Ever After: A Father's True Story

  “Where were you? We’ve been looking everywhere.”

  “At the hotel having breakfast. Where else?”

  “We called your room and had you paged.”

  She’s nervous. Ted Mitchell is nervous, too. I smile at him, and he sits down. Danny is behind him.

  “Judge Murphy wants a conference. I told him you weren’t here, so he took in another group but wanted us to make sure we were all together when they came out.”

  There is excitement in Mitchell’s voice.

  “Judge Murphy then called me in alone about fifteen minutes ago and told me that Sampson has offered to settle for $650,000.”

  He looks at me. I try not to react. I wait.

  “I told him, in my opinion, it wasn’t enough but I needed to consult our clients.”

  He waits again. The lawyer’s expectant pause, waiting for the other person to commit. I jump in.

  “If he’s talking about settlement out of court, it isn’t enough. But you know I don’t want to settle. I want a jury trial. Money is not the reason I’m here. You know how I feel about this.”

  I turn toward Mona. She nods, but her face is white.

  “Aside from protecting my wife and me against any possible suits that could be brought against us, my reason for entering this whole legal mess is to bring the dangers of field burning once more before the public eye.”

  Mitchell turns to Danny.

  “How do you feel about this offer, Danny?”

  “That’s a lot of money. What do you think the case is worth?”

  “I feel it’s worth at least $800,000. Will, in the little time we have, maybe you and Danny ought to talk this over. We’ll stay out of it.”

  I start up the aisle. Danny follows.

  “Let’s go outside where there’s some air and sunshine, Dan.”

  We sit on a granite post. The sun feels soothing and warm. He starts.

  “What do you have against settling, Will?”

  “I think we have a strong case, Dan, one that any jury will settle in our favor. But that isn’t the only reason. I want a jury trial. It’s why I’m here. I want to bring this whole scandal out in the open. If we make Sampson defend itself in court, it’ll start blaming the state of Oregon or Thompkins or anyone it can. This will put us in a good position when we go after those two later.”

  “Yeah, but the judge has thrown all that money in the pot. We can’t sue them.”

  “Have you agreed to putting that money in the pot, Danny—or taking any of it? Has anybody asked you about it? Has Ted or Clint or Mona asked you if you want that?”

  “Well, no, but they’re lawyers, and it seems like a good idea to get all this over with. You never know about juries. They can decide almost anything. We could wind up with nothing.”

  “So, you’d like to settle rather than go to court. Is that it?”

  “I’d hate to lose all that money on a gamble. I wouldn’t feel right about Wills.”

  “OK. I’ll compromise. I hate to take a chance on not having a jury trial, but let’s push Sampson and Judge Murphy somewhat. How about a million even? I’ve heard Mona and Clint talk about those kinds of numbers. That’s the figure given in the original complaint, a million against Sampson, and a million against Thompkins, just as punitive damages for negligence, let alone personal and property loss. Those are the specific claims for relief presented by Ted Mitchell and Mona Flores. We’d be letting them off easy at a million.”

  “Is that right? A million each, just for punitive damages? I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, what do you say? Here comes Mona to lasso us into the corral.”

  “OK. I’ll go along with that, a million, nothing less.”

  I stick out my hand and we shake. Mona comes up smiling.

  “So you two have worked it out between you?”

  “That’s right, Mona. Danny and I are in total agreement.”

  She looks surprised and expectant.

  We walk back into the courtroom.

  As we enter, Judge Murphy emerges from his warren, three other people with him. He looks around until he spots Mitchell, then motions us toward him.

  As we come to the door, he shakes hands with all of us, first with Mitchell, then Mona, along with a slight bow, then Danny and, finally, me. There’s a row of chairs along one wall. Judge Murphy closes the door behind us. He’s smiling as he moves toward a leather swivel chair and sits down. He looks us over, making a washing movement with his hands.

  “Well, we’re all together at last.”

  He looks quickly at me.

  “I hope the Good Lord will help us reach some kind of agreement in this complicated and many-faceted case.

  “I’d like each of you to tell me your feelings, honestly, about what you would consider an adequate and fair compensation for your loss or that of your clients. As you probably know, I’ve already told Mr. Ted Mitchell the amount I think would be a proper settlement. Has he informed you all of this?”

  We bob our heads in agreement.

  “Well, who’d like to speak first? I want each of you to be honest now and state your opinion of a fair settlement.”

  He waits.

  Nobody speaks. There’s a long silence. I start looking around the room. It’s a lot more comfortable than what we’ve got out there in the bull pit. There’s another door that probably leads to a bathroom and a bed.

  He continues scanning us. I’ve volunteered enough; I’m learning the legal game. Danny is looking at his thumbs.

  Judge Murphy turns to me.

  “Well, Mr. Wharton, we’ve already had your opinions regarding this settlement conference at the beginning of our session. Would you mind starting by telling us more about your feelings now?”

  I shift in my chair, leaning forward.

  “Well, first, Judge Murphy, I’d like to say that the circus out there doesn’t look like any legal system I was taught in school. I see nothing resembling the normal processes of law. It’s more like a three-dimensional poker game. Secondly, I have no intention of settling out of court. You know this. My lawyers know it. I feel I was shanghaied here under threat of being cited for contempt of court. I consider that a form of blackmail, coercion.”

  I watch him. He’s nodding but the sides of his mouth are turned down. I wonder when he’ll stop me. It’s time to drop my bomb.

  “Judge Murphy, I understand you’re a Christian, a dedicated Christian. Is that true?”

  “Yes, Mr. Wharton. I’m a Christian, a believer in Our Lord Jesus Christ. What has this to do with the situation today?”

  “Do you read the Bible, Judge Murphy?”

  He straightens up in his seat, practically sitting at attention, military style.

  “Yes, daily.”

  “New and Old Testament, Judge Murphy?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you consider the administration of justice to be a function of God Almighty?”

  I almost expect him to stand up and salute. I’m afraid to look over at Mitchell or Mona.

  “I say this to my friends in the law all the time. As lawyers and judges, we are functionaries of God Almighty and should regard our responsibilities accordingly.”

  I pause, a respectable imitation of a genuine lawyer’s expectant pause.

  “Judge Murphy, do you remember what Christ said to the tax collectors in the temple? I believe it’s in Matthew, twenty-first chapter.”

  I hurry on. I don’t want to be interrupted.

  “To refresh your memory, it was, ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s.’

  “Judge Murphy, I believe that out there”—I point over my shoulder—”we are not living by the words of Jesus. Mammon is running riot, Judge Murphy. There’s the smell of brimstone. No one speaks of justice or injustice, right or wrong, good or bad. Everything has been reduced to money, written out on those little yellow legal pads. The entire room reeks of corruption. Again, Matthew, chapte
r six, verse twenty-four: ‘You cannot serve God and Mammon.’

  “I want nothing to do with this sacrilege, Judge Murphy. I consider it blasphemy.”

  I stop while I’m ahead. There’s a long silence. I keep focused on Judge Murphy’s pale eyes until he turns away.

  “Well, I guess we know pretty well where you stand, Mr. Wharton. It’s obvious you don’t have much knowledge of the law, respect for it, or how it operates. Let’s hear from Mr. Billings, now.”

  Danny lifts his head but doesn’t really look at Judge Murphy.

  “I don’t exactly agree with Mr. Wharton, but I think the figure you mention for settlement of this case is too low.”

  “You mean, Mr. Billings, that you want this case to go to a jury?”

  “Not exactly. But I think my son deserves more than a part of $600,000.”

  There’s a long silence. I’m wondering when a lawyer thinks he ought to give counsel.

  “Think about it, Mr. Billings. Think about the possibility of your boy, Wills, hearing total strangers in a courtroom, talking about his mother, saying things he might remember all his life. Maybe some things he won’t want to remember?”

  It’s right there that Danny starts to break down. At first I think he’s kidding, but I should have seen it coming. He puts his head in his hands and begins to sob. I look at Ted Mitchell, then at Mona. They are like the statues at Abu Simbel, expressionless, immobile. We all watch as Judge Murphy plays the soap opera judge, sketching out a scenario with Wills on the witness stand, witnesses testifying to what nefarious acts we don’t know. He goes on and on in his soft, lyrical voice.

  Finally Danny gets it out.

  “I don’t want Wills in any courtroom. I don’t want him to suffer like that. I’m willing to settle right now, your Honor.”

  There it is. I look at Mitchell, at Mona. They still don’t budge. The case is going down the drain, and they’re not making a move. I can’t take it.

  “Mr. Mitchell, as our chief counsel, representing Steele, Cutler and Walsh, could you please tell Danny the realities of what can actually happen if we go to court?”

  Mitchell clears his throat, looks at Mona, then at me. He aims his speech at Danny, avoiding the eyes of Judge Murphy.

  “Danny, if we go to court, Wills doesn’t even need to appear in the courtroom if you don’t want him to. He was not a witness to the accident; he has testified already in the deposition concerning almost any question the defendants might have. I would not recommend that he appear.

  “If for some reason, he does appear, I would be the one who would ask for his testimony. We would not allow cross-examination. He’s below age for that.”

  It’s what I thought, but I wasn’t quite sure. I chime in.

  “You see, Dan, there’s nothing to worry about here. Mr. Mitchell is our counselor. He would never allow the kind of thing Judge Murphy is talking about to happen.”

  But I can see Dan isn’t hearing. He’s just holding his head in his hands, shaking it slowly and saying over and over how he’d never allow Wills to hear people talk against his mother in a court. I’m trying to think of alternatives. I’m hoping for some help from Ted Mitchell and Mona Flores. They don’t look at me. I try once more.

  “Danny, you’re the daddy. You must decide this. There’s nothing I can do. I think you’re making a wrong decision, but it’s your decision to make. If you think you’re protecting Wills, despite what Mr. Mitchell has just said, that’s your right.”

  Still no reaction. I look at Judge Murphy. He’s got the worst shit-eating grin on his face I’ve seen in years.

  “Mr. Wharton, I guess you’re from the ‘tough guy’ school, aren’t you? Let the young people find out about the realities of life so they can handle themselves. Is that it?”

  “Judge Murphy, you couldn’t be more wrong. I love my children dearly and I’m here because one of the ‘tough guys’ in your state ran a semi-trailer truck over our beloved daughter, her husband, and her two lovely children, our grandchildren. Be careful what you say, it’s on the verge of slander.”

  I turn to Ted Mitchell.

  “Mr. Mitchell, although you and Ms. Flores have been treating our cases as one, in reality, it’s two cases, isn’t it? I am your client only because Dan’s wife, who is a legal secretary, found you as a reputable legal firm in the state of Oregon and recommended you to my wife and me. She was concerned we might be sued. We did not intend to sue. It turns out her concerns were valid. There are several parties who have instituted suits against us.”

  They look at each other. They whisper back and forth. Mitchell turns to me.

  “Technically, probably that position has some validity.”

  He looks at Judge Murphy. The judge nods his head. I go on.

  “Well, if Dan insists on settling Wills’s case this way, at any settlement figure, regardless of its insufficiency, I, as representative for my wife, Rosemary, and myself, wish to dissociate our case from his.”

  There’s a long silence. Judge Murphy stands.

  “Mr. Wharton, I think you and Ms. Flores may leave now. I’ll stay here and discuss the situation with Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Billings.”

  We stand and leave, Mona working her way past Mitchell’s knees. I’m still half hoping Danny will change his mind. This money belongs to our grandson, his son.

  Outside, Mona goes up the aisle ahead of me. I follow. I think she’s mad at me, but mostly she’s rushing into that corridor to light a cigarette. First things first.

  We stand, not speaking, while she takes that important long drag.

  “Jesus, Will! Why couldn’t you have told us what you were going to do?”

  “You were there, Mona. I had no idea what was going to happen. Danny succumbed to the overwhelming badgering by Murphy. You two didn’t help at all. What should I have done? I’m not a lawyer and I needed help. Did you want the entire case settled at Murphy’s price? ‘Murphy’s law,’ Murphy’s kind of law? That’s what was going to happen and you know it. Tell me what else I could have done.”

  She takes another drag, looks at me through the smoke.

  “We could have asked for a recess to talk it over.”

  “Could I have done that? It seems that’s what lawyers are for, or at least you could have told me then and there that I could have done it, and I would have. Everybody was doing nothing.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “All right. You’re the professional lawyer. Tell me what I should have done, what I can still do.”

  “Oh, shit! It’s all such a mess now. I’m not even sure we can divide this case. I’ve never heard of it happening before. Sure, Judge Murphy nodded his head as if it were OK, but do you trust him?”

  “Of course not. Why should I?”

  “Let’s go have a beer until Ted and Danny come out from this conference.”

  By the time we return to the courtroom, Ted Mitchell is already there, waiting. He waves us over. I don’t see Danny.

  “Well, Judge Murphy made an offer to settle the case with Danny.”

  He pauses, looks at Mona and then at me.

  “He’s offering $550,000 for a settlement on Wills. Danny’s accepted.”

  I try to read his face. My sense is that he isn’t put out. I do some calculations in my head. Steele, Cutler and Walsh comes in for $137,750, for their twenty-five percent. That leaves $372,000, less all the other expenses. I’m sure $200,000 or $300,000 less than Wills would have gotten with a jury trial.

  I’m frustrated.

  “Where did the money come from? How much of it was Sampson money and what part of it came from the pot?”

  It’s the first time I see Mitchell look confused.

  “I mean, did Murphy include my part of the pot along with what he gave Wills? I’m not settling, you know. I’m not settling with Sampson nor with Oregon nor with Thompkins. I’m convinced there have been some questionable decisions made by Judge Murphy in this conference. Murphy can’t include money from the
pot which was meant for Rosemary and me since we’ve never said we’d settle. In fact, I’ve said publicly and privately that I have no interest in an out-of-court settlement.”

  He doesn’t move. Mona has that “I need a cigarette” look. She leans forward.

  “But you want Wills to have the best settlement he can get, don’t you? Considering what happened in our conference with Judge Murphy, with Danny surrendering his right to a jury trial, it would be hard to get more. It is quite a bit of money, you know.”

  “Yep, about $350,000 after all the nibbles have been taken out of it. It could be half again more, you know that.”

  There’s silence again.

  It’s clear Rosemary and I are going to court on our own, at great disadvantage. I don’t really want to make a big deal out of the money Murphy awarded Wills from our share of the “pot.” I don’t even accept the “pot” as valid.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE NEXT DAY, early, Judge Murphy tells all the plaintiffs and defendants they may leave. Only their legal representatives need stay for the final summary of the settlement conference. I check out of the hotel. I put my bags in Mona’s car. She has volunteered to drive me back up to Portland.

  For the final summary, I dress in my “lawyer costume,” including briefcase, but without the tape recorder. I’m about out of tape anyway. When we take our places, I smuggle myself between Mitchell and Mona as we go down the aisle. Mitchell looks surprised and unhappy to see me. I don’t see Danny or any of the other plaintiffs. I turn toward Mona.

  “This isn’t exclusively for legal representatives, is it? Judge Murphy said defendants and plaintiffs may go home, but he didn’t say they must go home. If he doesn’t want me in here for the summary, he can just tell me. I promise not to make a scene.”

  “Why do you do things like this, Will? It just makes things more difficult.”

  “I’ve come a long way for this conference, Mona, and I still don’t understand what’s been going on. I feel like the blind man in a game of blind man’s buff. I just want to know. What’s so bad about that?”

  She shakes her head and I tag along. They take a place about halfway toward the front. I sit beside Mona. A few lawyers turn their heads but keep their expressionless lawyer masks in place.