly to juries, and he especially liked to try cases when he won.  Out of his fourteen most recent cases, he had won 10 and lost 4, about par for the course for David.

             Only one of the losses was what could be considered a really heavy loss, but it was a doosey, a two million dollar judgment in an airplane crash.  He had tried to tell the claims manager at Chicago Casualty that Freeman Reed was the most dangerous plaintiffs’ lawyer in the State of Missouri, that their defenses were weak, and that a settlement was a smart idea but the claims manager had ignored his advice.  Ultimately, the claims manager had decided that Butler had not given him the proper advice and had run to Alexander Hunter at Gallagher and Tate to handle the appeal.  David’s 125 dollar an hour rate was attractive but in this case the claims manager needed the 425-dollar an hour expertise of the noted Alexander Hunter of the renowned law firm of Gallagher and Tate. 

            Well, at least  David hoped Hunter could get the judgment reversed.  David had once heard Hunter say at a CLE seminar that he hadn’t lost a case in over twenty years. Freeman Reed had submitted some highly questionable jury instructions which Judge Bock had given to the jury over Butler’s vehement objections.  Judge Bock had seemed  a bit overawed by having the great Freeman Reed appear before him and he had basically given Reed anything he had asked for.  There were clear errors made by the judge during the trial and Butler had made a good record preserving each and every one of them.  Knock ‘em dead, Alexander Hunter.  It would be nice to have that two-million dollar black mark off his record.

            David began the  morning by reading a deposition transcript which the court reporter had delivered yesterday afternoon.  The deposition had been taken two weeks ago in the Branson case.  Betty Prichardt of Sedalia had testified that her friend Martha Branson had told her that she had felt a lump in her right breast one morning two years ago.  Betty had gone so far as to have Martha disrobe and feel for the lump herself, which she testified was clearly identifiable on the inside of Martha’s right breast.  Betty had advised her friend to go to her obgyn and get a mammogram.  When Martha had been reluctant, Betty had put her in her car and driven Martha to the doctor’s office.  Betty, so she testified, had waited in the doctor’s waiting room for her friend to return.  She had been relieved to hear that the doctor had found nothing in his examination but she had been very concerned, she testified, when Martha had reported that the doctor had not deemed it necessary to order a mammogram.

            Betty’s repeated exhortations to see another physician had been ignored by the timid Martha Branson, more than happy to believe that she was free from the cancer that had killed her mother and two of her sisters.   Six months later a golf ball sized tumor was discovered in Martha’s right breast when she fell at work and was sent to the company doctor.  Six months after that Martha Branson was dead of invasive ductile carcinoma.   Martha’s son,  Robert Branson,  was an old friend of Jimmy Deitrich’s from high school and thus did the firm of Butler and Deitrich, P.C., get the case of Branson versus Dr. Edwin P. Ewler.

             Betty Prichardt was a strong-minded woman and she was very pissed off at Dr. Edwin P. Ewler, although, as David had quickly learned, she would never have used such language herself.  She had been an extremely good witness and David’s careful reading of her deposition confirmed his strong impression at the time of the deposition.  Dr. Ewler, who was now retired, had actually turned out to be a rather charming, grand fatherly old gentleman.  However, the evidence had demonstrated to Butler’s satisfaction that the old gentleman, still practicing in his mid-80's, was totally and completely incompetent.  Dr. Ewler had actually testified in his own deposition, to his attorney’s apparent horror, that he considered the mammogram to be an experimental procedure.  Betty Prichardt’s deposition had been taken by Butler for the benefit of Dr. Ewler’s insurance carrier, whom Butler was now sure would come up with a handsome settlement offer.

            David at last put aside the Prichardt deposition and turned his attention to his morning mail which his secretary had brought in with her at 8:30.  After reading his morning mail, David booted up his PC and checked his E-mail on his on-line service.  He had a message from Bert Wentworth in St. Louis, an old classmate from the University of Missouri Law School.  It seemed that Bert was coming to Kansas City next month for the Missouri Bar Annual Meeting and wanted to get together.  David sent a reply to Bert confirming his interest in dinner and set about his day’s work.

CHAPTER FOUR

            Bobby Griggs would be the first surgery on a busy day for plastic surgeon Preston Adkins, M.D.  Four surgeries were scheduled on this October Tuesday, with three at Methodist and one across town at Eastside.  With his steady diet of skin peels, liposuctions, and nose jobs, it was a pleasant task for the kindly Dr. Adkins to perform surgery which had some honest to goodness social utility.  Bobby Griggs and his father had made a real impression on Dr. Adkins when they had appeared at this office last month inquiring about surgery on the youngster’s lip and nose.  Apparently, the original surgeon was no longer in active practice and Earl Griggs had gotten Dr. Adkins’ name from his family physician out in Taylorsville, south of town.

            After ordering up the old medical records from K.U. Med Center, Dr. Adkins had called Earl Griggs with the good news that he would be more than happy to operate on Bobby’s nose and lip.  Methodist was Dr. Adkins’ principal facility and Earl Griggs had been pleased that it was on the south edge of town, only 27 miles from the Griggs’ home in Taylorsville, south of town in Cass County.  Bobby had been born at the old Methodist Hospital, Earl had informed Dr. Adkins, and they were more than happy to schedule the surgery at Methodist.

            At precisely 8:00a.m. Dr. Adkins entered Operating Room Number 4 on the fifth floor of Methodist Hospital.  After acknowledging the surgical nurses and Dr. Brent Kuhn, the anesthesiologist assigned by the hospital for this surgery, Dr. Adkins began the pleasant task of making young Bobby Griggs’ dream come true.  The surgery was not difficult for a plastic surgeon of Dr. Adkins’ skill and experience but it was complex enough to take several hours.  At last the surgery was completed and Dr. Adkins wrote out his post-op orders in the chart and made his way to the surgical waiting room on the fourth floor to advise Mr. Griggs that the surgery had been successful. 

            Although he didn’t tell Earl Griggs and Bobby’s mother, who had apparently  arrived during surgery, he had taken extra time and care to revise scar tissue present from previous surgeries.  Dr. Adkins had teenage children of his own and he well understood Bobby Griggs’ desire to look as good as he possibly could.  He liked the cheerful youngster and his rough-hewn father and he had gone out of his way to do the best job possible.  Dr. Adkins was in fact a master surgeon and Bobby Griggs had been transformed in his skilled hands into a quite attractive young man.

            “How did it go, Dr. Adkins,” said Earl on seeing the surgeon walk in the door of the surgical waiting room.  Dr. Adkins, still in his green surgical gown and cap, smiled broadly and gave Earl and Betty a detailed report of the surgery.  “I’m going to go ahead and keep him here for a couple of days, Mr. Griggs.  It was a long operation and he was under a general anesthetic for quite some time.  I packed his nose and there may be quite a bit of bleeding.  Also, I’m afraid he may become nauseous.  I think keeping him in here for a couple of days is the safest way to go.”  “I understand, doctor,” said Earl. 

            In typical fashion, Betty grilled the amiable physician for twenty minutes before he was able to beg off on the grounds that he had to get to the recovery room to check on Bobby.  “Thank you, Dr. Adkins, you don’t know what this means to our boy,” Earl said finally, giving Dr. Adkins an opening to escape to the recovery room.  “For Christ’s sake, Betty, can’t you give the guy a break.”  Earl barked,  after he was sure that Dr. Adkins was safely out the door of the waiting room.  Betty had long ago decided that she owed Earl Griggs no explanations and so she gave none.  “There you go, Earl, taking the Lord’s name in vain.  You will never change, Earl Griggs,” intoned Betty for roughly the thousandth time.  Earl simply shrugged as he had a thousand times before and headed out to find a convenience store and some badly needed Camels.

CHAPTER FIVE

            Sherry Clark sat at her desk in her modest office on the 45th floor of One Kansas City Tower and reviewed her schedule for the rest of the week.  She had to file an amended answer by Friday in the Intermark- DataPlus antitrust case,  but that was nearly done.  She had the usual pile of interrogatory answers and document productions to see to but the week was pretty well under control.  Tomorrow, she noted again, she would get to go with Alexander Hunter to Dr. Barton’s deposition over at Freeman Reed’s office.

             In her three years at Gallagher and Tate she had never before been asked to work with Alexander Hunter, the senior partner whom everyone agreed was the firm’s top litigator.  Also, she was excited to see the notorious Freeman Reed in action.  Reed was generally believed in the legal profession  to be one of  the country’s richest and most successful plaintiff’s lawyers  with over twenty-five verdicts to his credit of more than a  million dollars.   She wouldn’t admit it to anyone in the firm, but she was also eager to see Freeman Reed’s fabulous office space with its Italian marble floors, priceless antique furniture and raft of French impressionist paintings.  She had heard a lot about this office in her brief career at the bar but she had never had occasion to visit the famous office of Kansas City’s premier personal injury lawyer.  It should be quite an interesting morning, especially since rumor had it that Freeman Reed and Alexander Hunter couldn’t stand each other.

            Sherry was relatively new at the firm but she cut an imposing figure as she walked the hall from her office to the law library and back again.  Sherry, a former champion swimmer, basketball and softball player, stood a little over six feet tall.  Her broad swimmer’s shoulders topped a muscular and powerful--but not unattractive-- body.  Sherry had come to Kansas City from California and she had the sun-drenched, blonde, blue-eyed good looks of the prototypical California beach girl, albeit a somewhat outsized beach girl.  As she walked back to her office from the library carrying the needed volume from the Federal Supplement, she walked with the swinging, pigeon-toed gait of a natural athlete.

            Around noon Barbara Johnston, Sherry’s favorite paralegal, poked her head in the door of Sherry’s office and inquired about lunch.  Sherry, having determined that she had her day under control, cheerfully accepted Barbara’s lunch invitation.  “How about Winstead’s,” Barbara inquired of her friend.  “Why not,” Sherry allowed,”I’ve been eating salads for a week, now.”

            Winstead’s Restaurant, long Kansas City’s favorite hamburger joint, had opened an outlet in one of the newer buildings a couple of years before.   Sherry had grown to love the famous Winstead’s Steakburger but she had found the she had to work at watching her weight since she joined Gallagher and Tate three years ago and began billing 200 hours per month.  Her schedule didn’t leave much time for exercise, or anything else, for that matter.

             Barbara chattered animatedly all through lunch, as was her custom.  Sherry liked to spend time with the free-spirited Barbara, in many ways the complete opposite of the reserved Sherry.  Barbara made her laugh, something that was normally not all that easy to do.   “How did you get on the Barton case,” inquired Barbara.  “Miles Sanders is scheduled to be out of town for depositions so Mr. Hunter asked me to fill as second chair,” replied Sherry. “What do you think of Hunter,” inquired the long-time Gallagher and Tate paralegal.  “I’ve never been around him very much,” said Sherry, “he seems kind of stiff and formal, although very nice.  Didn’t you tell me one time that you worked with him a lot a few years ago.”  “Yeah, I had the pleasure.”  “What is that supposed to mean?” asked Sherry, trying to remember what Barbara had said about Hunter during past lunches.  Barbara frowned and looked out the window toward Main Street.  “Be careful, Sherry.  Alexander Hunter can be a very charming temptation.” 

            Sherry searched Barbara’s face but could not discern the emotions which were clearly being tightly held just below the surface.  Sensing that she was treading on sensitive territory, Sherry decided to let the matter drop and finish her french fries.  After a few moments of eating in silence, the two young women began to examine their ticket to see who owed what. 

            “Hi, Barb,” called out a well-dressed young man passing by their table.  “Hi, Jim,” replied Barbara. After a moment Sherry recognized the young man as Jim Deitrich, who had been a senior associate at Gallagher and Tate during her first year as an associate.  “You know Sherry Clark, don’t you Jim,” said Barbara.  “Indeed I do, the world’s most beautiful lawyer,” teased Jim.  “I appreciate the thought, Jim,” said Sherry, “but I’m not sure that’s really much of a compliment.”

            “Barbara and Sherry,” said the always affable Jim Deitrich, “ I’d like for you to meet my partner, David Butler.”  Sherry and Barbara both offered their hands to Butler.  Butler shook hands with Barbara, who was nearest to him, and stepped around the table to shake Sherry’s extended hand.  “Nice to meet you, offered Butler.  After some small talk, Jim and David Butler graciously took leave of the two attractive young women and headed up front to pay their checks.

            “That Jim Deitrich is such a flirt,” Barbara said.  “Oh, he’s really a sweet guy,” said Sherry, “he’s sweet and he’s harmless.  Why was it that he left the firm?”  “They wouldn’t make him a partner,” replied Barbara.  “I think he was considered an excellent lawyer, but he wasn’t good at bringing in business.”  “Gee, I hope they don’t apply that standard to me,” said Sherry, “I wouldn’t know how to begin to bring in business.” Barbara’s mood turned serious.   “You haven’t been around Gallagher and Tate that long, Sherry, it can be a very harsh place.”  “All I can do, I guess, Barbara, is to work as hard and as well as I can.”  “Don’t worry, Sherry, the senior partners will keep you around just for your good looks.”  “I’m not sure that makes me feel better, Barb.”  “Let’s get back to work before they decide not to make us partners,” said Barbara.  “O.K., “ laughed Sherry.”

            “By the way, where have I heard of David Butler before?” Sherry inquired as they made their way up to the cashier.  “He’s a big trial jock around town.  Supposed to be pretty good. He’s had a couple of pretty good personal injury verdicts in the past year.  You’ve probably seen his name in the Jury Verdict Service, or the Star.  Not bad looking either, eh Sher?”  “Yeah, too bad about that wedding ring,” said Sherry.  “Yep, Sher, all the good ones are either married . . . ,” “or gay,” laughed both young women at once.   The two young women paid their lunch ticket and headed back over to another full afternoon at the law offices of Gallagher and Tate.

            Jim Deitrich and David Butler quickly covered the two blocks between Winstead’s and the Regency Building.  The brisk October wind whistled and the walk back was a chilly, if short,  journey.  As they approached the side door of the building, Deitrich noticed a puzzled look on his law partner’s face.  “What’s the problem Davey, you look deep in thought?”  “I’m just trying to figure out where I’ve heard that name before,” said David, scratching the side of his face.  “What name is that, partner?”  “Sherry Clark,” replied David, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a legal matter with her.”  “Olympic swimmer,” replied Deitrich, “you remember, ‘golden girl’ of the Los Angeles Olympics, Sherry ‘The Shark’ Clark.”  “That’s it,” said Butler, “I remember, now.  Two gold medals.” “And a silver and a bronze and two world records in the butterfly,” added Deitrich.  “She was really cute at the medal ceremony.  I remember telling Janet at the time that I might just have to throw her over when Sherry “The Shark” became an adult,” said David . “ What the hell is she doing in the ‘Heart of America’ working at Gallagher and Tate?”  “I think her uncle or someone is a bigshot at Canadian-American Airlines, Gallagher and Clark’s biggest client,” replied Jim Deitrich.

             “She has made a  handsome woman,” allowed Butler. “ A lot of the guys at Gallagher and Tate consider her kind of an Amazon,” said Deitrich. “ She has turned down dates with half of the associates and young partners in the firm.  The ones she did go out with didn’t get anywhere.  She’s kind of a cold fish.  Some of the guys think she might be a dike.”  “She is large.  She must be near six feet tall,” said David.  “She’s not delicate little flower, either. Huge  shoulders,” continued Jim as the two men arrived at their third floor office.  “Want me to fix you up with her, David,” offered Deitrich, “I don’t think she’s ever seriously dated anybody here in Kansas City.”

             “Well, assuming for argument sake that she’s  heterosexual,  she’s kind of young,”  laughed David, “she probably thinks a guy my age is an old man.”  “You are an old man, Davey,” teased the 33-year old Deitrich.  “Very funny, Deitrich,” countered David, “you’re not all that far behind me.” David affectionately clapped his partner on the back as the two entered their office laughing.

             Jim Deitrich retrieved his telephone messages from the small message rack on the receptionist’s desk and turned pensively toward his law partner.  “It’s been a long time, David,” the younger man said, suddenly turning completely serious.  Jim reached up and placed his hand on David’s shoulder.  “It’s time that you started to live, again, my good friend,”  he almost whispered to the big man standing at his side.  David, embarrassed, stood silent for a moment and then put his hand up to his partner’s face in a gesture of genuine affection and appreciation.  Not knowing what to say, David turned and walked quickly away, hoping that Deitrich had not noticed the lump that had come to his throat and the glistening in his eyes.  Jim Deitrich stood in place and watched his best friend walk down the hall toward his office.  It was time, thought Deitrich. 

            At 6:00 p.m. David looked up from his work and noticed that it was dark and time to go home to his children.  The secretaries and Jim Deitrich had long since left for the evening. David leaned back in his desk chair and looked south toward the lights of Crown Center.  How long had it been now? he asked himself.  The accident had been five years ago last month.  For the first time he had failed to make note of September 14, the anniversary of his wife’s death five years before in a grinding  automobile accident.  Can it really be five years since that terrible night? he asked himself.  He could think of it now without having his eyes moist over.  Time does heal all wounds, he told himself.  At least a little bit.

             He thought about the odd feeling that meeting the famous Sherry “The Shark” had brought on.  What was it?  Is this what interest in a woman feels like?  It had been so long since he had felt any interest in a woman that he really wasn’t sure what he had felt. He did think she was attractive though, he admitted to himself.   How old was she during  the 1984 Olympics? David asked himself. It’s been over ten years.  She must have been about 18 or so then. All those swimmers are young kids.   She must be about 27 or 28 now, he calculated. 

            David got up and headed to the firm’s modest law library to look up the entry for Sherry Clark in Martindale-Hubbell law directory.  Halfway down the hall he suddenly felt silly.  She probably wouldn’t have any interest in an overweight, middle-aged  man with three kids, anyway, he told himself.  On that note, David decided to head home and see how his mother-in-law Cecille and his three children were getting along.  He turned off the lights in his office suite, shut off the copier and the computers and headed home to his little family.

CHAPTER SIX

            Cyril Freeman Reed screamed at his secretary for the third time this morning.  “Goddammit, Miss Davis, I want that Barton pleadings file and I want it now,” he bellowed.  Reed picked up a yellow pad and hurled it at the open door.  As he did so his toupee slid forward on his head to a somewhat perilous position near his eyebrows.  Like a reflex, Reed quickly reached up to straighten his errant hairpiece.

             In a few seconds his secretary walked meekly into his office cradling the wayward file in her arms.  “I’m sorry Mr. Reed, one of the associates had it in his office.”  “Don’t let it happen again or I’ll find someone who can do your job in a competent manner,” said Reed.  “Yes sir, Mr. Reed, it won’t happen again, sir,” said the thoroughly mortified young secretary, for the record Freeman Reed’s fifth secretary of this calendar year.  “Why can’t I get some decent help?” Reed rasped to no one in particular as the embarrassed young woman beat a hasty retreat from his office.

            Reed sat down at his massive teak desk and began to thumb through the pleadings’ file on the Barton case.  After 45 minutes spent in reviewing the court filings in the best medical malpractice case he had ever filed, Freeman Reed sat back in his suede leather desk chair and reflected on his good fortune.  Not only did he have an absolute slam dunk medical malpractice case involving catastrophic injuries to the plaintiff but the idiot defendant was represented by the hated firm of Gallagher and Tate.  Few people knew any more of his humiliation forty years ago at the hands of Fred Gallagher and his uncle, Cyril Tate.                                                

            Young Cyril Freeman had approached his uncle Cyril Tate  about a job on the occasion of his graduation after five long years spent attending night law school in St. Louis, the family’s original home.  Uncle Cyril, who had come to practice in Kansas City after his graduation from Harvard Law School in 1935, had received his namesake icily and had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t about to sponsor his distinctly undistinguished nephew for a job with his then small and growing law firm.  Cyril and his law school classmate, Fred Gallagher, had never hired anyone from any school other than Harvard, Yale or Columbia law school, and good old uncle Cyril wasn’t about to break the custom based on mere nepotism. 

            At his interview on November 13, 1949, Reed still vividly remembered, Fred Gallagher had barely bothered to acknowledge his presence, taking phone call after phone call during Reed’s “interview.”  After his humiliation at the hands of Uncle Cyril Tate, Cyril Freeman Reed became forevermore known simply as Freeman Reed.  He seriously doubted that anyone in Kansas City still knew of his full name or his relation to the celebrated Cyril Tate, law firm legend, two-time reform Mayor of Kansas City and later Governor of Missouri.                                                                                                             

            Reed never ceased to wonder how these  people, and Alex Hunter in particular, got so many blue-chip clients.  They were almost universally regarded by the plaintiff’s bar in Missouri and Kansas as complete wimps, virtually never taking anything the least bit dangerous to trial and frequently paying unconscionable settlements for the privilege of staying out of court.  They weren’t particularly good when they did occasionally get forced into court, reflected Reed.  Reed couldn’t remember Alex Hunter ever actually trying any cases himself.  He had built his career serving as Fred Gallagher’s “ yes” man, literally carrying his briefcase around.  Hunter had certainly watched Fred Gallagher try a lot of cases but Reed couldn’t remember Hunter actually ever doing much on his own.  Hunter had meekly settled out of court on every case Reed had ever had against him, after billing the client for several years of work in discovery, of course. Fred Gallagher was a formidable opponent but he had died at least twenty years ago.  The firm had then billed itself as having trial lawyers “trained” by Fred Gallagher.  What a load of crap, thought Reed.  Fred Gallagher was so greedy that he never would have sacrificed billable time to train his dog to go outside to pee 

            .   Old man Charlie Frist, former dean of the plaintiff’s bar in western Missouri, had once referred to Gallagher and Tate in Reed’s presence as “the legal lightning rod of the Midwest.”  Oh well, thought Reed, if a firm was big and old and fancy, business people would bite.  Lucky for me, though Freeman Reed, chuckling to himself amid the booty of half a century’s successes in the courtroom, much of it received through the unwitting generosity of the vaunted lawyers of Gallagher and Tate.

CHAPTER SEVEN

            Bobby Griggs let out a deep moan,  which brought Earl and Betty quickly to the side of his bed.  Bobby had been returned to Room 322 at 5:30 p.m. and had been half-asleep and groggy ever since.  “Do you want to try some ice cubes or jello, Robert?” asked his mother.  In response Bobby moaned again and rolled over on his side.  “He’s really out,” said Earl, “I didn’t realize he would be out of it this long.” A few wordless  moments passed in the darkened hospital room before Betty Prichardt finally broke the silence.  “It’s nearly past visiting hours, Earl, I’d better get over to the motel and find Lloyd.”  “We’re staying at the Beltway Inn on 435.” 

            “You want to stay with Bobby, tonight, Betty?”offered Earl.  “Oh, gosh, Earl,” Betty stammered as she backed toward the door to Bobby’s room, “I better go keep old Lloyd cozy.  Thanks, that’s awful sweet of you though.”  After Betty had left for the evening, Earl bent low over his son and wiped his brow with a warm facecloth.  Bobby let out a breath and Earl thought that Bobby seemed pleased by his ministrations but the half-conscious boy said nothing.  After an hour of gently rubbing his son’s back, Earl began preparations for turning in himself.

            As he pulled the sheet up over his cot at the foot of Bobby’s bed Earl thought to himself that Bobby was sure to feel better tomorrow.  Before he fell asleep, the night nurse, Mrs. Margaret McDonald, came in to check on Bobby.  “He seems to be doing all right,” said Earl.  “Yes, he’s groggy, but I think he will feel much better in the morning.”  Being so reassured, Earl soon fell asleep.  It was the last completely peaceful sleep that Earl Griggs would ever know.

CHAPTER EIGHT

            The former Sherry “the Shark” leaned back against the plush leather seat in Alexander Hunter’s Lexus Coupe.  Despite her earlier fame, Sherry, daughter of a Long Beach fire captain, had never possessed great means.  She had never even considered the possibility of owning something so fine as Mr. Hunter’s brand new Lexus Coupe.  All Sherry had ever really done was swim, play ball, and study.  She was ready to expand her horizons.  She felt absolutely materialistic as she luxuriated in the cool leather bucket seat.

            Unfortunately for Sherry, there were  no great financial rewards at the end of the rainbow for a swimmer, even for a world-class swimmer such as Sherry Clark.  The relatively modest amount of  money she had earned doing promotional work after the Olympics had gone to pay off college loans and finance her legal education at Stanford Law School.  Sherry liked nice things and took careful note of the rich appointments in the Lexus during the short ride over from One Kansas City Tower to Freeman Reed’s office at Crown Center, less than a mile away.

            “Now Miss Clark,”Alexander Hunter began in his most sonorous tones, “you must watch me very carefully during this deposition.  Freeman Reed is notorious for abusing the discovery process with improper and highly provocative questioning, particularly of doctors.  We must keep our composure at all times but we must also be ever vigilant lest Reed try to get Dr.  Barton’s goat.  Your main job is of course to take copious notes.  As a secondary matter this is to be a learning experience for you.”  “I’ll do my best, Mr. Hunter,” intoned Sherry in her most serious big-girl voice.  After a bit  more pontificating chatter from Hunter about the deposition to come, the black Lexus pulled into the cavernous garage under the Westin Crown Center Hotel.

            Dr. Lawrence Barton, age 53 and never sued before, was waiting for Hunter and Sherry in the waiting room of the Freeman Reed Law Offices, having been carefully prepped for this deposition over the past two days at the offices of Gallagher and Tate.  “Good morning, Dr. Barton, I don’t believe you’ve met Miss Clark from my office.”  Dr. Barton smiled meekly and extended his hand to Sherry.  Sherry took Dr. Barton’s hand and was surprised to find that it was extremely sweaty and cold.

            As the greetings were being completed, a serious looking woman appeared at the other end of the waiting room and announced that they were to follow her to the conference room.  Sherry tried to appear blase but the unbelievably posh quality of the office nearly took her breath away.  She had never seen so many oriental rugs and so much fine porcelain in one place before. 

            Freeman Reed greeted Hunter warmly from his seat at the end of the long pink marble conference table.  Hunter walked to the end of the table and extended his hand to Reed who proceeded to pump it enthusiastically.  After the introductions and requisite polite chitchat were completed, the court reporter swore in Dr. Barton and the deposition began.  After an hour of background questions, Reed began to ask his tough questions concerning how it was that Dr. Barton had managed to turn Rhonda Finegold into a paraplegic while simply trying to fuse her vertebra at C-5 and C-6.  Dr. Barton waffled valiantly but everyone in the room, except the novitiate Sherry Clark, knew full well that no one was kidding no one.  After a few more hours of the required jousting between counsel, the deposition at last was concluded and  Dr. Barton and his erstwhile attorneys took their leave of effusive Freeman Reed. 

            The defense party paused in the lobby for a few moments while Alexander Hunter offered encouraging and consoling words to the thoroughly drained and discouraged Dr. Barton.  Presently, the attorneys bid the physician farewell and made their way back to the parking garage.   The normally verbose Hunter was uncommonly quiet on the way back to the office.  Sherry took the opportunity to enjoy the rich and full quality of the Lexus’ unsurpassed stereo system and in the process  a Rachmaninoff concerto.

            Freeman Reed sat down at his massive desk and chuckled to himself about Dr. Barton’s pathetic attempts to explain away the most obvious example of medical malfeasance which Reed had ever seen in his entire career.  Why don’t these fools ever just own up to their mistakes, do the right thing by the patient and go on to something more productive?, wondered Reed.  Doctors just seemed to be congenitally incapable of admitting mistakes, even when, as here, those mistakes were glaringly obvious.  Oh, well, thought Reed, leaning back in his suede chair, that attitude on the part of the medical profession had helped to make him a very rich man.  It had also helped to make the Alexander Hunters of the world very rich.  No one ever seemed to notice that part, reflected Reed.

CHAPTER NINE

            The morning sun was just starting to stream in the window of Room 322 at Methodist Hospital on the southern edge of Kansas City.  Earl Griggs started at the sound of footsteps on the tile floor on the other side of the room.  Slowly he roused himself from sleep.  After a few seconds he realized where he was and why.  Earl pulled the sheet and blanket aside and rose from his cot at the foot of Bobby’s bed.  A laboratory technician was preparing to draw a morning blood sample.  Earl groggily stumbled into the bathroom and relieved himself.  All of a sudden the morning quiet was broken by a commotion out in the room.  Earl quickly opened the door to the bathroom and walked over to Bobby’s bed.  The lab tech was frantically pushing call buttons and simultaneously screaming “Code Blue! Code Blue!” at the top of her lungs.  Almost immediately the room filled with nurses and other hospital personnel.  “What’s the matter,” Earl asked the lab tech, a horrible queasy feeling beginning to form in he pit of his stomach.  “He’s not breathing,” the lab tech said excitedly.  One of the nurses felt Bobby’s throat and quietly said that Bobby had no pulse.

            Soon a whole team of other personnel came rushing into Room 322 pushing what Earl would later learn was a “crash cart” equipped with emergency lifesaving equipment and drugs.  A team of people worked frantically for several minutes.  A female physician pulled out a device which looked to Earl like two ping pong paddles and put them on Bobby’s chest.  “Clear” she shouted excitedly.  A loud crackling noise was heard and Bobby’s body jerked upward.

“No, luck,” called out the physician.  A moment later the whole procedure was repeated.  On the fourth try the physician shouted that Bobby’s heart was beating again.  Earl watched the scene from the foot of his son’s bed, not knowing exactly what to feel. 

            After a few more minutes of frantic activity, the female physician at last approached Earl.  “Are you the father,” she asked.  Earl nodded numbly.  “We are going to take him down to the ICU.  We can monitor him closer there.” “ What happened?” Earl asked breathlessly.  “We don’t know yet,” she stated.  “All we know is that he was found in full cardiac and respiratory arrest.  We’ve got his heart started and he has been intubated.  It may take a while to see if he comes out of it.  We don’t know how long he was in arrest and how much damage to his brain there may have been.”  “Do what you have to do, doctor,” said Earl.

            The next few minutes Earl spent in a fog.  Finally, Bobby was pushed out of Room 322 and transferred to the Intensive Care Unit located two floors below.  Several official looking types appeared and escorted Earl to a large lounge on the second floor.  After a few minutes in the lounge, Earl asked if there was a phone he could use to call Betty.  Earl called Betty at the Beltway Inn and reported the events of the morning as best he could.  Fifteen minutes later Betty and Lloyd arrived and Earl again went over for Betty and Lloyd the events of the morning. 

            An agonizing  hour later Dr. Adkins came into the lounge.  Dr. Adkins reviewed the situation with Earl, Betty and Lloyd.  Dr. Adkins indicated that he had asked a Dr. Luke, a neurologist, to look after Bobby.  “This is not a plastic surgery problem at this time,” explained  Dr. Adkins.  “Dr. Luke is one of the finest neurologists in Kansas City and I have complete faith in his judgment.  He is examining Bobby as we speak.”  Dr. Adkins sat down and explained what he knew of Bobby’s current condition.  Twenty long minutes later Dr. Richard Luke came into the lounge bearing a grave expression.  After introductions were made, Dr. Luke explained the medical developments to Earl and Betty.

            “He was found in full respiratory and cardiac arrest at about 6:30 a.m.  The Code Blue team successfully resuscitated him within about ten minutes.  His heart is beating and the respirator is breathing for him. What we don’t know is how long he was in arrest.  As you may know, once the heart stops beating, oxygenated blood no long flows to the brain.  It takes only a few minutes for irreversible brain damage to occur.  Bobby has not yet regained consciousness but our initial neurological tests show that there is at least some minimal brain function.  We should know more in a few hours.”

            After the physicians had left, Earl, Betty and Lloyd sat in shocked silence for what seemed like an eternity.  Two hours later, Dr. Adkins and Dr. Luke walked slowly into the lounge.  Earl and Lloyd stood up expectantly as the two physicians approached.  “You’d better sit down, Mr. Griggs,” Dr. Adkins said gently.  At that moment Earl knew full well that the worst had happened.  Betty let out a heart-wrenching gasp.  Dr. Luke explained to a numbed Betty and Earl that Bobby Griggs no longer was demonstrating any brain activity after a second cardiac arrest 45 minutes earlier.  “This is the hardest thing that a doctor has to do, Mr. and Mrs Griggs,” Dr. Adkins said.

            “We did everything possible to revive your son but we were not successful. Your son is in a condition which doctors call ‘brain dead.’  His body is alive and functioning but there is absolutely no blood flow to his brain.  His brain has demonstrated no electrical activity of any sort since the second arrest  We could maintain Bobby’s bodily functions for a while and feed him intravenously.  However, his brain is dead and once dead the brain can never be revived.  Bobby is legally dead under Missouri law.”  Betty collapsed into Earl’s arms and the rangy Lloyd immediately came over and threw his arms around his wife and her former husband.  Betty wept inconsolably while tears streamed from Earl’s eyes.  Lloyd choked back tears.  After a few minutes, Dr. Luke asked if he could speak with Earl and Betty in private.  “Mr. and Mrs. Griggs, it is very difficult to bring up this subject to you two at this moment but the law requires that I do so.  We need your permission to disconnect the life support systems which are keeping Bobby functioning.  We are required also to ask your permission as the next of kin to harvest Bobby’s eyes, heart and other usable organs for transplantation.” 

            At this last Betty began to sob uncontrollably.  Earl stared at the physician with glassy and unseeing eyes.  After a few awkward moments, Dr. Luke realized that no such decisions were to be immediately forthcoming.  He expressed his sympathies to the grieving parents and left the lounge.  Earl and Betty collapsed onto the couch and desperately held each other. Old wounds and grudges melted away as two heartbroken parents poured out the sorrow only a father and a mother could know. A solemn Lloyd Pritchardt stood guard outside the door of the second floor lounge and firmly kept the world at bay while Earl and Betty grieved together over the death of their only child.

CHAPTER TEN

            Alexander Hunter was just finishing up with his morning mail when Gina Preston buzzed him on the intercom for a telephone call on line 18.  Clayton Reedey was on the line and, dispensing with the customary pleasantries,  he asked Hunter to come out to Methodist Hospital as quickly as he possibly could.  Reedey offered no explanation as to why Hunter’s presence was needed so immediately, but his voice sounded very grave to Hunter.  Hunter rang off and quickly grabbed his briefcase and topcoat.  Forty-five minutes later Hunter walked into the office of the hospital administrator, Myra Stackhaus.  Present were Stackhaus, Clayton Reedey, and a middle-aged gentleman introduced to Hunter as Felix Weston, hospital Risk Manager.

            “Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Hunter,” began Clayton Reedey, Chairman of the Board of Methodist Hospital.  Reedey laid out the events of the morning related to Bobby Griggs.  After being briefed, Hunter asked to speak with Dr. Luke and Dr. Adkins.  After ten minutes the two physicians had each made their way to the hospital administrator’s office.  After a discussion lasting over an hour,  it was decided that the Griggs family would be left to grieve at least until the next day.  Dr. Luke was delegated to re-approach the family about the termination  of life support and possible organ donation. 

             After excusing the two physicians, Hunter and Clayton Reedey, along with the hospital administrator and the risk manager, walked down to the hospital cafeteria for lunch and a continued discussion of the legal ramifications of the Bobby Griggs matter.  After lunch Hunter said his goodbyes and started for the hospital parking lot.  As Hunter was about to enter the automatic door leading out the front of the hospital, he felt a tug on his sleeve.  Dr. Adkins was at his side.  “Mr. Hunter, might I have a word with you before you leave,” said the obviously distraught physician.  “Certainly,” replied Hunter, curious as to what possibly could be added to the exhaustive briefing which he had received over the past four hours. 

            Dr. Adkins motioned for Hunter to follow him and Hunter did so in silence.  Dr. Adkins led Hunter through a long corridor and to the doctor’s office building which stood next door to Methodist Hospital and which was connected to by hospital by an enclosed walkway.  After a short elevator ride to the sixth floor of the office building, the two men entered Dr. Adkins’ private office suite.  Dr. Adkins shut the door to his small private office and walked around to his desk chair.  Hunter took off his light canvas top coat and placed his briefcase and coat on the empty chair next to the guest chair to which he had been directed by the physician.

            “Mr. Hunter,” began the physician, “I am afraid that I have done something very foolish.”  Hunter gazed evenly at Dr. Adkins.  Dr. Adkins looked at Hunter and seemed uncertain as to whether he should continue.  Hunter had been in this situation many times before.  After a lengthy explanation by Hunter as to the attorney-client privilege, which would prevent Hunter from divulging any matters communicated to him by a client seeking legal advice, Dr. Adkins let out an audible sigh and began to advise his lawyer as to previously undisclosed events.

             “I got a call from the nurses’ station at about 6:50 a.m., Mr. Hunter, and I came immediately over to the hospital.  I couldn’t imagine what could have caused young Griggs to go into respiratory arrest. This was a simple and quite routine operation and needless to say I was quite upset.  Plastic surgeons, as you might imagine, don’t lose patients very often.  In over thirty years of practicing plastic surgery,  I have never had a patient die on me.   After I arrived here at the hospital, I went immediately up to room 322 but young Griggs had already been resuscitated and carried down to the ICU.  Hunter had questions but he felt it best to let the physician finish his report of the events of the day.

            “After contacting Dr. Luke and  asking him to consult on the case, I went to the nurses station to read the chart to see if I could determine what had gone so terribly wrong.  After reading the nurses notes it appeared to me that young Griggs may have had a reaction to medication.  At 5:00 a.m. this morning Mrs. McDonald, the night nurse, gave the boy a shot containing morphine sulfate, a pain medication,  of course, and a drug called droperidol, which I had ordered to be given PRN for nausea.”  “What is PRN, doctor,” inquired Hunter.  “PRN means ‘as needed.’  Droperidol, trade name Quipsine, is an antiemetic or anti-nauseant which is also used as a tranquilizer.”

             “Do you believe that the drugs caused the boy’s arrest,” inquired the now very much concerned attorney.  “We won’t ever be sure, really, but that would be my best guess from looking at the chart. I can’t see any other explanation from the medical record.. It is commonly understood that morphine sulphate has a known side effect of causing respiratory depression and, if left unattended, respiratory arrest.”  “But if the boy didn’t arrest until 6:’30 a.m., how could the drugs have caused the arrest, doctor?”  “That’s just the problem, Mr. Hunter, the literature says that the maximum respiratory depressant effect of morphine sulfate occurs at one-and-one-half hours after the morphine dose.  I just reviewed the books right before I came down to find you”

            The attorney sat silently for a few moments absorbing what he had heard.  His keen lawyer’s mind working, Hunter turned to his standard bottom line inquiry. “Well, Dr. Adkins, just because the drugs may have physically caused young Griggs’ arrest doesn’t necessarily mean that you or anyone at the hospital was negligent.  It doesn’t sound to me like any standard of care was breached.”  “You may be right about that Mr. Hunter but we have another problem.”  Dr. Adkins sat glumly for a full minute and appeared to be working up his nerve for some final disclosure.  “The real problem I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. Hunter, is that I may have made a serious mistake in judgment this morning after I read Mrs. McDonald’s nurses notes.  Mrs. McDonald and I . . .well. . .we changed the chart.”  “You did what,” Hunter blurted, clearly taken aback.  “We changed the chart,” repeated the physician without emotion.

            After a long and awkward pause, the physician began to relate the circumstances surrounding his decision to alter the medical record after Bobby Griggs’ arrest.  “As I mentioned, Mr. Hunter, any doctor looking at the chart I saw this morning would come to the immediate conclusion that the morphine sulfate caused the lad’s arrest.  The dose was a standard adult dose.  Mrs. McDonald had the option as the attending nurse to give it for pain or not give it.  She also had the option to reduce the dose.  She gave the full ten milligram dose of morphine sulphate without reducing the dose.  To make matters worse, the boy had thrown up several times during the night and Mrs. McDonald decided to give a dose of 2.5 milligrams of droperidol in the same shot so that she could avoid having to give the boy two separate injections.”

             “Should she not have given the two drugs together?” inquired Hunter, beginning to believe that his first assignment for Methodist Hospital was not off to a rousing start.  “Not necessarily.  However, Mrs. McDonald and I got out the PDR--Physician’s Desk Reference-- this morning and looked up morphine sulfate and droperidol.  Are you familiar with the PDR, Mr. Hunter?”  Hunter gave a small waive of his hand to indicate that he was in fact familiar with the Physician’s Desk Reference or PDR,  a universally accepted standard for the usages and actions of prescription drugs.  “Well, anyway,” continued the now excited doctor, “to my horror the PDR clearly cautions against giving morphine sulphate and droperidol at or near the same time without reducing the dose of one or the other.  The two drugs are what is known by doctors as “potentiating”.  Are you familiar with that term?”  Once again the veteran hospital attorney nodded to indicate his familiarity with the concept of   “potentiation,” which means that two drugs may have a compounding effect when used together, or more than a merely additive effect “Two plus two equals six,” the lawyer said.  “Exactly, Mr. Hunter, I’ve never heard it put better.”          “What can be the problem if too much is given?” inquired the attorney, painfully certain that he already knew the answer.  “The PDR cautions in big, black letters that the chances of respiratory depression--and ultimately arrest--are the principal side effects of giving too much of the two drugs together.”

            Alexander Hunter groaned audibly.  “Yes, Mr. Hunter,” conceded Dr. Adkins.  “When I looked at Mrs. McDonald’s nursing notes, I panicked.  So did Mrs. McDonald.  You have to understand, Mr. Hunter, the medical profession--and the nursing profession--today live in constant fear that careers can be ended by the slightest mistake of judgment or slip of the hand.  These ambulance-chasing lawyers are everywhere, just waiting to get rich on a doctor’s innocent mistake.  The past ten years I have seen dozens of my colleagues literally run out of the profession by trumped- up medical malpractice claims.  I have had at last a dozen claims myself . . . from nose jobs that didn’t meet the patient’s expectations . . . to claims over breast implants, which I no longer do, thank God.  The greedy bastards will do anything to try to make a buck off the medical establishment.  Mrs. McDonald and I both knew that we didn’t do anything wrong.  But we also knew full well that some sleazy lawyer would try to make something out of the nurses notes.  So we felt we had no choice really but to . . . ”. 

            Hunter thought for a moment, trying to digest all that he had been told.  “Doctor, I. . .uh...I generally agree with you.  But how does that lead us to changing the medical record.  Let’s cut to the chase, can we please.”  Dr. Adkins was clearly avoiding getting to the bottom line  and was attempting to justify his apparent alteration of the official medical record.  Hunter now calmly waited for the physician to compose himself for his final disclosure.

             “Mrs. McDonald and I reviewed the record and I pressed her as to whether she had left anything out of the chart.  She is not the most detailed record keeper that we have in the hospital and I have had to ask her before to make her nurses notes more detailed.  The chart showed a visit to young Griggs’ room by Mrs. McDonald at exactly 6:00 a.m.  Unfortunately, this was the only visit to Bobby’s room which she recorded between 5:00 a.m. and when the boy was found by the lab tech at 6:30 a.m.  And worse the 6:00 entry was very summary.  I believe she said something like:’ patient sleeping, pain relieved.’” Dr. Adkins paused for a moment and gathered his resources. 

            You tell me, Mr. Hunter, you are the lawyer, but it didn’t seem like that entry would have qualified Mrs. McDonald to testify that all was well with Bobby Griggs at 6:00 a.m..”  “Yes, I agree with you on that,” said Hunter, “any lawyer worth his salt would shoot her down if she tried to say very much about the boy’s condition based on an entry that slim.”  “Well, that’s what I told Mrs. McDonald.  I know that Mrs. McDonald feels about lawyers and lawsuits about like I do--no offense intended to you, Mr. Hunter.”  “None taken, doctor,” allowed Hunter.  “Mrs. McDonald and I talked and we decided that we would change the record to add an entry at 6:10 a.m. which we did.  Mrs. McDonald wrote out a rather length entry in the nurses notes to say that at 6:10 a.m. she had wiped blood off young Griggs’ face and performed other ministrations and that the boy was ‘breathing easily.’”

            Hunter was now starting to regret ever having accepting Methodist Hospital as a new client,  much less having been drawn into this tawdry little conspiracy between a manipulating doctor and panicky nurse.  “What else?,” the shell-shocked lawyer demanded, dreading any further response.  “We also moved the shot back a half-hour.  We wrote over the 5:00 a.m. when the shot was given and put in 4:40 a.m. as the time the shot was given.  The 6:10 entry was then precisely one-and-one-half hours after the morphine shot.”

              “In other words,” deduced Hunter, “if the Griggs boy was not in arrest at 6:10, the time of maximum effect, then it would be very unlikely that his later arrest at 6:30 a.m.was in fact caused by the morphine shot.”  “Precisely,” concluded Dr. Adkins. After a long pause, Hunter looked Dr. Adkins squarely in the eye.  “You have made a serious mistake, Dr. Adkins.”  “I know that now, Mr. Hunter, but I just . . . panicked.” 

            “Can’t we go up and put the record . . . back like it was?” pleaded the physician.  Hunter ignored Adkins’ question and frowned as if deep in thought.   “I need to think this over, Dr. Adkins, I’ve never had anything like this come up before.  I will give this matter my full consideration this evening and then I will call you in the morning.  In the meantime, I am instructing you as your attorney to make no statement about these matters to anyone and certainly to stay as far away from the medical charts for this young man as is  humanly possible.  Do you understand me, doctor?”  “I understand, Mr. Hunter,” agreed the now thoroughly terrified physician.

            “By the way,”  said Alexander Hunter  as he put on his coat, “is there anything that could be done today that could confirm or rule out the presence of these drugs in the boy’s system in a concentration which could cause him to arrest?”  “Of course there is, Mr. Hunter.  We could have run blood tests early on which would have given us that answer.  Even this late they could probably tell us a great deal.”  “Has anyone ordered such blood tests,” inquired Hunter after a moment’s thought.  “I certainly haven’t,” replied Dr. Adkins, “and I don’t know that anyone else has either.”  “I don’t suppose I have to give you legal advice about that, then, do I doctor?.”  In response, Dr. Adkins fixed his eyes on the floor of his office.

           

CHAPTER ELEVEN

            David Butler followed his diminutive law partner off the elevator and up to the front desk of the Kansas City Athletic Club on the seventh floor of the     office building.  After advising the young lady at the front desk that his law partner wanted to renew his long-lapsed membership, Jim Deitrich headed into the men’s dressing room to change into his racquetball gear.  After making the necessary arrangements to renew his membership, after a six year absence from the club, David went to the men’s locker room and changed into his gym clothes.  David spent an hour working out on the walker and other exercise machines down on the fifth floor and then climbed slowly and deliberately back up the two flights of stairs to the men’s locker room.  It had been a long time since David had worked out and he was completely exhausted.

             As he was about to enter the locker room door, David heard the unmistakable sounds of a basketball game being played in the gym, one floor above.  David had always been enthusiastic about team sports and basketball was his favorite.  Putting a towel from the bin around his neck, David climbed the stairs to the KCAC gym, the scene of many a game in his younger days.  “I would die if I tried to play a full-court game of basketball,” David thought to himself, only slightly underestimating  his current lack of physical conditioning. 

            David walked to the door of the gym to watch the group of  younger men play.  It had been five long years since David Butler had stood in this doorway. It had been too long, he thought,  and it felt very good to be back.  The game itself was active and spirited, a traditional game of skins and shirts.  As David leaned against the side of the gym door and began to wipe the sweat from his eyes, one of the shirts players put up a long three-point shot from the far side of the court.  David watched the orange ball arc gracefully toward the hoop, twenty-five feet away.  As the ball softly “swished” through the hoop, the shooter had already trotted several steps back towards the other end of the court, as if it were preordained that the ball would find its mark.  “Way to pop, Shark!” called out one of the shirts players from under the basket. 

            Without his glasses,  the somewhat nearsighted David had not recognized any of the players.  A squinting, closer look revealed the shooter to be none other than Sherry Clark, attorney at law, her signature long blonde hair braided high on her head and descending into a single braided pony tail.  For the next ten minutes David watched in utter fascination as one of the world’s greatest athletes demonstrated how the game of basketball was meant to be played.       David had been a fair player himself and a reserve forward on  his high school team but he had never seen a player such as  this-- except maybe in NBA games.  Shot after shot found the net.  Long, silky, high-arching jump shots.  Audacious driving layups down the middle of the lane.   Flowing hook shots were launched from the lane with either hand, the shooter’s touch light as a feather and almost invariably accurate. Impossible blind passes and dazzling behind-the-back dribbles were made to look routine .  Shots of every imaginable description--and several that couldn’t be described--again and again found the bottom of the basket. The powerful, cat-quick young woman seemed to be gliding around the court doing whatever she wanted, while her male opponents scurried furiously around the court in a futile attempt to contain her.  David thought that he was watching some kind of wonderful, basketball ballet.  He knew enough to know that he was watching a truly remarkable athlete.

             The sheer running and jumping ability displayed by Sherry Clark, however, is what frankly took David’s breath away.  Time after time she soared effortlessly above the other nine players as if their sneakers were nailed to the gym floor.  Never in his life had David seen such athleticism and such fluid grace.  Rebound after rebound was snatched away from near the level of the rim.  David counted at least four blocked shots during the last five minutes of the game alone.  It appeared that she could have actually dunked a couple of her layups had she been so inclined.  At last Sherry faked out her defender and glided in for a double-pump, reverse layup to end the game.  Enthusiastic high fives were exchanged between the shirts players, including their star player.  The skins gathered up their gear and trooped glumly toward the gym door wearing looks of beaten resignation, as if they had seen all this before.  David started to head back down to the locker room but something told him to stay.  In a couple of minutes, the incomparable Sherry Clark came walking toward David,  carrying her towel and gym bag.

             “Quite an exhibition, counselor,” ventured David.  Sherry had to look twice to recognize who was speaking to her, having only seen David once and that in his suit and with his glasses.  “Oh, hi. . .it’s David, isn’t it?”  “Yeah, Jim Deitrich introduced us yesterday at Winstead’s.”  “I remember,” said Sherry, who paused at the gym door and began to wipe off the perspiration which had in fact accrued during the game.  “Very impressive,” allowed David.  “Well, I was hot today,” Sherry understated modestly. 

            “Are you a member of the club, David.”  “I was a member for years but I dropped out a few years ago.  Deitrich has been bugging me to join back up.  He keeps a close watch on my weight,” chuckled David.  “I’ve been a member for three years now.  I wish I could get over here more , but law practice...”, she broke off.  “I know, ‘the law is a jealous mistress,’ said David,”or in your case I guess it should be ‘jealous master.’” Both young people laughed at David’s incantation of the hackneyed shibboleth,  handed down in the legal profession since time immemorial. 

            “Well, I’d better get dressed.  Nice to see you David.”  “Nice to see you too, Sherry.  I’ll try to remember to stay off the basketball court when you’re around.”  Sherry smiled warmly at David and started for the women’s locker room on the floor below.  David stayed in the gym for five more minutes to see if he could still sink the legendary Butler jumper.  It had been five years since David had last touched a basketball and it showed.  It took only five minutes to convince him that he posed no threat to Sherry Clark as the club’s star player.  David, still abuzz at the incredible athletic exhibition he had just witnessed, excitedly headed back down to the locker room to find Jimmy Deitrich and give him a scouting report on the wondrous Sherry Clark.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

            David Butler had just completed an on-line research session on Westlaw and was considering what to tackle next.  As is typical in the legal profession, he had his choice of several projects  which he could work on this afternoon.  Uncharacteristically, none jumped out at David as immediately critical.  Jim Deitrich poked his head into David’s spacious corner office.  “How does your afternoon look?” inquired Deitrich.  “Nothing too pressing, Jimmy, why?”  “It’s a nice day and there probably won’t be very many more of them.  How ‘bout an Arthur Bryant’s run?”  “Sold!” announced  David, rising from his desk chair and stretching.  David’s mouth started to water in anticipation of the delicious  lunch to come at Kansas City’s most famous barbeque joint.  “You know, Davey, people come from all over the country to partake of Arthur Bryant’s famous culinary fare.  It is our civic duty to patronize this acclaimed restaurant.”  “I wholeheartedly agree, James, let’s roll.”

            The drive east over to Brooklyn Avenue and the famous, ramshackle eatery took ten  minutes.  From the number of cars in the parking lot, it appeared that many other Kansas Citians had decided to do their civic duty on this sunny and unseasonably warm Friday afternoon.  Once inside,  it took another fifteen minutes of standing in a long line to order and pay for their sandwiches, drinks and fries.  The partners compared sandwiches to see whose white bread had the greasiest, barbeque sauce fingerprints, a veritable hallmark of the Arthur Bryant’s experience.  Heading into the south dining room of the modest restaurant, Jim and David were spotted by a table full of young lawyers from Gallagher and Tate.  Tax attorney Byron Silverberg was the first to see the approaching diners and he greeted them in characteristic fashion.  “Hey guys, it’s Mutt and Jeff, P.C.,” he called out loudly, waiving David and Jim over to two empty seats at the end of a long table full of well- dressed young lawyers.

             David and Jim made their way to the empty chairs at the far end of the table, the feisty Jim Deitrich returning Silverberg’s heckling.  “We’re not wearing our silk stockings, Silverberg, are you sure we’re welcome.”  By the time the two law partners reached their designated chairs, the whole table was laughing good naturedly at the running exhange of friendly insults.  “Well, at least he didn’t say Dumb and Dumber, P.C.”, David observed dryly as he put his food down on the table.  David heard a throaty, feminine laugh coming from the middle of the long table.  As he took his seat he looked down the table and saw that Sherry Clark was seated in the middle of a group of male colleagues.  Sherry gave David an appreciative smile and nodded greetings.  David smiled and nodded in return.  The lawyers ate lunch in a spirit of jovial collegiality, a meal thoroughly enjoyed by all present.  Optimistic forecasts of the Chiefs’ chances against the Oakland Raiders were the general order of the day.  Sitting at the end of the table,  David did his very best to keep his eyes off Sherry Clark.  He was not completely successful.

            In twenty minutes the Gallagher and Tate contingent had finished eating, asked to be excused,  and made their departure.  David continued his meal in silence.  “You were awfully quiet around the ‘silks,’” Jim Deitrich said.  “Those guys don’t let you get a word in edgewise,” laughed David.  “I saw you eyeing Clark, Davey boy, you can’t fool your old partner.”  “You’re full of shit, Deitrich, I was just eating my barbeque and trying to learn from the big firm boys.”  Deitrich , unconvinced, grinned knowingly at David and got up to leave.  David downed the last of his beef sandwich and scrambled after his partner, who had the car keys. 

            The partners rode back to their office without conversation, enjoying the pretty day and the rich sound of Jim Deitrich’s new car stereo system.  David leaned his seat back and closed his eyes, the better to enjoy the concert.  Rogers and Hammerstein had never sounded better.   David felt very mellow.  Sherry Clark had turned out to be every bit as breathtaking at rest as she was in motion. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

            The Reverend Roy Lee Carmichael put the finishing touches on his blond pompadour and put his greasy pocket comb away.  Reverend Blalock of Sedalia had called him this morning and asked him to visit with one of his Sedalia parishoners out at Methodist Hospital, south of town.  Reverend Roy had never had occasion to conduct a pastoral visitation at the toney Methodist Hospital, most of his own blue collar flock living in the grittier parts of the city and patronizing the older city hospitals.  Reverend Blalock had explained that one of his parishoners, a Mrs.Betty Pritchardt, was in need spiritual guidance in the matter of a son’s serious medical problem, or so Carmichael had understood from the brief  telephone conversation of earlier this morning.  Reverend Roy picked up his well-thumbed, blue bound King James Bible and headed out for Methodist Hospital, forty-five minutes away.

            Earl Griggs sat in the second floor lounge and stared out the window with unseeing eyes.

It was noon Friday.  It had been three days.  Somehow, Earl had made it home Wednesday night without causing a wreck.  His head had been spinning and his back ached as never before.  Each succeeding day had been worse for Earl than the one before.  Each day Dr. Luke had approached the grieving parents and requested permission to disconnect the life support  systems and allow their son to die.  Each day Earl and Betty had asked for one more day.  Each day the suffering parents sat in the hospital chapel and prayed for the miracle that would never come.

            Lloyd had finally prevailed on an exhausted Betty to return home to Sedalia for a night’s sleep in her own bed.  Earl expected them to arrive back at any time.  Earl had known Betty for over twenty-five years and he had never, ever seen her cry.  Betty was a very strong person but she was not taking this well at all.  Earl trusted doctors and he had accepted the doctors’ evaluation of his son’s condition.  After the first day, however, Betty had begun to question the physicians intensively about the details of their tests on Bobby.  Yesterday afternoon, Earl and Betty had sat down with  Dr. Luke in his office and had reviewed the various tests in great detail with Dr. Luke and Dr. Adkins.  Several hospital staff officials had also been present.  At the end of the lengthy conference, Earl had been convinced that his son was dead.  Betty, however, had not.

            Presently Betty and Lloyd arrived for the day’s vigil.  Dr. Luke had promised that they would be allowed to see their son today and Betty was very anxious to do so.  Earl anticipated that the visit to his son’s bedside in the Intensive Care Unit would be very painful and he was not looking forward to it.   Shortly after 1:00 p.m. Dr. Luke came to the door of the second floor lounge and indicated that all was in readiness for the visit to the ICU.  The party walked slowly to the elevator and descended to the first floor.  The ICU was only a few steps from the elevator.

            Earl and Betty, accompanied by the somber physician, entered the ICU and were led by a nurse over to a large hospital bed where Bobby lay motionless.  A large tube entered Bobby’s throat and his chest expanded every few seconds in response to a respirator next to the bed.  Bobby’s eyes were open and he appeared to be staring blankly at the ceiling.  Bobby’s body was completely and eerily still, save for the regular heaving of his chest in concert with the sounds of the respirator.  Betty walked quickly to her son’s bedside and stood very still for a moment, watching for a sign of life.  After a few seconds, Betty lovingly placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder and caressed it..  Bobby gave no sign of response to his mother’s touch.

            Betty bent low over her son and gently spoke a mother’s love as she stroked her boy’s face.  Earl stood behind his former wife and steeled himself lest he break down in front of those present in the ICU.  He could feel the eyes of the nurses and other ICU personnel watching the heartrending scene playing out before their eyes.  After five minutes, Earl could take no more.  He put a hand of thanks on Dr. Luke’s shoulder and slowly walked towards the door.  Tears formed in the corners of Earl’s eyes and began to roll silently down his weather-beaten face.  Earl was now a father without a son.  He knew at this moment that his life, as he had known it, would never be the same again.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

            Sherry Clark opened the door to her apartment, her arms loaded down with her briefcase, the newspaper, and the mail.  It was 8:30 p.m. and it had been a very long day.  The apartment was dark when Sherry entered,  which meant that her roommate Julia was probably out on a date.  It had been a very long time since Sherry had gone out on a date.  It had been a very long time since she had wanted to. 

            Sherry dumped her burdens on the couch and headed for the refrigerator.  She found a frozen lasagna dinner and put it in the microwave.  She found a big plastic bottle of Pepsi and poured herself a glass.  While her dinner cooked in the microwave, Sherry sat down on the couch and wearily scanned the newspaper.  After finishing the paper, she glanced at her mail.  Finding nothing interesting in the day’s mail, Sherry drank the rest of her soda.  As she finished, the microwave’s bell went off, indicating that her meal was ready.  Sherry sat at the kitchen table and ate her lasagna without enjoyment. 

            A half- hour later Sherry had changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth.  She got into her bed and clicked on cable TV.  After surfing channels for a couple of minutes and finding nothing more interesting than a good night’s sleep, she turned off the TV,  snapped out the light and promptly went to sleep, completely exhausted.  It had been another exciting day in the life of Sherry Clark.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

            Jim Deitrich’s regular racquetball partner had canceled at the last minute and so now he followed David Butler around the ancient wooden running track at the KCAC.  David had worked out regularly for several weeks now and his physical conditioning was showing a marked improvement.  David was still big and slow, however, and the wiry, athletic Deitrich easily kept up with David’s lumbering pace.  After two miles had been completed around the track, David dropped out for a drink of water and a breath of air.  Jim Deitrich decided to run another mile before quitting.  David came back to the door at the side of the track carrying a paper cup of water and sat on a folding chair across from the elevator bank.

            Below the running track a group of swimmers swam laps in the ornate, beautiful pool, reputed to be the oldest indoor swimming pool west of the Mississippi.  Jim Deitrich ran his laps and wondered how much people got paid to keep up with such bits of trivia as who had the oldest pool west of the Mississippi.   As Deitrich was finishing up the last of his remaining laps, he began to hear a sound vaguely resembling thunder emanating from the pool below.  After another lap of the continuous, booming thunder sound from the pool below, Jim edged closer to the inner rail of the running track, which provided a view of the pool below.  Deitrich smiled as he realized the source of the sound           

            Fifteen feet below Sherry Clark was swimming laps in the pool.  Sherry’s awesome butterfly kick, once her hallmark known around the world, still had the sound of thunder--or maybe it was closer to a high-powered rifle.  Deitrich had never been able to find the right comparison.  Deitrich shook his head in amazement and returned his attention to completing his remaining laps.  Deitrich had seen this many times before but seeing--and hearing--Sherry Clark never failed to get his attention.

            Sitting just off the running track in the hallway, David Butler heard the thunder sound coming up from the pool in regular, rhythmic beats.  It sounded to David like his mother beating a rug on the clothesline with a big stick.  David walked to the edge of the running track and gave Jim Deitrich a quizzical look as he passed.  Deitrich laughed and jerked his thumb toward the pool below.  After a pair of runners had passed, David stepped across the running track to see what was causing all the commotion.  Arriving at the rail, he saw that the source of the sound was a swimmer flying up and down the pool doing the butterfly stroke.  This could be only one person, David knew.

            In a few minutes, Jim Deitrich had finished his three-mile run.  As he trotted around the track toward the elevator corridor, he paused for a moment to watch Sherry.  David looked at Deitrich and shook his head in wide-eyed amazement.  The two watched as Sherry cruised into the far end of the pool and simulated a racing touch to end her laps. After catching her breath, Sherry began swimming laps using a variety of strokes:  the backstroke, the breaststroke, the butterfly stroke, and the freestyle crawl stroke.  David watched with fascination as the great Olympic Champion swam twenty laps using the crawl stroke.            

            David had been overwhelmed watching Sherry play basketball.  He had never before watched  a world-class swimmer in person.  The power and grace which Sherry exhibited in the pool was even more impressive that the basketball exhibition he had witnessed a few weeks before.  Each lane of the pool had swimmers, most of them slowly struggling from one end of the twenty-five yard pool to the other.  A couple of rather accomplished swimmers used the two lanes closest to the far side of the pool.  Sherry powered through the shimmering  water several times faster than the swiftest of the other swimmers.  She seemed to take only two or three strokes to swim the entire length of the pool. 

            Meredith, a budding swimming star, would have to see this, David vowed to himself.  David struggled to find a word to properly describe for Meredith the awesome grace, speed and power which he was witnessing below.  The word “fish” came to mind.  David chuckled to himself as he suddenly came up with the word he had been searching for: “shark.”  A shark, he laughed to himself, realizing immediately that he was not the first person to make the comparison. 

            As David started for the locker room, the incomparable Sherry “The Shark” Clark was showing no signs of running out of steam.  As he walked into the locker room, Jim Deitrich was just coming out of the shower.  “Well, partner, what did you think of our resident Olympic Champion?”  “The only thing I could think of,” allowed David, “is that if she can practice law like she can swim and play basketball, then God help the lawyers!”  Both men laughed.  David quickly showered, dressed and hurried home to tell his daughter about the exhibition he had seen.

            . 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

            David Butler rolled over in his bed.  The morning light was beginning to seep into his  dark bedroom.  Waking, he looked for the alarm clock.  Realizing at last that it was Saturday morning, David rolled back over with the express intention of sleeping until noon.  Unfortunately for David, young Peter, Meredith and Andy Butler had other ideas about their dad’s Saturday morning schedule.  Six-year-old Andy, ringleader of the impending assault on his father’s slumber, quietly stuck his head in the bedroom door.  Andy shushed Peter and Meredith, behind him in the hall, lest their father be alerted before the attack could be put in place.  Finally satisfied that his dad was sound asleep, Andy motioned for his brother and sister to follow him into the large bedroom.  The three young children were stealthy as they took their pre-assigned positions beside the bed. 

            At Andy’s signal, all three youngsters leaped on top of their unsuspecting father, shouting what they considered to be Indian war cries as loud as they could.  After ten seconds of mayhem against their father,  with all three children sitting astride his limp body, Meredith became concerned.  Their father had moved not a muscle.  “He’s playing ‘possum,’” suggested Peter, oldest of the Butler children at age eleven.  “No, I think he’s dead,” breathed the sensitive nine-year-old Meredith, starting to get scared and uncertain as to what to do to save her beloved dad..  For a moment all three children were still and  silent as they looked for signs of life, none of them completely certain that they had not in fact frightened their father to death.  Suddenly, dad roared up from his bed with a ferocious bear-like growl.  The three youngsters were momentarily startled, but quickly realized that Dad had bested them again.  Playful screams of mock terror filled the household.

            Butler mugged at his tormentors. “Got you guys, again,” he said, grinning broadly and reaching for his three youngsters.  He scooped them all up in one of dad’s patented bear hugs.  All four laughed heartily at Dad’s clever trickery.  With cries of “let’s get him,” Andy led a further assault by the happy children on their father’s ancient body.  After a couple of minutes of being thoroughly out-wrestled by his children, David finally said “uncle.”  At that, Andy gave David his marching orders for the morning, which included an expedition to the Ward Parkway Mall to see Santa.  Peter hung back as Andy and Meredith left the room to make sure that dad knew that he, of course, would not be doing any sitting on Santa’s knee.  David nodded gravely at Peter and gave him a knowing wink.  Satisfied, the serious Peter turned and departed from his father’s bedroom with great dignity.

             David chuckled resignedly and reluctantly abandoned his warm, soft bed.  As he stepped gingerly toward his bathroom, David Butler felt that he must be the richest man on the face of the earth.  David had decided long ago that the truly meaningful things in life were the small, everyday moments which nobody put in the paper and which no amount of money could buy. This morning’s raucous activities had failed to alter his opinion.   Yes, he thought in confirmation, David Butler is the richest man on earth.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

            Sherry Clark and Julia Borden sat in a middle pew at Country Club Presbyterian Church and waited for the services to begin.  Sherry wasn’t completely sure why she had accepted Julia’s invitation to attend services this morning.  She had declined many similar invitations over the past two years.  Maybe because Christmas was near, thought Sherry, had she decided to attend church services with Julia, a devout Christian. 

            Sherry had attended church regularly as a child back in Long Beach.  Since she had started undergraduate school at U.S.C., however, regular church attendance had not been a part of her always overscheduled weeks.  Sherry had simply been too busy, too much in motion, too focused, to give attention to issues of spirituality.  Sherry’s Sunday mornings had typically been spent in the pool or the library.  Sherry’s religion had become “achievement,” her churches the swimming pool and the classroom.  For the past three years, her church had been the law library at the offices of Gallagher and Tate.  Sherry reviewed all these things in her mind as she watched the well-dressed and obviously well-heeled congregation file into the spacious sanctuary and take up their places in the long rows of wooden pews.  Lately Sherry had started to question some of the ideas and values which she had always before taken as gospel. 

            Soon the services began.  Sherry found the Presbyterian services to be similar to the Baptist services she had attended in her youth.  There was somewhat less “fire and brimstone” during the preaching portion of the service, she noted with approval.  Sherry was surprised and pleased to find that she actually remembered the words to several of the old hymns which had been selected for the morning’s worship.  Julia was a fine singer and Sherry did her best to keep up with Julia in her own fine, strong alto.  It had been a long time since Sherry had sung out loud, a serious interest in her childhood days which, like numerous activities which she had enjoyed and for which she had talent, had been abandoned in her single-minded quest for Olympic greatness. 

            “Amazing grace . . .how sweet the sound,” sang the congregation.  As she sung, long-silent emotions rose up in Sherry and a tear started to form in her eye.  “That saved a wretch like me  . . . . I once was lost but now am found . . . was blind but now I see.”  She did not at all understand what emotions were welling up inside her.  On the last verse of the beautiful old hymn, Sherry stopped singing and stood in silence listened to the singing of the large congregation.  Sherry had to fight herself to keep her composure.  Sherry suddenly missed her family back home in California very much.  She resolved to call her parents as soon as she got back to the apartment.

            The service at last ended and Julia led Sherry up the long aisle to the large entryway just outside the sanctuary doors.  As the two young women walked out he sanctuary door, Sherry saw that seemingly the entire congregation had paused in the large room for what Sherry dimly remembered had been referred to in her Southern Baptist past as “fellowship.”  Sherry had been deeply affected by this morning’s experience and she had no desire whatsoever to discuss her Olympic Gold Medals with two- hundred strangers.  After a few minutes of politely listening to Julia chat with church friends, Sherry indicated to Julia that she wanted to leave and go back to the apartment.  Julia, who was a good friend and a nice lady, accommodated her roommate’s obvious wish to depart.

            David Butler stood quietly at the far side of the room with his three handsome children and his equally handsome mother-in-law and watched as Sherry Clark walked out the far door of the church.  David knew Julia Borden, an elementary school teacher,  but had never been aware that she knew Sherry Clark.  It was in indeed a small world.  David and his family had been sitting in their usual spot toward the back of the sanctuary as Sherry and Julia had walked down the center aisle toward seats in the middle pews. 

            As it happened, David had never been very good at giving his undivided attention to Reverend Stinson’s sermons.  His many pressing obligations and duties always managed to intrude into his thoughts and steal his attention from the sermon.  At least he usually was able to catch the basic drift of Reverend Stinson’s message.  This morning, however, he had heard not one word.

CHAPTER TWENTY

            It was a cold December Saturday night as David Butler turned his 1989 Ford Bronco into the parking lot at the University of Missouri-Kansas City Law School building.  David figured there would be plenty of parking places in the  usually full lot and he was proved to be correct as he pulled his truck on up into the lot.  David was no grind but he had a brief due next week in the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals and the hectic Christmas season had given him precious little spare time. This morning’s shopping trip for last-minute Christmas purchases had delighted his children but seriously undermined his work schedule.  If the brief was to be submitted in a timely manner--and to his exacting standards--work would have to be done tonight. 

            Fortunately, grandma Cecille had planned an outing to a popular, new  Disney picture and the children had been happy to excuse their father from attending.  A twenty dollar bill for treats had helped to ease their pain at David’s unavailability.  Truth be told, the boyish David Butler liked Disney movies a whole lot more than he liked the law library.  But he knew his duty and thirty years in young Tyrone Mitchell’s life was surely worth one Saturday night in David Butler’s life.  The law is a jealous mistress, indeed, David told himself as he signed in at the law librarian’s desk. 

            Three long hours later a young woman tapped David on the shoulder and indicated to him that the law library was closing.  David put his research materials and the rough draft of his brief into his well-worn briefcase and wearily started for the front door of the library, two floors below.  As he descended the last of the steps to the main floor , David noticed a tall young woman in the process of signing out up at the librarian’s desk.  Although he saw only her back, David immediately recognized the estimable Sherry Clark.  He had become very familiar with her back last Sunday in church.

            “ Are you following me?” David teasingly inquired as he approached the librarian’s desk.

Sherry Clark turned around and smiled when she saw David.  “Why, good evening, Mr. Butler.  We do seem to be on the same track lately,” she observed while waiting for David to sign out.  “Wait up, I’ll see you to your car,” said the courtly David, forgetting for a minute who he was talking to and what decade he was living in.  “Oh, Mr. Butler, do you think I need protection?” teased Sherry, in a faux mocking tone.  Both young people laughed, each being well aware that Sherry was eminently capable of taking care of herself. 

            David and Sherry chatted politely as they walked to the far door of the law school and the exit to the parking lot.  Sherry made no mention of the Butler family’s visit to Santa which she had witnessed earlier in he day.  They paused for a few moments at the door to allow their conversation to be completed.  “Did I see you over at Country Club Presbyterian Church last Sunday?” David inquired, knowing full well the answer.  “Why, yes,” responded the somewhat surprised Sherry, “were you there?”  “Yes, the Butler clan was there.  We usually sit toward the back.  I saw you and Julia Borden come in.”  “She’s my roommate,” explained Sherry.  “She’s a nice gal,” David allowed.  “She’s a very nice gal,” Sherry agreed, good naturedly adopting for the moment David’s northeast Missouri manner of expression.. 

            An awkward silence then ensued for what seemed to the two young people to be forever .  Finally, after taking a moment to work up his nerve, David spoke.  “It’s not all that late.  Would you like to drive over to the Plaza and get a cup of coffee and some desert?”  Sherry gave David a quizzical frown as she  considered his offer.  She looked down at David’s left hand, now holding his briefcase, and saw that the gold wedding ring was still there.  “I’m sorry,” she said at last, “But I don’t do that sort of thing.” Sherry then turned abruptly  and pushed through the law school door without further comment.   David, having summoned up his courage to ask a girl out for the first time since he was seventeen years old, was completely taken aback by the rejection of his invitation, which he did not honestly expect.  David waited where he was and let Sherry get into her Ford Taurus and drive out of the parking lot.  David had never been more embarrassed.

            Julia Borden arrived home from her very boring date to find her roommate sitting on the couch in the living room of their apartment watching an old movie on cable.  After taking off her coat, Julia sat down on the couch to catch up with her roommate.  “Another night at the library, Sherry?” the sweet-natured Julia inquired. “Yeah, as usual,” muttered the usually congenial Sherry.  Sherry took another sip out of the large glass of bourbon which she had obviously been working on for some time.  Several more attempts at conversation by Julia produced the same limited results.  “Is something wrong, Sherry?” Julia inquired finally.  “The nerve of some people,” muttered Sherry to no one in particular.  “How could a married man think that I would actually go out with him?” 

            “Whoa, Sherry,” said Julia, “what married man are you talking about?”  “David Butler, a lawyer . . .he told me he knows you.”  “Yes,” said Julia, “David and his family go to my church.  I’ve known David for many years.  I didn’t even know you knew David.”  “I met him downtown a couple of months ago. . . a guy who used to work at my office introduced him.”  “Well,” Julia pressed gently, “what did David do that has you so upset?”  “I ran into him as I was leaving the law library.  He asked me out for a date,” said Sherry, somewhat overstating the actual invitation.  “So?” said Julia, “David is a very nice man.  He’s also a very attractive man.  Why didn’t you just go?”  “He’s a very attractive man,” replied Sherry, becoming more animated by the second, “he’s a gorgeous man.”  “So, I agree with you, Sherry.  David Butler is an absolutely dishy man who also happens to be a great guy.  And you haven’t been out with a guy for at least two years.  So what’s the problem?.”  “He’s married!” Sherry disclosed at last, downing the last of her bourbon in one huge gulp.

            Julia was genuinely puzzled.  She paused for a moment, trying to assess her roommate’s uncharacteristic mood.  “What makes you think David Butler is married, Sherry?” Julia inquired finally.  “His wedding ring, Julia . . . the small gold band on the third finger of his left hand. You are familiar with that old custom, aren’t you,  Julia, wedding rings?  Sherry was clearly upset and very much offended by the events of the evening.  Whatever her faults,  Sherry Clark maintained a strict code of conduct and one thing she would never, ever do, her roommate well knew, was to get involved with a married man. 

             “Sherry,” Julia began at last, “I don’t know anything about any wedding ring . . .but I’ve known David Butler for years and he is most definitely not married.  David Butler is a widower, Sherry.  His wife was killed in a car wreck five or six years ago.  I don’t think he has even so much as  looked at another woman since his wife died.  He was basically a zombie for a couple of years. . .he was very devoted to his wife.”  After absorbing this,  Sherry turned beet red.  “I’m so embarrassed, Julia . . . I really blew him off.”  “I’m sure David will understand,” said Julia. “He’s really a very sweet person,” continued Julia, trying to console her obviously mortified roommate.  

CHAPTER TWENTY

            David Butler sat in his usual pew with his family and watched the two young women walk down the aisle to one of the front pews on the other side of the sanctuary.  David was still smarting with embarrassment after the incident at the law library last evening.   He had been over it in his mind dozens of times since last night but he still couldn’t understand what he had said to so offend Sherry Clark.  He had already resolved to himself that in the future he would stay as far away from the mercurial Miss Clark as he possibly could.  David had never really been comfortable around women.  Only Janet had ever been able to get close to him.  Approaching Sherry Clark had been a mistake which he would not repeat.

            The service lasted for a little over an hour and afterwards David escorted his mother-in-law and his children to their customary place on the far side of the entryway for the usual coffee, cookies and polite chitchat with his fellow parishoners.  For once,  David had been able to pay  close attention to Reverend Stinson’s sermon.  He took the opportunity to tell Reverend Stinson how much he had enjoyed the morning’s sermon, feeling none of his usual dread of a pop quiz by Reverend Stinson on the exact details of his message.  Just as David was warming to his subject and impressing the veteran preacher with his deep grasp of the morning’s message, David felt a tap on the shoulder. 

            Turning around, David came face-to-face with Sherry Clark.  Both young people were clearly  uncomfortable, given the events of the previous evening.  Sherry immediately saw that David was feeling very uneasy in her presence.  Sherry spoke first.  “David,” she began uncertainly, “I’m sorry that I was so abrupt with you last night but . . . the truth is . . . I thought that you were married.  Julia told me about your wife when I got home last night.  I’m very sorry about your wife and I’m very sorry that I reacted the way I did last night.  But I didn’t . . . know about your wife.  I had noticed your wedding ring. . .and . . .I thought you were married.  I thought you were hitting on me.”

             Sherry paused for a minute to collect her thoughts for her final statement, which she had carefully practiced on the way over and all through the service.  “David,” Sherry began somewhat tentatively, “if there are to be any . . . uh . . .  invitations . . .  in the future . . .  they would very much be welcome.”  This last had taken all the nerve that Sherry had been able to muster.  David, still smarting from his embarrassment of last night, said nothing in response but acknowledged Sherry’s apology with a somber nod of his head.  He didn’t honestly know what to say.

            Not being able to gage David’s reaction and having thoroughly depleted her nerve, Sherry turned and walked back towards the far door, where Julia Borden patiently waited.  David watched Sherry walk away and wondered what to make of all this.  Julia Borden at last caught David’s eye and acknowledged him with a nod of her head.  David returned her greeting in kind.  Julia opened the far door and she and her roommate walked out the door and left the church building.

            “David,” Cecille Gentry asked as the Butler family drove the two miles to their house in Armour Hills, just east of Wornall Road, “who was the pretty, blonde young woman you were talking to at church.”  “Nobody special,” David said to Cecille, knowing full well that he had never told a more thoroughly comprehensive lie.  “She was quite attractive, I thought,” Mrs. Gentry continued.  “If you say so, Cecille,” said David, doing his best to be noncommittal.

             Cecille Gentry watched her son-in-law as he stared straight out the front window of the Bronco.  Cecille couldn’t help but notice that David was absent-mindedly fingering his wedding band.  David had never had the heart to stop wearing the plain gold wedding band which Janet had placed on his finger so many years ago.  A few months after the funeral,  David had seen an article in a legal magazine which advocated wearing a wedding ring as a symbol to the jury of family values and dependability.  This had been all the excuse David needed to justify his continued wearing of Janet’s ring.

            Soon the family had arrived home and Cecille sent the children scurrying off to their rooms upstairs to change out of their Sunday finery and into their play clothes.  Cecille then went to the kitchen to begin preparations for lunch.  In the kitchen, she found her son-in-law munching on a cold chicken leg from the fridge and staring out the back window, clearly preoccupied with something.  Cecille had known David since he was a small boy living across the street in Hannibal.  She was also a woman with considerable intuition and a deep understanding of human nature.  She knew that something was on David’s mind.  Cecille loved her son-in-law very much.  After all, he was the only child she had left since her daughter had died five years ago.  Cecille decided that it was time to broach a subject which had been on her mind for some time.

            “David,” she said at last, “maybe this is not any of my business, but I think it’s time that you started . . . living again.  It’s time that you started . . . feeling again.  It’s time to take off your wedding ring and put it in the jewelry drawer, where it belongs.   I know that you loved Janet more than life itself.  She was your sweetheart from the ninth grade on.  She was the only girl you ever cared about, the only girl you ever even dated.”  Cecille paused to let her words sink in.  David stared out the back window intently and gave no sign that he was hearing her words.  Cecille knew that he was.  “I loved her too, David.  She was my only child.  But she’s gone, David, and she’s never coming back.  It’s time you . . . moved on in your life, David . . .Janet would have wanted it that way, believe me.  Janet was the most understanding and generous creature that the Good Lord ever created and she would want you . . . to live your life to the fullest . . . .”  “It’s time. . . . ”  Cecille couldn’t tell what affect, if any, her words were having on David.  After a few more seconds of silence, Cecille gave up and set about the business of preparing a hot lunch for the family. 

            David stood staring out the back window for several more minutes, barely moving a muscle.  Saying nothing, he walked out the back door and let Bud, the family’s Irish Setter, out of the dog run.  David pulled a cigar out of his suit jacket pocket and lit it up.  David spent the next twenty minutes smoking his big Honduran cigar and throwing a dirty old tennis ball to Bud, who retrieved it with great enthusiasm.  Cecille watched David through the back window as she peeled potatoes for the noonday meal.  Cecille loved David as her own son.  It was time to put the ring away, Cecille told herself.  Yes . . . it was time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

            “More wine, Davey, my boy?” sang out the half-intoxicated but still ebullient Jim Deitrich.  David extended his glass and his gracious host filled his wine glass to the brim.  The scene was the Deitrich’s annual New Year’s Eve party, anxiously anticipated throughout Johnson County, Kansas, and the Greater Kansas City area.   Dozens of revelers filled the Deitrich’s spacious, modern ranch house in Overland Park, Kansas, an affluent Kansas City bedroom community.  The large house was alive with holiday spirit as the Deitrichs hosted their annual get- together made up of neighbors, law firm clients and friends from the Sunset Hill School and the Pembroke Country Day  School, now combined as the Pembroke Hill School, Kansas City’s most exclusive private school.  The odd lawyer and doctor made up the remainder of the guest list.

             Jim had called the house earlier in the week and asked David to bring Cecille to the party.  Jim adored Cecille, as did Lucy Deitrich.  Cecille had little social life of her own and she had been flattered and delighted to be invited to the party.  David watched from a seat in the corner of the living room as Cecille carried on an animated conversation with Austin and Bunny Thompson, one of Kansas City’s best known couples.  Austin owned a large company which manufactured envelopes.  He had been Jim Deitrich’s main legal client for several years. 

            Cecille, in typical fashion, had the Thompson’s laughing out loud at one of her signature stories of life in Hannibal.  Samuel Clemens was not the only original to come out of that Mississippi River town, David chuckled to himself,  as he watched his attractive, youthful mother-in-law charm the Thompsons.  Long widowed, Cecille Gentry had moved her belongings to Kansas City,  lock, stock and barrel,  shortly after her daughter Janet’s funeral.  She would not take no for an answer.  David owed this sweet lady a great deal and he was pleased to be able to give her this evening.  She looked positively radiant in the new dress that she and Meredith had purchased at Hall’s on the Plaza.  David was very proud her.  He knew that Janet would have been proud, too.

            David wandered back to the great room and spotted Byron Silverberg and his wife, Myra.  Byron was in his standard,  gregarious form.   David eagerly joined the circle around the Siverbergs.  After a while, David decided to check on his mother-in-law.  Working his way back to the dining room, David paused briefly to say hello to several friends and acquaintances.  Everyone seemed to be having a fine time.  Walking into the dining room, David spotted Cecille on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with a tall, blonde-haired woman in a navy blue suit.  Cecille, who was facing David, saw him and gave him a wink and a surrupticious little wave of her hand. 

            David was immediately distracted by Jack Gates, a lawyer with one of the larger firms downtown.  David and Jack had tried a number of cases together but had not run into each other for several months.  David spent several pleasant minutes with Jack while Jack regaled the guests with war stories from their several trials.  It was clear that Jack had a great deal of respect and affection for David.  Modest as he was, David soon sought an escape route.  He sort of backed his way in the general direction where had seen Cecille a few moments before.

            As David turned around,  he saw in front of him that his mother- in- law was deep in conversation with Sherry Clark, who was wearing a navy blue suit with a white blouse.  David had not immediately recognized Sherry  because she had put her hair up, giving her a much different look than what David had seen before.  The hairstyle was very flattering and Sherry  looked more stunning than ever before.  It had been two weeks since Sherry had approached David after church.  David had not seen her since but she had rarely been off his mind.

             David felt totally unprepared for an encounter with Sherry Clark.  He had not yet fully sorted out his feelings.  A split second too late he turned to retreat.  “David,” called out Cecille Gentry sweetly in her most motherly voice, “I want you to meet someone.”  David, trapped, slowly turned and walked toward the two women, not knowing exactly how he was going to handle the situation.  “David,” said Cecille, “I want you to meet Miss Sherry Clark.” 

            Unsuspecting, Sherry Clark turned in David’s direction with a gracious smile.  Sherry was surprised to find that the handsome son-in-law she had been hearing so much about for the past fifteen minutes was David Butler.  She quickly recovered her poise and extended a long and exquisite  hand.  “Oh, Mrs Gentry,” Sherry exclaimed, “I know David.  He used to follow me around.”  Cecille was somewhat lost in all this but was undaunted.  “ David,” she gushed, “why haven’t you told me about this lovely young lady?”  David, being possessed of no ready answer, simply smiled and joined the two attractive women in the corner of the dining room.  After a few minutes of generally safe conversation, Cecille suddenly and all too conveniently decided that she needed  to find a telephone and check on the children.

            A few awkward moments passed as the two lawyers fished for a topic which would not touch upon the feelings which had been building in each for several weeks now.  Finally, it was Sherry who took the initiative.  “David, have you seen the Plaza lights this year,” she said, referring to the world famous Christmas lights which were a Kansas City tradition and a delight to everyone in the city.  This seemed a safe topic.  David took note of Sherry’s mention of the Plaza.  Finally, David screwed up his courage and asked Sherry to dinner the following evening.  Sherry, clearly delighted, graciously accepted, giving David the warmest and most winsome smile that he could ever remember.  David, not normally much of a drinker, felt his knees start to grow weak. He couldn’t really tell if he was intoxicated by the wine--or by the beautiful young woman standing there beaming at him.

            David, not knowing what further to say, expressed his anticipation and promised to call Sherry the following day to make the arrangements.  At that the two young lawyers went their separate ways.  An hour later it was midnight and many of the guests began to engage in the traditional activity customary between men women on New Year’s Eve.  Sherry had spent the past hour imbibing her namesake liquor and as the clock struck midnight--ringing in the new year--she went off in search of David Butler.  Finding him in the foyer, preparing to escort his mother-in-law home, Sherry marched straight up to David.  Sherry Clark was anything but impulsive but tonight she felt courageous as never before. 

            David smiled politely at Sherry’s approach, half expecting her to break their date for the following night.  Instead, Sherry Clark-- Olympic Champion, Phi Beta Kappa, honors graduate of Stanford University Law School-- and twenty-nine year old virgin-- threw her arms around David’s neck and gave him a long, lingering and heartfelt kiss.  After about thirty seconds, the kiss was threatening to become something more.   David and Sherry were both now totally oblivious to the party goers around them.  Finally, Cecille grabbed David’s arm and, laughing out loud, dragged him out the door.  Cecille looked back at Sherry and gave the now- glowing young woman a smile of immense gratitude.  Cecille approved.

            Sherry stood in the doorway and watched them walk to their car. Then she quickly turned on her heel and started after her coat.  Jim Deitrich, who had witnessed all this from twenty feet away, gave Sherry an enthusiastic thumbs up.  Sherry grinned sheepishly at Jim and then positively floated to the back bedroom to retrieve her coat.  The normally reserved Sherry, who had never done anything remotely like this in her life, gave a little jump and pumped her fist in the air.   “Yes.” she said loudly as she walked down the long hall past the bathroom and the den. 

            Jim Deitrich watched the obviously excited young woman go down the hallway and smiled broadly.  Yes, thought Jim Deitrich, it was going to be a very good new year.  Hopefully, his senior partner would never stop to wonder just why he had invited Sherry Clark to the party--or just who had slyly maneuvered her in the direction of Cecille Gentry.  Sometimes things just needed a little nudge, he told himself, as he watched the lustrous Sherry Clark bounce out his front door and into the new year.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

            It was crowded at the Ward Parkway Mall.  Two weeks before Christmas, the mall was packed with families big and small.  David and his three excited children visited several stores for late present purchases.  Grandmother Gentry in particular made out like a bandit, Peter had noted.  When the shopping was done, the four hungry Butlers worked their way to the food court on the bottom floor for some traditional Christmas  pizza.

            At last it was time to visit Santa.  At 2:00 p.m. the Santa line in the middle of the mall was mercifully short.  After thirty minutes of standing in line, Meredith and Andy Butler each took their respective turns on Santa’s knee.  David snapped pictures with his Nikon as fast as he could go.  Although egged on by his younger brother and sister, Peter Butler was resolute in his new-found maturity.  There would be no more Santa’s knees for the dignified Peter.  David knew enough not to make an issue of  Peter’s decision but his younger siblings clearly felt that Peter was losing touch with reality.  David delegated some of the picture-snapping to Peter.

            The thoughtful Meredith, ever the good citizen,  climbed up on Santa’s knee and quickly made her requests.  David was admittedly prejudiced, but he was certain that his pretty brunette daughter, the spitting image of her mother, was worth some extra pictures.  When Peter didn’t agree, David quickly reclaimed the Nikon.  Andy waited impatiently at the head of the line,  list in hand.  When Santa saw the tousle-headed six-year-old and the length of his Christmas list, he thought seriously of seeking other employment.  David could hear three-dozen sets of parents groan as Andy unfurled  his two-and-a-half foot list, the product of nearly twelve full months of labor.  

            Andy had waited patiently for a whole year now, had been a very good boy, and felt that Santa should hear his whole, entire list.  David finished his roll of pictures, exhausting his ideas for Santa shots before the roll was done.  After five minutes, David figured that a riot was about to ensue and mercifully pulled a vociferous, outraged Andy off Santa’s lap only three-quarters of the way through his list.  The crowd chuckled audibly as David, Peter, and Meredith dragged little Andy down the mall and towards the south door and the parking lot.  An indignant Andy protested each and every step of the way.

            Sherry Clark sat in the stylist’s chair at Hair Cuts Plus and giggled at the scene which she had witnessed out in the mall.  David had really had his hands full she noted to the stylist, Fritz Donohoe.  Yes, she knew the family, she exaggerated a bit.  As she watched the little Butler family make its way down the mall, Sherry wondered to herself what it would be like to have a husband and a family.  That option had never seemed so appealing to Sherry as it did at this moment.  Based on her history, she doubted that she would ever know. Sherry had never even had a regular boyfriend.  Mr. David Butler, she told herself, was one very lucky man.  Mrs. David Butler, she told herself, was one very lucky woman.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

            It was Friday morning and Sherry Clark was just finishing up the week’s main project: a memorandum to be submitted in support of a motion for summary judgment in the Barton case.  Sherry had worked on this all week and by now she knew that the motion for summary judgment had about as much chance as an icecube in hell, her words.  Mr. Hunter had reminded her three times this week to stay on top of the project.  She wondered if Hunter really thought this motion had a chance. 

            At 11:30 a.m. Sherry got a buzz on the intercom.  Judge Wedgeworth was calling on line 32.  Sherry greeted Circuit Judge John R. Wedgeworth, Jr.,  with enthusiasm.  Judge Wedgeworth was serving as mentor of a group of young lawyers who met every two weeks to hear lectures on trial practice from prominent judges and lawyers.  Judge Wedgeworth had founded the program several years before Sherry began practice. 

            “Sherry,” began the kindly old jurist, “what are you doing today?”  “Why nothing too terribly pressing, Judge Wedgeworth,” Sherry responded, “why do you ask?”  “I’ve had a very interesting trial going on over here in Division 8.  The closing arguments are set for one o’clock and I thought that some of you might benefit from  hearing the arguments.  There are two excellent lawyers involved.”  “Sure, Judge Wedgeworth,” said Sherry,  “I think I could spare a couple of hours on your say so.”  Hanging up the phone, Sherry realized that the judge hadn’t told her who the lawyers were.  Oh well, she thought, they must be good if Judge Wedgeworth wants to use their arguments as an example for the class.

            Shortly before 1:00 p.m. Sherry Clark and her firm colleague Martin Cline entered the door to Division 6 of the Circuit Court of Jackson County, Missouri, on the sixth floor of the venerable  Jackson County Courthouse.  Sherry saw and acknowledged several members of “Barristers,” the trial practice organization founded by Judge Wedgeworth.  The two young lawyers took seats in the crowded spectator section in the back of the courtroom.  Shortly before 1:00 p.m. the bailiff for Division 6 led the jury of twelve into the jury box from a door at the far end of the courtroom.   

            At precisely 1:00 p.m., the bailiff announced the judge’s entry with the traditional “all rise.” Judge Wedgeworth, looking very judicial in a  black silk robe, entered the courtroom from behind the judge’s bench on the other side of the courtroom from the jury box.  Just as Judge Wedgeworth was entering the courtroom, two lawyers ducked quickly through the same door that the jury had entered and stepped quickly to their seats, both smiling mischievously.  Sherry noticed that several of the jurors smiled, too.  Judge Wedgeworth also smiled at the two lawyers and slowly shook his head in mock rebuke.   Sherry noticed for the first time that one of the lawyers was David Butler. “ It seems to be ‘David Butler Week,’” she muttered to herself, half out loud.

            Judge Wedgeworth read a lengthy set of instructions to the jury and then held them out to the plaintiff’s lawyer.  The plaintiff’s lawyer, who Sherry later learned was the highly regarded, veteran attorney  Lance Steuer, took the instructions and approached the jury.  Steuer spoke for twenty minutes, becoming quite emotional as he spoke of his young client’s apparently serious injuries.  Steuer was flamboyant and dramatic.  During the final portion of his argument, his voice choked with emotion and tears ran down his cheeks.  At the end of Steuer’s opening argument, Sherry had tears in her eyes and was ready to cast her lot with the plaintiff and award substantial damages.  It would be interesting to see what Mr. Butler could do with this, Sherry allowed to herself. 

            David Butler walked to the wooden podium in a measured and dignified manner.  He was dressed in a handsome, dark blue suit with a vest.  His shirt was white and heavily starched.  He wore a conservative black and red club tie and plain, spit-shined black shoes.  He was very handsome, thought Sherry, in a detached and strictly professional evaluation.

            Butler slowly removed his glasses and turned to Judge Wedgeworth.  “May it please the Court,” Butler intoned, nodding gracefully to Judge Wedgeworth.  “Mr. Butler, you may proceed,” replied Judge Wedgeworth in kind.  Butler put his glasses back in place and began to address the jury.  After a moment, he left the podium and walked out to a point just a few feet in front of the jury box.  He seemed very comfortable in front of the jury and they seemed very comfortable with him.  Butler made a number of concessions in his argument, each time causing the plaintiff’s lawyer to smile broadly for the jury’s benefit.  The plaintiff’s lawyer made a big show of circling his notes each time that Butler admitted some fact in favor of the plaintiff, which he did a number of times. 

            Butler spoke without notes, in contrast to the plaintiff’s attorney who had used several different pads of notes during his argument to the jury.  Sherry could easily follow the logic of Butler’s argument as he dismantled the plaintiff’s case point by point.  Butler argued quite persuasively that, although the young plaintiff had indeed suffered grievous injuries, his client had not played a role in causing the injuries.  Sherry saw that Butler was using the concessions which he was making to give additional credibility to the relatively few points he was disputing.  The technique was extremely effective.  As Butler continued his argument,  Sherry sensed that he was swaying the jurors--he was certainly swaying Sherry.  He was sincere and believable.  He was very, very persuasive.  He was slowly but steadily sucking all the emotion and righteous indignation right out of the case.  

            Sherry watched the faces of the jurors to see if she could read their reaction to Butler’s closing argument.  From time to time she saw a smile or a nod as Butler patiently and meticulously retraced the evidence presented in the case.  The jury was clearly being swept along by he sincerity and power of Butler’s argument.   Butler had been quite restrained throughout his thirty-minute argument, but he picked up the emotion as he began the concluding portion of his remarks.  Ending on a powerful and persuasive point, Butler then paused for just the perfect amount of time. Two older women jurors had tears in their eyes.   Butler then quietly and sincerely asked the jury for a defendant’s verdict and sat down. 

            Sherry very nearly jumped out of her seat and started applauding.  Like everyone else in the room, she now felt that it would be absolutely criminal to hold the defendant responsible for the plaintiff’s injuries, terrible injuries though they were.  Sherry was yet to try a case and she had watched only a few.  But Sherry was certain that she had just seen a master trial lawyer at work. 

            At last the plaintiff’s lawyer concluded his now anticlimactic rebuttal argument and Judge Wedgeworth sent the jury out to deliberate.  Everyone stood as the jury slowly filed out of the jury box and went out the door.  As soon as the jury had left, Judge Wedgeworth called the two opposing attorneys up to the bench.  He stood up at the bench and, leaning over, shook hands with first one and then the other of the lawyers.  The two lawyers then smiled at each other and shook hands. 

            Judge Wedgeworth finally looked to the spectator section on the other side of the bar and acknowledged his assembled “Barristers.”  Judge Wedgeworth motioned for the “Barristers” to come around to his chambers through the hallway outside.  On her way out the door with Martin Cline, Sherry tried to catch  Butler’s eye,  but he was still engaged in conversation with his opposing counsel.  He had been totally absorbed in trying his case and he had not noticed Sherry’s presence in the courtroom.  Sherry and the other young “Barristers” talked excitedly as they walked down to the door to Judge Wedgeworth’s chambers. 

            The judge met them at the door and invited them in.  As the young lawyers took seats around the spacious office, Judge Wedgeworth removed his robe and hung it in his closet.  “Well, ‘Barristers,’ he began with his customary enthusiasm, “what did you think?”  Everyone had an opinion and the group discussed what they had seen and heard for quite some time.  Judge Wedgeworth complimented the work of both attorneys but his eyes positively lit up when he discussed Butler’s closing argument.  “You will never hear a better closing argument for a defendant in a civil case,” he said finally, “but don’t any of you dare tell young Butler that I said so,” he laughed.  David Butler, the group learned, had been one of Judge Wedgeworth’s original group of “Barristers” and it was clear that the old man felt a great deal of pride in his former pupil.

            Presently the session broke up and the young lawyers thanked Judge Wedgeworth and made their way out of his chambers.  Sherry hung back.  “Well, what do you think, big Sherry, did you pick up any pointers?” Judge Wedgeworth teased.  “Judge,” she began somewhat tentatively, “is David Butler as good a lawyer . . . as I think he is?”  The old judge slowly smiled at the young lawyer’s perceptiveness and unanticipated ability to appreciate what she had seen in his courtroom..  “Sherry,” he said at last, turning very serious, “ I’ve seen them all in the last fifty years.”  The old man paused and stared wistfully out the window behind his desk. “The Butler boy has no idea how good he really is.  No better lawyer . . .  walks the earth.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

            Sherry Clark couldn’t imagine why Chief United States Magistrate Judge Louise Brenner

would be calling her.  “Sherry, Judge Wedgeworth suggested that you might be wanting to get some trial experience.”  Sherry couldn’t very well deny that and did not.  “Sherry, I have a federal prisoner who needs to have counsel appointed under the Criminal Justice Act.”  Sherry protested mildly that she had little experience and no criminal experience whatsoever.  “Well, unfortunately, we can’t provide seasoned attorneys for all of our CJA defendants,” Magistrate Judge Brenner continued.  “You’ll do fine, I’m sure.  Judge Wedgeworth spoke very highly of you.”

            When the thick file arrived in the next morning’s mail, Sherry learned that she had  been appointed counsel for one Alonso Q. Pope in a federal drug conspiracy case.  The arraignment was scheduled in three days.  Pope was being held without bond in a confinement facility in Lansing, Kansas.  It seemed that Pope’s mug shot photo was picked out of a picture lineup by an undercover policeman and identified as the person who had sold him $1100.00 worth of crack cocaine three months before.  Going through the file Sherry found that the attorneys for the other two defendants were Richard B. Davis, a well-known criminal defense attorney whom she did not know, and David L. Butler. 

            After going through the FBI Case Agent’s lengthy affidavit, Sherry was beginning to feel overmatched and decided to call for reinforcements. “David,” she began somewhat tentatively, “this is Sherry Clark, an attorney over at Gallagher and Tate?”  “Yes, Sherry,” said David, who remembered her.  Sherry stated her business and asked to meet with David for a conference on the case as soon as possible.  David noticed but did not comment on the faintly- disguised tone of apprehension--if not outright terror-- in the young lawyer’s voice.  David had been new once himself and he knew what the novice lawyer was feeling.  They agreed on a meeting  later in the day at David’s office.

            Sherry was surprised by the Regency Building, an unassuming structure she had passed dozens of times on the way to the Jackson County Courthouse..  She had not expected the beautiful atrium which encompassed the first three floors of the building.  Arriving at Suite 300, she noted the heavy cast bronze sign announcing the law offices of Butler and Deitrich, P.C.  Sherry identified herself to the receptionist who had been alerted to her arrival.  “Yes, Miss Clark,” she began, “Mr. Butler has been expecting you.  Mr. Butler was called down to the bank for a few minutes.  He asked that you wait for him in his office.” 

            Sherry was escorted back to Butler’s spacious corner office overlooking Twelfth Street and Grand Avenue.  Sherry was impressed with the offices. They were  well done without being ostentatious.   While not as lavish as the posh, wood-paneled offices of Gallagher and Tate, the law offices of Butler and Deitrich, P.C., were handsome with dark blue wall covering throughout and gray carpet with the same dark blue as borders and insets.  All in all it  made for a striking and very attractive office suite.

            Sherry took a seat in one of Butler’s light blue leather guest chairs and surveyed the private domain of her co-counsel.  She wondered what the office might tell her about the personality of the occupant.  To her surprise, the office was larger than any of the offices at Gallagher and Tate and was furnished with a beautiful desk, bookcases and credenza made of cherry.  Butler’s desk was a handsome cherry parson’s table.  A dark blue couch with gray stripes sat along one wall.  Full length gray drapes completed the decor.  Butler apparently kept a neat office, in contrast to many of the litigators at Gallagher and Tate. Two lonely files were neatly stacked on the side of his desk.  The biggest computer and monitor she had ever seen sat on the credenza behind the desk.

            Sherry noted that the walls contained only original artwork with none of the usual framed diplomas and certificates or framed newspaper articles.  The office was as every bit as handsome as any at Gallagher and Tate.  Sherry found herself somewhat surprised at the quality of the surroundings.  She had assumed that the two relatively young lawyers would have been set up in much more humble quarters.   She had expected to find them struggling.  Based on the huge number of files visible in the file room down the hall and the decor, they were clearly not struggling.

            Behind Butler’s desk on the cherry credenza sat a large family photograph.  The Butler family contained three small children.  The children, a small boy, a very pretty little girl and a small baby, were adorable.  Mrs. Butler was a lovely, petite brunette who held the baby in the photograph.  Standing behind his wife and children was an obviously proud husband and father.  It was a very attractive family.

            After ten minutes David Butler arrived at the office with apologies.  After shaking hands the two lawyers spent nearly an hour discussing facts of the case.  David carefully explained the requirements of the law with regard to joint defense conversations, the doctrine which would provide a shield of confidentiality for their discussion of the case.   “Sherry, you saved me a call this morning,” said the older lawyer, “ I was waiting to see who got appointed to represent Pope.  My guy ran a drug house out on Prospect and we are trying to work out a plea on the conspiracy charge. My guy is guilty as hell and the feds have got him cold. The only problem is that my guy refuses to plead guilty to conspiracy with Pope.  So does the woman Davis represents.  Both of them say that they never did any deals with your guy, Pope.  In fact, my guy specifically told me to call Pope’s lawyer and tell him . . . er, or her . . . that Pope is innocent.”  Sherry didn’t know whether to be pleased with this news or not, feeling immediately that there might be more pressure in representing an actual innocent man.

            David spent most of the rest of the afternoon patiently answering Sherry’s questions about federal criminal procedure.  After their conference was completed, David took Sherry on a tour of the office.  He was careful to introduce her to each of the firm’s employees.  He was obviously very proud of his law firm.  In the firm’s surprisingly large conference room and library, David selected half-a-dozen books on federal criminal law and procedure for Sherry to borrow.

            Walking back to One Kansas City Tower, Sherry couldn’t get over the courtesy and patience which the more senior lawyer had shown her.  In contrast to the treatment the associates at Gallagher and Tate received, David had treated her with respect.  He had treated her-- as a lawyer.  The senior lawyers at her own firm would never take two hours away from their own hourly billing to advise and instruct a mere  associate.  She was becoming more and more impressed with David Butler.  He was clearly an excellent lawyer--and a very fine man.

CHAPTER TWENTY

            At 6:30 p.m. Sherry Clark parked her blue Ford Taurus in front of David Butler’s rambling, two-story house in Armour Fields.  The large white house was outlined in red Christmas lights.  As she walked to the front door, Sherry could see a fire burning in the living room fireplace.  The door was answered by Cecille Gentry.  After some pleasant small talk, David and Sherry left in David’s Bronco for the Bristol on the Plaza, one of Kansas City’s most popular restaurants.  The New Year’s Eve kiss of the night before was not mentioned by either.

            Sherry was determined to find out more about this man who so suddenly had become a part of her life.  David, too, was curious about his date and the two swapped biographies throughout dinner.  David learned that Sherry had been the youngest of five children of a Long Beach fireman and a second grade teacher.  Sherry learned that David had grown up in Hannibal, Missouri, and that he had received a baseball scholarship as a pitcher to the University of Illinois.  David had played little, however, and had ultimately injured his rotator cuff on his pitching shoulder, ending his baseball career in his junior year.  Although it was obvious that David’s athletic career had not remotely equaled her own, it was equally obvious that he was a serious sports fan, as was Sherry. 

            Sherry at length mentioned that her beloved Trojans of U.S.C. were at that very minute playing the “Fighting Illini” in the Rosebowl.  On a normal New Year’s Night it would have taken an army to pull Sherry away from the television set until she could be certain that her Trojans had a Rose Bowl victory safely tucked away.  A friendly wager was made.  Half- way through coffee the two began to discuss what to do with the rest of the evening.  David had suggested movie or the theater in his call earlier in the day.

            Suddenly, David and Sherry seemed to come to the same conclusion.  “You know, David, we can just make the second half kickoff if we hustle.”  David smiled broadly at this and started looking for the waiter.  It had been a long time since the Illini had been in the Rose Bowl and he had almost been sorry he had selected tonight for the big date--almost.  The two young people got to the Bronco as fast as they could and David broke several traffic laws on the way back to his house on 69th Terrace.  The wager was raised several times on the ride back to David’s house. 

            David had just finished popping up a bowl of post-game popcorn and as he walked back into the den Sherry Clark was nowhere to be found.  David sat down on the sofa and watched the post-game interviews with the winning Illini football players and coaches.  This remarkable event was clearly something that might happen only once in his lifetime and it had to be savored.  After ten minutes there still had been no sign of Sherry.  David took his bowl of popcorn and began searching for his date.  He found her in Meredith’s room in the back of the house on the second floor. 

            As David walked down the back hall he heard Meredith’s small voice animatedly describing some of her more memorable swimming feats from summers past.  When he reached the door to Meredith’s room he saw Meredith holding Sherry’s hand with one hand and proudly pointing out all of her swimming medals and ribbons with the other.  Sherry bent low as she carefully inspected the bulletin board above Meredith’s chest-of-drawers and all of its collected athletic treasure.  Sherry was very impressed.  She gently held the child’s hand and patiently listened to her detailed description as to each and every medal and ribbon..  After a moment, David took his remaining popcorn and slipped back to the den to await the arrival of the two champions.  Arriving back at his den, David was met by Bud, the Irish Setter, who was something of a popcorn afficianado. 

            David and Sherry sat in the den and talked long into the night.  Any issues of intimacy were obviated by Meredith’s presence on Sherry’s lap, asleep against her shoulder, and by Bud’s langorous presence in the middle of the couch between them.  It had turned out that Bud was every bit as taken with Sherry as Meredith had been.  Her popularity had been sealed around midnight, when she saw to it that Bud got the last of the popcorn.  The big Irish Setter spent an hour gratefully licking the back of her hand, finally falling asleep with his large head nestled against her leg.  Bud, David knew from experience, was a very good judge of character. 

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

            David Butler had sat in the deposition for seven long hours.  Finally, at 6:30 p.m., his eager young opponent completed his outline of mostly irrelevant questions and mercifully allowed David and his frazzled client to leave.  David looked at his watch and noted that he could just catch the end of the Bar Association Christmas Party at the Allis-Plaza Hotel.

            David always looked forward to the Bar Association Christmas Party as it gave him an all too rare opportunity to socialize with his many friends at the bar.  It was also an excellent opportunity to hobnob with members of the Kansas City judicial community, many of whom traditionally turned out for the annual Christmas Party.  Maintaining good relationships with the judiciary is an important part of a trial lawyer’s job, but it was one which the congenial David genuinely enjoyed.        

            David was tired to the bone on this early December Friday afternoon.  A couple of scotch and waters helped him find his second wind.  David spotted Freeman Reed deep in conversation with Lance Steuer.  David had developed a genuine affection for Freeman Reed, who seemed to terrorize much of the defense bar.  David had reacted to Reed’s outrageous tactics with amusement and good-natured ribbing and, realizing that his usual routine of baiting and intimidation was not going to work on David,  Reed had abandoned his usual approach.  Thereafter, the two talented trial lawyers had developed a genuine and mutual respect for each other.  David wanted to approach Reed but he thought it better to wait until Lance Steuer had moved on.  David’s defendant’s verdict in the case tried before Judge Wedgeworth last month had not gone down well with the thin-skinned Steuer.  After a while David was able to slide over and say hello to Freeman Reed.  David and Reed were soon joined in conversation by Judge John J. Wedgeworth.

            An hour of war stories and half-a-dozen scotches later only a few stragglers remained at the party.  David headed for the men’s room on the mezzanine to make room for one more scotch.  As he came out of the men’s room, David spotted a grand piano sitting in the half-light and unattended,  far from the activity of the Christmas party.  David’s mother had signed him up for piano lessons when he was six years old back in Hannibal.  She had force- fed him music until his overstuffed high school schedule had left no time for music lessons.  Although David had complained vigorously about having to take piano lessons and practice for his one hour each afternoon, he had eventually developed a deep love for playing, although he had never let on to his domineering mother.  Away from his mother, he had secretly taken advanced lessons in college, in law school, and even after passing the bar. 

            David had never been a brilliant student or a great natural athlete, but he was a natural and a gifted musician.  Before Janet was killed he had developed into an accomplished pianist with a huge repertoire of classical and popular tunes.  He had particularly loved Chopin.  After Janet’s death, however, David had abandoned his playing, along with everything else in his life except for his work and his children.  For the first time in a very long time David Butler felt drawn to a piano.

            Sherry Clark had enjoyed the bar association Christmas party and the chance to mingle with other lawyers outside her own very inbred law firm.  It was always a pleasure to get a chance to visit with her friend and mentor, Judge Wedgeworth, who never failed to have an amusing story to share.  Before leaving for home,  Sherry and two female colleagues from Gallagher and Tate decided to visit the ladies’ room on the mezzanine level of the hotel.  Leaving the ladies’ room the three paused to enjoy a piano player who was playing show tunes on the hotel piano forty feet away.  Sherry at length recognized the shadowy figure at the keyboard.  Soon the other two young women were ready to return to what remained of the party.  Sherry begged off and remained behind. 

            For the next forty-five minutes, Sherry stood in the shadows by the restroom door and listened as David Butler poured out his very heart and soul.  Sherry had never heard more emotional or affecting playing.  The pain and the conflict in the  music  were overwhelmingly evident.  The music had a haunting quality and a power which were hypnotizing.

            The program itself seemed to be one giant-sized medley. Butler played parts and pieces of everything from Beethoven and Chopin to “Tonight” from Westside Story, with some “Love Me Tender” thrown in for good measure.  Butler was seamlessly weaving together dissimilar pieces of music from classical to Tin Pan Alley standards and even soft rock tunes.  It was hard to see a common thread between “The Blue Danube Waltz” and “Up on the Roof,” but Butler made them sound as if they had been written to be performed together.

             Butler’s mournful rendering of “Old Man River” at last brought tears to Sherry’s eyes and a huge lump to her throat.  Next a poignant “Over the Rainbow” somehow exploded into a jubilant, playful “Singing in the Rain,” taking Sherry from tears to laughter and back again.  A slow and moving version of “Amazing Grace”was followed by an inspiring  “How Great Thou Art.”  The impromptu concert at last concluded with an ornate, slow-paced and heartfelt version of “America the Beautiful.”  One more of these and Sherry would lose it right here on the mezzanine of the Allis-Plaza Hotel.

            Suddenly, Butler stopped playing, closed the piano, and laid his head down on the keyboard cover.  In a moment he could be heard to be sobbing softly.  Suddenly finding herself embarrassed at her unwitting invasion of Butler’s intended  privacy, Sherry quietly slipped down the hall and made her way out of the hotel and into the night.  Walking slowly to her car, Sherry felt as though she had been taken on an intimate tour of David Butler’s very soul.  Butler had appeared to Sherry a contented person who seemed to have everything a man could want: a loving family, professional success, and personal charm.  She wondered at the source of all the pain and poignancy which Butler’s playing had allowed her to so vividly glimpse on this cold December night.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

            David Butler’s usually reliable Ford Bronco was in the shop for three days and David was forced to ride ATA Bus No. 56 to his home in Armour Hills.  David got on the bus at the Twelfth and Main stop and took an empty window seat near the back of the bus.  Before he could open his briefcase and began catching up on his reading of advance sheets, Barbara Johnston of Gallagher and Tate got on the bus at 13th Street.  Halfway down the aisle she noticed David and the empty seat next to him.  David saw Barbara at the same time and motioned her to the empty seat beside him.

            “It’s nice to see you again,” said David.  “Nice to see you,” replied the Gallagher and Tate paralegal as she took her seat next to Butler.  The two passed the time in random conversation until the bus reached the Plaza.  “Sherry Clark told me that she heard you make a terrific closing argument last week in Judge Wentworth’s courtroom.” Barbara said at last.  “Oh, really,” said Butler, “I didn’t even know she was there.”  “Yeah,” laughed Barbara, “she told me that you were pretty well into the whole thing.”  “Well, I guess I do get pretty wrapped up when I’m trying a case” “Sherry said that Judge Wedgeworth was very complimentary about your performance,” said Barbara.  “He’s been a very good friend to me for an long time.  I think he kind of adopted me when I was first starting out.  I’ve learned a lot from that old man,” said David with obvious affection for the judge. 

            “Sherry Clark is an interesting person,” said David at length.  “Jim Deitrich was telling me about her Olympic accomplishments.  I’m surprised there wasn’t a lot of publicity when she came to town.”  “She wouldn’t hear of it,” said Barbara.  “Some of the honchos at the firm called up the Star and the television stations when she first started and tried to gin up some publicity.  She absolutely put her foot down and refused to permit it.”  “Why was that?” David inquired.  “She told me that she had come out to Kansas City for the express purpose of beginning her legal career as just plain Sherry Clark.  She couldn’t do that on the west coast.  She thought it was time to put the whole ‘Sherry the Shark’ thing behind her.  She wanted to be judged on her merits as a lawyer and she didn’t want to spend her whole life trading on her gold medals and her world records.” 

            “That’s a very unusual attitude in this day and age,” said David admiringly.  “She’s an admirable woman,” observed Barbara.  “She has more character in her little finger than most of the partners at Gallagher and Tate have collectively--all of them put together.” “It sounds like you are very fond of her,” said David.  “With good reason,” replied Barb, warming to her subject  “Do you know what she does with her minuscule spare time, such as it is?” “I have no idea,” chuckled David, “but I have a feeling that I’m about to find out.  “She goes down to the Boys’ and Girls’ Clubs and teaches inner- city kids how to swim  Those kids just absolutely love her.  Last Christmas she must have received a hundred or more hand-made Christmas cards from those kids.  I never saw so much love for someone as those little kids put into those Christmas cards.  A lot of people--a lot of lawyers--join organizations just so they can pad their resumes.  Not Sherry . . .  she could care less if anybody knows how many nights and weekends she spends with those kids.”

            “She sounds like a very nice person,” allowed David, at last.  “She’s a hell of a  lot more than just a nice person, David,” continued Barbara Johnston, “she is the sweetest, most generous,  and most caring person that I have ever been around.  It just kills me that the men in this city are too stupid and too blind to appreciate her.  She never goes out and I just don’t understand it.  Well, yes I do, really,” said Barbara after a moment, really getting cranked up as the bus neared Brookside.  “What do you mean?” said David Butler, becoming intrigued.  “Well, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this--you are a mere man after all--one of them.”  David shrugged and laughed. .  “Men are intimidated by Sherry because of her size and her looks and her accomplishments.  They also expect every woman to fall into bed with them on the first date and Sherry Clark has more character and self-respect than that.”  “Yes,” said David, “I understand that things have changed a lot since I was dating twenty years ago.” “You’ve got that right,” said Barbara at last, obviously worked up about her subject.

            ATA Bus No. 56 had by now arrived at the 69th Street and Wornall stop.  “It was nice talking to you, Barb,” said David.  Holding onto the rail at the top of the steps, he paused and looked back at his companion of the last thirty minutes.   “One thing I do know for sure about Sherry Clark that I didn’t know before.”  “What’s that?” said Barbara.  “She has one hell of a good friend. ”  Barbara blushed and shooed David out the back door of the bus.

           

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

            Alexander Hunter had been patiently asking questions of the plaintiff for over five hours.  The plaintiff, a 56 year old house painter injured by a propane gas explosion, was wearing down and starting to lower his guard.  All at once Hunter pounced and hit the plaintiff with his short list of critical questions.  The exhausted plaintiff forgot all his lawyer’s careful coaching and quickly surrendered a number of highly damaging admissions.  Satisfied at last that he had extracted every last ounce of favorable information, Hunter ended his questioning and adjourned the deposition.

            As was his custom, Hunter stayed behind in the firm’s large conference room for a few minutes to get his court reporter’s impressions of the witness.  Hunter had been using Mirriam Levine as his court reporter for the last three years.  She was an excellent court reporter and always had a good sense as to a witnesses’ effectiveness.  After debriefing Mrs. Levine, Hunter invited her back to his private office for a drink.  As Hunter poured Mrs. Levine a bourbon and seven at his hide-a-way wet bar, he decided that he had been patient long enough. 

            Mirriam Levine had called Hunter three years ago after a disagreement over salary had cost her her job with Certified Court Reporters, Kansas City’s oldest and largest court reporting company.  Gallagher and Tate had long had an exclusive contract with Certified Court Reporters.  Mirriam had worked for Hunter on a number of occasions and had been acutely aware of his admiring glances and lingering assessments of her legs.  Mirriam informed Hunter that she was going to work on her own as an independent and solicited Hunter’s business.  Sensing an opportunity, Hunter had been quick to offer Mrs. Levine encouragement and his assurances of support.  In the past three years, Hunter knew, Mrs. Levine had been paid over $75,000.00 per year for her work for Hunter and his department.  As she sat in one of Hunter’s plush leather chairs she told Hunter about her new house in Overland Park.  Hunter had seen the new Accura on his own.

            Mirriam Levine was a dark-haired,  attractive, thirty-nine year old divorcee with three children at home.  Five-foot six and just a bit on the plump side, she was just getting the gray streaks in her black hair and fine lines around her mouth and eyes that signaled the impending advance of middle age.  All in all, Hunter considered, she was still a fine looking woman.  Hunter had enjoyed the near constant flirtations and subtle suggestions which Mrs. Levine had been sending his way for the past three years.  Hunter well knew, however, that the timid, conservative Mrs. Levine had no actual intention of doing anything more than flirting.

            Hunter sat in his desk chair and listened as the talkative Mrs. Levine brought him up to date on her new house and her children’s recent activities.  As she rattled on, Hunter was careful to keep her drink fresh and refilled.  After an hour, Hunter saw that she was becoming somewhat tipsy.  It was now 7:00 p.m. on Friday night and even the cleaning crew had come and gone.  At length Mrs. Levine, reached for her purse and transcription machine.  Hunter slowly got up from his chair and walked to his office door.  Hunter closed and locked the door.  Hearing the door lock, Mrs. Levine gave Hunter a quizzical glance.  “Why, Alex,” she said at last, “what are you up to, you rascal?”  “Mrs. Levine,” said Hunter, taking a seat on his long couch along the east wall, “I think you should take off all your clothes.”  “Why, Alex,” Mrs. Levine said at last, taken aback, “what do you mean?”  “I mean what I said,” said Hunter, “I think you should take off your clothes.”  “Here--now--in your office?” she replied, searching through the alcoholic blur for a way out of the situation she was finding herself in.  Hunter said nothing for several moments and Mrs. Levine realized that he was dead serious

            Hunter was a coldly calculating man and he knew that Mrs. Levine was in a financial position which was totally dependent on his good will.  She no doubt had some clients besides Gallagher and Tate but Hunter knew that his contribution of $75,000.00 per year made up the majority of her income.  One word from Hunter could put her out of business, cause her to lose her new house, and very likely cost her custody of her children.  Hunter sat and watched as Mrs. Levine nervously ran these same facts through her mind.  Finally, Hunter excused himself.  “I have to go down to the 45th floor for a few minutes.  I’ll be back shortly” Hunter left Mrs. Levine alone in his office for ten minutes.  He knew that would be just long enough to allow her to realize that she had no choice but to comply with his wishes.  It took Mirriam Levine only five minutes to conclude that she had no choice except to do what was necessary to keep Alexander Hunter mollified. She spent the next five minutes trying to think of a way out of her predicament.

            After precisley ten minutes, Alexander Hunter walked back into his office.  Mrs. Levine was still sitting in the big leather chair, looking very nervous and unsure of herself.  “Well,” said Hunter, taking a seat again on the couch, “let’s start the show.”  “Alex,” she said at last, stalling for time, “what if someone were to walk in on us?”  “Mrs. Levine, it is 7:30 p.m. on a Friday night and absolutely everyone has gone for the day.  Besides, no one would dare walk in that door without knocking first.”  Mrs. Levine fidgeted nervously, looking for all the world like a deer caught in headlights.  She had not had sex with a man since her divorce four years ago and not much when she was married.  She had never in her life done anything like what Alexander Hunter was suggesting--rather demanding.

            “Mrs. Levine,” he said at length, “why don’t you take off your shoes?”  “You want me to take off my shoes?” she said with some relief in her voice.  “Yes,” he replied, “just take off your shoes.”  Relieved for the moment, Mrs. Levine removed her shoes one at a time and set them down beside the chair.  Hunter walked across the room and fixed himself another martini.  Mrs. Levine gladly accepted another bourbon and seven.  Returning to the couch, Hunter spent several minutes admiring Mrs. Levine’s shapely feet and legs.  Hunter liked feet and legs.  Mrs. Levine busied herself in her drink. 

            After five minutes had passed, Hunter asked Mrs. Levine to take off her hose.  Having by now reluctantly concluded that Hunter was serious and that she had no practical choices in the matter, Mrs. Levine walked to the far corner of the office, turned her back to Hunter, and reached up under her skirt to remove her pantyhose.  She then returned to the leather chair and put the panty hose on top of her shoes beside the chair.  Hunter sipped his martini and leered at the by now blushing woman.  Mrs. Levine did look quite nubile in her gray business suit with a white blouse and ruffled collar.  “Mrs. Levine, pull up your skirt so that I can see your legs.”  At this a large lump came into Mrs. Levine’s throat.  She downed that last of her bourbon and seven and put her glass down on Hunter’s desk.  Slowly she put both hands on the hem of her skirt and began to raise her skirt over her naked legs.  “Ah, very good,” said Hunter, as she lifted her skirt past her thighs.  Mrs. Levine was now breathing heavily and perspiration was starting to form on her forehead.  Hunter was pleased at the stress he was causing the somewhat mousy court reporter.

            After a couple of minutes, Mrs. Levine pulled her skirt back down.  Hunter paused for effect for a minute or so.  “Take off your skirt and jacket, Mrs. Levine, I want to see you in your slip.”  Mrs. Levine’s head and shoulders dropped noticeably.  Slowly, she rose from the leather chair and walked over to the bar.  She poured herself another dri nk--this time a double.  Walking back toward the couch she stopped a few feet in front of Hunter, put her drink on his desk, and began to unbutton her jacket.  Mrs. Levine removed her jacket and laid it on the chair at her side.  Then she unbuttoned and removed her blouse.  Laying her blouse on the chair, she then began to unzip her skirt.  Pausing before removing her skirt, Mrs. Levine gave Hunter a pleading look which was met with a cold, unsympathetic stare in return.  Finally surrendering, Mrs. Levine removed her skirt and laid it on the chair.  She was now barefooted and barelegged, clad only in her slip and undergarments.

            Hunter walked to the bar and made himself a fresh martini.  Mrs. Levine stood in the center of his office in her slip, her arms crossed protectively over her breasts, which, Hunter noticed, were large and well-shaped.  Walking over to Mrs. Levine, Hunter picked her drink up off his desk and handed it to her.  Hunter stood close to the shaking woman as she drank from her glass.  At length Hunter walked over to the couch and sat back with his arms extended out on the back of the couch.  “Now, Mrs. Levine, I would like for you to take off your slip.”  Finishing her drink, Mirriam Levine, PTA President, reached down and pulled her slip over her head.  Hunter gazed admiringly at the large white cotton underpants and the heavy white bra.  Mrs. Levine had the figure of a mature woman who had given birth to children but the effect was not at all unpleasant thought Hunter.  Mirriam Levine stood nervously in the middle of Hunter’s office in her bare feet and her underwear and tried not to think of what was happening. 

            “Turn around, Mrs. Levine,” Hunter directed the court reporter, “I want to see you from all angles.  Mrs. Levine slowly turned around as directed.  After admiring the embarrassed woman for a few minutes, Hunter was impatient for the conclusion of the slow striptease.  “Take off your bra,” he directed.  Mrs. Levine shrugged and reached up to unhook her bra.  She slowly removed it and let it drop to the floor by the chair.  Hunter had not anticipated how full and firm the woman’s breasts would be.  “Put your hands by your sides,” he ordered.  After five minutes of leering at the humiliated woman, Hunter sat back further on the couch.  “Now, Mrs. Levine, take off your panties.”  Mirriam Levine looked Hunter directly in the eye and put her fingers in the elastic waist of her large white cotton panties.  She slowly pulled her panties down and kicked them off.  Mrs. Levine stood directed in front of Alexander Hunter, completely naked.  “Turn around,” he said at last.  Mrs. Levine slowly turned around.

            Hunter drank  in the titilating sight of the court reporter completely nude in the middle of his office.  He had never been more sexually excited.  Hunter had always been able to find women.  He generally kept a comely paralegal or associate on the payroll for just such purposes.  This sort of thing was different--and even more exciting.  “I want you to stand on top of my desk,” he ordered at last.  Hunter walked over and moved one on his chairs next to his desk.  After a moment, Mrs. Levine climbed up on the chair and stepped onto the clean surface of Hunter’s massive antique desk.  Hunter walked around to his leather desk chair and leaned back.  As Hunter sipped on his martini Mrs. Levine turned to face him.

            After ogling Mrs. Levine for a couple of additional minutes, Hunter stood up from his desk, removed his suit coat and overcoat from his closet and left the room without a word.  After a moment, Mirriam Levine climbed down from Alexander Hunter’s desk and slowly put her clothes on.  She gathered up her purse and equipment and walked out of Hunter’s office.

            Leaving the garage in the Lexus Coupe, Hunter called his wife with the usual excuse of working late at the office.  Then he called his secretary’s voice mail and dictated a memo:

Memo to the Medical and Hospital Department

                                    I have recently become concerned with the accuracy and promptness

                                    of Levine Court Reporting.  All personnel will cease using this

                                    firm effective immediately.

                                                                                    Alexander P. Hunter, III

                                                                                    Chairman

Alexander Hunter had never felt more the master of his universe.

ChapterNext toLast

            David Butler sat in his den in his favorite leather chair and slowly slipped his lite beer.  The Bobby Griggs case had been a grueling workout, even for an experienced trial lawyer such as Butler.  Dealing with an almost daily exposure to the raw emotions of Bobby’s parents had drained even him.  At last the trial had ended with a verdict against Methodist Hospital and Dr. Adkins.   Today, the parties had agreed on a final settlement that would result in a dismissal of the defendants’ appeal.   Although the family had primarily been interested in fixing responsibility for Bobby’s death, the settlement was nonetheless a handsome one.   David would make a nice fee and recoup all of his expenses.  David made it a practice not to become personally involved in a client’s case but he had become very involved in this one.  Like the family, he had come to the point that he mostly wanted to see justice done for Bobby’s memory.   The money had become secondary.  He therefore felt a great deal of personal satisfaction with the result. 

            David was mildly annoyed to hear the doorbell ringing at the rather late hour of 10:00 PM.  “Who could that be at this hour on a Friday night?” David muttered to himself as he walked down the hall from the den to the front door.  Opening the door, David was surprised to find Sherry Clark standing on the front porch.   It had been two long years since David had accepted the Bobby Griggs case and unwittingly caused the painful end of his promising relationship with Sherry Clark.   Sherry stood with her head down and her arms at her sides and said nothing.   David did not really know what to say.  Finally, Sherry spoke.  “I heard at the office that you settled the Bobby Griggs case.”  “Yes,” David said, “we settled it this afternoon.”   With that, Sherry held out her arms to David and he walked out of the door onto the porch and into Sherry’s embrace.  Neither of them said anything.  Sherry began sobbing softly as her head lay on David’s shoulder.   “The past two years have been a nightmare,” she whispered.  “I know,” David replied softly, tenderly kissing her ear.  “But it’s over now.”  “I didn’t know if you would still feel the same way,” she said at last.  “Of course, I do,” he said quietly.  “You’ve never been off my mind for a minute.”

            With that, David put his arm around Sherry and slowly walked her back into his house.  They held hands and talked quietly for a while on the sofa in the den.  Bud seemed especially delighted to see Sherry in the house once again.   The big Irish Setter’s wagging tail eventually knocked over a vase on the coffee table.  Fortunately, that didn’t wake the children or Cecille.  Finally, after a half hour of David’s passionate kisses and Bud’s equally passionate licking of her ankles, Sherry laughingly pushed David back, taking in a deep breath as she did.  Patting Bud’s head she said, “I think we had better pop up some popcorn for our man Bud here.”   Bud’s ears perked up at the mention of the word “popcorn.”  David, Sherry and Bud repaired back to the kitchen to find some microwave popcorn.  The three of them then made popcorn and proceeded to enjoy the popcorn, and each other, well into the night.

Chapter Last

            Alexander Hunter strode confidently down from the podium of the Chicago Union League Club and plunged into a sea of admiring faces eager to shake his hand.  His talk to a group of corporate in-house counsel had clearly been the hit of the ABA CLE conference on managing outsourced litigation.  Once again, his friend Merton Bevans had come through by securing him an opportunity to address this large group of potential referral sources.  His speech had been a masterful mixture of feigned modesty and dramatic and sometimes humorous war stories drawn from his presumed illustrious courtroom career.  Since he had never actually tried a jury trial himself, most of his war stories were “borrowed” from older lawyers who had been partners at Gallagher and Tate when he was a younger lawyer.  His years carrying Fred Gallagher’s briefcase had been the source of many a good trial tale.  Hunter simply replaced Fred Gallagher in a particular story with himself.  His topic “Real Lawyers for Real Cases” had been well chosen and sympathetically received.  Hunter had emphasized the need to hire real courtroom lawyers with vast courtroom experience rather than mere faint-hearted “litigators,” novices in the real workings of a courtroom and oh so willing to settle every case. 

Alexander P. Hunter, IV, certainly looked and sounded the part of a great courtroom lawyer and no doubt could have been one had he ever had the slightest inclination to risk his position and standing on the outcome of a trial by jury.  Instead, he had decided early on to game the system.  As a partner at the prestigious law firm of Gallagher and Tate, everyone just automatically assumed that he was an experienced and successful lawyer.  Why take risks? was Hunter’s view of things.  As he saw it, he had always had everything to lose and nothing to gain by trying a case.  Indeed, some of his most effective advocacy had been spent in convincing recalcitrant clients to accept less than optimum settlement offers.   Cases that he couldn’t get settled were then farmed out to younger partners or associates in the law firm under the guise of providing trial experience for the younger lawyers.  Hunter then simply made up an extensive and sterling courtroom record for himself out of whole cloth. 

Only a few of Hunter’s contemporaries in the firm were actually aware that his trial experience was in fact extremely limited and it was of course in their best interests financially to keep their mouths shut.  His ability to attract important clients and large fees had given him great power in the firm and nobody wanted to incur his displeasure.  The profession, clients and the public had just accepted his purported extensive courtroom record without question.  It was a big help that he was absolutely shameless.  When asked about his trial experiences, he usually deferred modestly while giving the impression that he had tried so many important cases that he couldn’t even remember most of them.  People had just accepted this imposing looking man at face value.

Hunter hadn’t yet gotten back to his own seat when he was approached by a smartly dressed younger man who introduced himself as the general counsel of Lassor Pharmaceuticals of Cleveland, Ohio.   “Mr. Hunter,” said Mr. Davis R. Montgomery, “it is a relief to know that there are still real trial lawyers out there who aren’t afraid to try cases.”   Lunch was quickly arranged.  

            During a long, leisurely lunch at the Union League Club, Montgomery indicated that Lassor Pharmaceuticals had become disenchanted with its primary outside law firm, a group of “litigators” who apparently recommended expensive and burdensome settlements on every case.  “Alex,” said Montgomery after a lengthy pause in the conversation, “we want to hire you and your law firm to take over all of our Midwest drug litigation.”  Hunter, naturally being pleased with this turn of events, graciously indicated that he would take the matter up with the Gallagher and Tate new business committee.  A wink and a knowing look indicated to Montgomery that committee approval was a mere formality. “Excellent,” said Montgomery, “we’ll look forward to working with real trial lawyers for a change.”  

As the two men slowly walked back to the conference room, Montgomery put his hand on the older man’s shoulder.   “Alex,” he said, it’s a shame that there aren’t any real trial lawyers left out there any more.  What happened to the Clarence Darrows, the Louis Nizers and the Edward Bennett Williamses?   At this, Hunter nodded gravely.  You’re the last of a breed Alex . . . . .you’re the last of the great trial lawyers.”   Alexander Hunter could only smile a modest smile and slowly, knowingly nod his head in agreement.

Chapter middle

            “Did you want to see me, Mr. Hunter?” asked Sherry Clark as she paused at the door to Hunter’s large corner office on the building’s top floor.  “Yes, Miss Clark,” intoned Hunter in his most stentorial manner.  “Have a seat, please.”  Sherry took a seat in one of two large leather chairs in front of Hunter’s massive antique desk.  “Miss Clark, we have been hired to handle a case filed by the Griggs family against Methodist Hospital and Dr. Adkins.  Since this is our initial matter for Methodist Hospital, I want to be sure to put our best foot forward on this case.  Although you and I haven’t worked together a great deal, I have continually heard excellent comments on your work ethic and legal abilities.”

            “That’s very nice to hear, Mr. Hunter,” said Sherry, naturally pleased to be receiving compliments on her work from one of the most senior Gallagher & Tate partners.   With that, Hunter proceeded to give Sherry Clark a rundown of the facts of the case as known so far, omitting only the fact of Dr. Adkins having altered the medical record.  Hunter still had not decided just exactly how to handle that small problem.  “Miss Clark,” he said finally, “ I want you to review the file we have so far, make sure that we have all of the relevant medical records gathered up and then prepare discovery to serve on the plaintiffs.”   With that, Hunter held out the slim file that had been generated to far, indicating that the interview was over.  Sherry excitedly carried the file back to her small office four floors below and began to read about the untimely death of Bobby Griggs.

Chapter Middle minus one

            It was a beautiful spring evening in Kansas City.  David and Sherry walked hand-in-hand along 45^th Street on the Country Club Plaza.   A leisurely dinner at the Cheesecake Factory was being followed up by a stroll on the Plaza.  Being Saturday night and an unseasonably pleasant night, the whole shopping district was alive with people and activity.  After pausing for a while to listen to two street musicians playing soft rock, David and Sherry continued their stroll down the street.  

Chapter Middle

Margaret McDonald was an absolutely lovely lady of 53 years who had been a working registered nurse for over 25 years.  She had worked at Methodist Hospital for the past five years.   To her horror, she now found herself effectively a defendant in the Griggs lawsuit, Methodist Hospital being sued for her alleged negligence in caring for young Bobby Griggs.  Facing the possibility of having to give a deposition in the case and then testify under oath at the upcoming trial was causing her enormous stress and strain.   She sat uneasily in the reception area of the Gallagher and Tate law offices, pondering what she was going to say if questions about the Bobby Griggs chart came up during her deposition this morning. 

Mrs. McDonald had never met Alexander Hunter, the hospital’s attorney, but she had heard that he was an experienced and highly capable defense lawyer.  Presently Mrs. McDonald was approached by a firm secretary who escorted her to a large conference room overlooking a magnificent view of the confluence of the Missouri and Kansas Rivers.   Unfortunately, this particular morning Mrs. McDonald was in no mood to enjoy the wonderful view from the 62^nd floor window.   In a few minutes Alexander Hunter strode into the conference room and introduced himself in a very formal manner.  Hunter explained to Mrs. McDonald how the deposition would be conducted.  Mr. Butler, the family’s attorney would be asking her questions related to her care of Bobby Griggs the night after his surgery.   Hunter gave the usual instructions, particularly emphasizing that she should not volunteer information in response to Butler’s questions.   When Hunter at length asked if Mrs. McDonald had any questions, she hesitated.   Looking very sheepish, Mrs. McDonald started to tell Hunter about having changed the patient chart at the urging of Dr. Adkins.   Hunter quickly held up his hand, indicating that he desired that Mrs. McDonald stop speaking.  She did so.  Hunter then asked his assistant, a pretty young female, if she would go to the file room and find some particular part of the file and then wait for him in his office.  When the young woman had left the conference room, Hunter turned to Mrs. McDonald with a serious and troubled look on his face.

“Mrs. McDonald,” he began, “Dr. Adkins has told me about the unfortunate timing of the updating you did to the patient record.”   “However,” he continued, “he also has advised me that the changes made to the chart were made only to reflect true and accurate entries to make certain that the chart was complete.”   “He has assured me that the patient chart—as it exists today—reflects accurately the events of the morning in question.”   “As your attorney, it would be my advice to you to avoid talking about the changed entries to the chart unless Mr. Butler specifically asks you a question about changing the chart.   You certainly don’t have to volunteer that highly damaging information to a plaintiff’s lawyer so that he can inflame the jury at trial and procure an unjust finding of liability on behalf of the hospital.”   Mrs. McDonald bowed her head appearing deep in thought.  “As you are certainly aware, Mrs. McDonald, these plaintiffs’ lawyers can be very unscrupulous and Butler no doubt would use that innocent information to try to imply that the chart was altered and was not correct.   Well, it is correct.”   “I think that we must try very hard to avoid informing him about the fact that entries were made after the fact.   He would no doubt try to twist that to make you and the hospital and Dr. Adkins look bad in front of the jury to try to get some huge, unjustified money judgment out of the jury.”  

“These plaintiffs’ lawyers are all a bunch of greedy crooks as far as I’m concerned.   Why, the entire medical and nursing professions have damn near been ruined by these outrageous jury verdicts in cases like these, where the doctors and nurses have done heroic work in serving the interests of their patients.   And the system gives them a huge advantage in a case like this one with a dead child.  All sorts of sympathy by jurors for things like that.  A hospital or a health care provider such as yourself can hardly get a fair trial any more, with these overly sympathetic juries.  It’s virtually extortion what some of these guys like Butler do.”   Mrs. McDonald looked up, somewhat encouraged.  “Any another factor is that all these guys, plaintiff’s lawyers that is, cheat the system every time they get a chance.  You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff Butler has tried to pull in this case.  His clients lied like dogs in their depositions, all the better to wring some more dollars out the jury.  These shysters don’t play fair, Mrs. McDonald, and I don’t see any good reason why we should play fair either.  The best thing you could probably do is just not mention the changes to the chart, no matter what questions are asked.   If they aren’t going to follow the rules, then I don’t see why we should either.  What’s fair for the goose is fair for the gander!”

“Mr. Hunter,” she asked, “could I get in trouble if I did that, perjury or something?”   “Mrs. McDonald,” Hunter intoned confidently, placing his hand on Mrs. McDonald’s arm in his most fatherly manner, “please rest assured that nobody, absolutely nobody, tells the absolute truth in cases like this, most of all greedy plaintiffs and their even more greedy lawyers.  If prosecutors charged people with perjury every time they fudged a little bit in a deposition, half the country would be in jail.  You have absolutely nothing to worry about, I assure you of that.   The other thing is that they couldn’t prove you didn’t tell the truth.  You and Dr. Adkins are the only two people who know what happened.  Adkins isn’t opening his mouth for damn sure.  And I can’t reveal what I know as you are protected by the attorney-client privilege.  I’m sure you’re familiar with that from television and movies.   I think we need to fight fire with fire!”  

With that, Mrs. McDonald appeared to make up her mind.  “Yes, you’re right, Mr. Hunter, I didn’t do anything wrong in this case and neither did Dr. Adkins.”   The family and their lawyer really are trying to get money from the hospital when Dr. Adkins and I just tried to do our best to give good medical care to the Griggs boy.  And we did give him good care.  All we did after he coded was to review the chart and make sure that all of the entries were complete and accurate.   I don’t want to give that plaintiffs’ lawyer any fodder for the jury.  My husband was reading the paper just the other day and remarked that these trial lawyers are just ruining the health care profession with all their frivolous lawsuits.  And this one is as frivolous as they come.   They ruin the careers and reputations of good doctors and nurses.   I think you’re right.  I’ll just keep all that to myself.”   “Well then, that’s settled,” said Hunter.   Let’s get my paralegal in here and make a record to protect us both on this.”  “All right,” said Mrs. McDonald.

            At this, Hunter walked over to a marble-topped table at the end of the conference room and buzzed his assistant on the intercom.  Hunter then poured himself some more decaf and spent a moment gazing out at the magnificent view of the Kansas and Missouri Rivers.  When the assistant walked into the room, Hunter resumed his seat across from Margaret McDonald.  He requested his assistant to take careful notes on his instructions to Mrs. McDonald and began.  “Now Mrs. McDonald,” he began, giving her a smile and a wink of his eye, “we need to reiterate how very important it is for you to tell the truth in this deposition, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, as it were.”  Hunter smiled to himself at his clever little play on the standard oath and then spent ten minutes reinforcing the basic guidelines for a witness being deposed, finishing up with another admonishment to tell the truth, accompanied by another broad wink of the eye.   Mrs. McDonald looked Hunter square in the eye and nodded her understanding of her instructions.  “Now Mrs. McDonald, I would like for you to review Marcia’s notes here and, if you will, please sign and date at the bottom of the page.”   Mrs.  McDonald slowly read over the notes and then signed and dated the bottom of the page, as instructed.