John Grisham

I feel very isolated.

Across the narrow aisle, the table for the defense is rather heavily populated. Leo F. Drummond sits in the center, of course, facing the bench, associates surrounding him. Two on each side. Drummond is sixty years old, an alum of Yale Law, with thirty-six years of trial experience. T. Pierce Morehouse is thirty-nine, Yale Law, a Trent & Brent partner, fourteen years’ experience in all courts. B. Dewey Clay Hill the Third is thirty-one, Co-

lumbia, not yet a partner, six years’ trial experience. M. Alec Plunk Junior is twenty-eight, two years’ experience, and is making his initial foray into the case because, I’m sure, he went to Harvard. The Honorable Tyrone Kipler, now presiding, also went to Harvard. Kipler is black. Plunk is too. Harvard-educated black lawyers are not too common in Memphis. Trent & Brent just happened to have one, and so here he is, present no doubt to try and strike a bond with His Honor. And, if things go as expected, we’ll one day have a jury sitting over there. Half the registered voters in this county are black, so it’s safe to assume the jury will be about fifty-fifty. M. Alec Plunk Junior will be used, it is hoped, to develop some silent harmony and trust with certain jurors.

If the jury happens to have a female Cambodian, there’s no doubt in my mind that Trent & Brent will simply reach into the depths of their roster, find themselves another one and bring her to court.

The fifth member of Great Benefit’s legal team is Bran-don Fuller Grone, pitifully unnumeraled and inexplicably uninitialed. I can’t understand why he doesn’t proclaim himself B. Fuller Grone, like a real big-firm lawyer. He’s twenty-seven, two years out of Memphis State, where he finished number one in his class and left a wide trail. He was a legend when I started law school, and I crammed for first-year exams by using his old outlines.

Ignoring the two years M. Alec Plunk Junior spent clerking for a federal judge, there are fifty-eight years of experience packed tightly around the defense table.

I received my law license less than a month ago. My staff has flunked the bar exam six times.

I performed all this math late last night while digging through the library at Memphis State, a place I can’t seem to shake. The law firm of Rudy Baylor owns a grand total

of seventeen law books, all leftovers from school, and virtually worthless.

Seated behind the lawyers are two guys with hard-nosed corporate looks about them. I suspect they’re executives of Great Benefit. One looks familiar. I think he was here when I argued the motion to dismiss. I didn’t pay ,nuch attention then, and I’m not too terribly concerned about these guys now. I have enough on my mind.

I’m pretty tense, but if Harvey Hale were sitting up there, I’d be a wreck. In fact, I probably wouldn’t be here.

However, the Honorable Tyrone Kipler is presiding. He told me on the phone yesterday, during one of our many recent conversations, that this will be his first day on the bench. He’s signed some orders and performed some other routine little jobs, but this is the first argument to referee.

The day after Kipler was sworn in, Drummond filed a motion to remove the case to federal court. He’s claiming that Bobby Ott, the agent who sold the policy to the Blacks, has been included as a defendant for all the wrong reasons. Ott, we think, is still a resident of Tennessee. He’s a defendant. The Blacks, residents of Tennessee, are the plaintiffs. Complete diversity of citizenship between the parties must exist for federal jurisdiction to apply. Ott defeats diversity because, as we allege, he lives here, and for this reason and this reason alone, the case cannot be a federal one. Drummond filed a massive brief in support of his argument that Ott should not be a defendant.

As long as Harvey Hale was sitting, circuit court was the perfect place to seek justice. But as soon as Kipler assumed the case, then truth and fairness could be found only in federal court. The amazing thing about Drum-mond’s motion was the timing. Kipler took it as a personal affront. I agreed with him, for what it was worth.

We’re all set to argue the pending motions. In addition

to the request to remove the case, Drummond has his morion for security of costs and morion for sanctions. I took heated issue with his motion for sanctions, so I in turn filed a motion for sanctions, claiming his motion for sanctions was frivolous and mean-spirited. The battle over sanctions becomes a separate war in most lawsuits, according to Deck, and it’s best not to get it started. I’m <., bit wary of Deck’s litigation advice. He knows his limitations. As he’s fond of saying, "Anyone can cook a trout. The real art is in hooking the damned thing."

Drummond strides purposefully to the podium. We’re going in chronological order, so he addresses his motion for security of costs, a very minor device. He estimates that the cost bill could run as much as a thousand bucks if this thing goes through trial, and, well, darned, he’s just worried that neither me nor my clients will be able to handle this in the event we lose and are assessed with costs.

"Let me interrupt you for a second, Mr. Drummond," Judge Kipler says thoughtfully. His words are measured, his voice carries. "I have your motion, and I have your brief in support of your motion." He picks these up and sort of waves them at Drummond. "Now, you’ve talked for four minutes, and you’ve said exactly what’s right here in black and white. Do you have anything new to add?"

"Well, Your Honor, I’m entitled to-"

"Yes or no, Mr. Drummond? I’m perfectly capable of reading and understanding, and you write very well I might add. But if you have nothing new to add, then why are we here?"

I’m sure this has never happened to the great Leo Drummond before, but he acts as though it’s a daily occurrence. "Simply trying to aid the court, Your Honor," he says with a smile.

"Denied," Kipler says flatly. "Move along."

Drummond moves along without missing a step. "Very well, our next motion is for sanctions. We contend-"

"Denied," Kipler says.

"Beg your pardon."

"Denied."

Deck snickers behind me. All four heads at the table across from me lower in unison as this event is duly recorded. I guess they’re all writing in bold letters the word DENIED.

"Each side has asked for sanctions, and I’m denying both motions," Kipler says, looking squarely at Drummond. I get my nose thumped a bit in the process.

It’s serious business to cut off the debate of a lawyer who talks for three hundred and fifty bucks an hour. Drummond glares at Kipler, who is enjoying this immensely.

But Drummond is a pro with thick skin. He would never let on that a lowly circuit court judge irritates him. "Very well, moving right along, I’d like to address our request to remove this case to federal court."

"Let’s do that," Kipler says. "First, why didn’t you try to remove this case when Judge Hale had it?"

Drummond is ready for this. "Your Honor, the case was new and we were still investigating the involvement of the defendant Bobby Ott. Now that we’ve had some time, we’re of the opinion that Ott has been included solely to defeat federal jurisdiction."

"So you wanted this case in federal court all along?"

"Yes sir."

"Even when Harvey Hale had it?"

"That’s correct, Your Honor," Drummond says earnestly.

Kipler’s face tells everyone that he doesn’t believe this. Not a single person in the courtroom does either. But it’s a minor detail, and Kipler has made his point.

Drummond plows ahead with his argument, completely unfazed. He’s seen a hundred judges come and go, and he is remarkably unafraid of any of them. It will be many years, through many trials in many courtrooms, before I will ever feel unintimidated by the guys up there in the black robes.