The Appeal

On page 3 of section A of the New York Times, Gilbert’s expose ran with photos of Meyerchec and Spano, as well as Fisk and McCarthy.

It covered the race in general, then focused on the g*y marriage issue created and injected into the race by the two men from Illinois. Gilbert did a thorough job of accumulating evidence that the two men were longtime residents of Chicago and had virtually no ties to

Mississippi. He did not speculate that they were being used by conservative political operatives to sabotage McCarthy. He didn’t have to. The punch line was delivered in the final paragraph. Nat Lester was quoted as saying:

"These guys are a couple of stooges being used by Ron Fisk and his backers to create an issue that does not exist. Their goal is to fire up the right-wing Christians and march them down to the polls."

Ron and Doreen Fisk were at the kitchen table, ignoring their early coffee, rereading the Jackson editorial, and fuming. The campaign had gone so smoothly. They were ahead in all the polls. Nine days to go and they could see the victory Why, then, was Ron suddenly being described as "deceitful" and "dishonest" by the state’s largest newspaper?

It was a painful, humiliating slap, one that they had no idea was coming. And it was certainly not deserved. They were honest, upstanding, clean-cut Christian people.

Why this?

The phone rang and Ron grabbed it. Tony’s tired voice said, "Have you seen the Jackson paper?"

"Yes, we’re looking at it now."

"Have you seen the one from Hattiesburg and the Sun Herald?"

"No. Why?"

"Do you read the New York Times?"

"No."

"Check them out online. Call me in an hour."

"Is it bad?"

"Yes."

They read and fumed for another hour, then decided to skip church. Ron felt betrayed and embarrassed and was in no mood to leave the house. According to the latest numbers from his pollster in Atlanta, he had a comfortable lead. Now, though, he felt defeat was certain.

No candidate could survive such a thrashing. He blamed the liberal press.

He blamed Tony Zachary and those who controlled the campaign. And he blamed himself for being so naive. Why did he place so much trust in people he barely knew?

Doreen assured him it was not his fault. He had thrown himself so completely into the campaigning that he’d had little time to watch everything else. Any campaign is chaotic. No one can monitor the actions of all the workers and volunteers.

Ron unloaded on Tony during a lengthy and tense phone conversation. "You’ve embarrassed me," Ron said. "You’ve humiliated me and my family to the point that I really don’t want to leave the house. I’m thinking about quitting."

"You can’t quit, Ron, you have too much invested," Tony replied, trying to control his panic and reassure his boy.

"That’s the problem, Tony. I’ve allowed you guys to generate too much cash, and you cannot handle it. Stop all television ads right now."

"That’s impossible, Ron. They’re already in the pipeline."

"So I’m not in control of my own campaign, is that what you’re telling me, Tony?"

"It’s not that simple."

"I’m not leaving the house, Tony. Pull all the ads right now. Stop everything, and I’m calling the editors of these newspapers. I’m admitting my mistakes."

"Ron, come on."

"I’m the boss, Tony, it’s my campaign."

"Yes, and you’ve got the race won. Don’t screw it up with only nine days to go."

"Did you know that Darrel Sackett was dead?"

"Well, I really can’t-"

"Answer the question, Tony. Did you know he was dead?"

"I’m not sure."

"You knew he was dead and you deliberately ran a false ad, didn’t you?"

"No, I-"

"You’re fired, Tony. You’re fired and I quit."

"Don’t overreact, Ron. Settle down."

"You’re fired."

"I’ll be down in an hour."

"You do that, Tony. You get down here as quick as possible, and until then you’re fired."

"I’m leaving now. Don’t do anything until I get there."

"I’m calling the editors right now."

"Don’t do that, Ron. Please. Wait until I get there."

The lawyers had little time for newspapers on Sunday morning. By eight o’clock they were gathering at the hotel for what would surely be the most important day yet.

There had been no indication from Jared Kurtin as to how long he might negotiate before heading back to Atlanta, but it was assumed that round one would be over on Sunday afternoon. Other than the $30 million suggestion made by Sterling Bintz the evening before, there had been no talk of money. That had to change on Sunday. Wes and Mary Grace were determined to leave that day with a general idea of how much the Class One and Class Two cases were worth.

By 8:30 all the plaintiffs’ lawyers were in place, most of them huddled in serious conversations, all of them ignoring Sterling Bintz, who in turn ignored them. His entourage was still intact. He was not speaking to the other class action lawyer from Melbourne Beach. Judge Rosenthal arrived at 8:45 and commented on the absence of everyone on the defense side. The trial lawyers finally noticed this. There was not a soul sitting opposite them. Wes punched in the number of Jared Kurtin’s cell phone, but listened to his recording.

"We did agree on 9:00 a.m., didn’t we?" asked Rosenthal, five minutes before the hour. It was unanimously agreed that nine was the magic hour. They waited, and time suddenly moved much slower.

At 9:02, Frank Sully, local counsel for Krane, walked into the room and said, somewhat sheepishly, almost in embarrassment, "My client has decided to recess these negotiations until further notice. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience."

"Where’s Jared Kurtin?" Judge Rosenthal demanded.

"He’s flying back to Atlanta right now."

"When did your client make this decision?"

"I don’t know. I was informed about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Judge. I apologize to everyone here."

The room seemed to tilt as one side sank under the weight of this sudden turn of events. Lawyers giddy in anticipation of finally slicing up the pie dropped their pens and pencils and gaped at one another in shock. Great gasps of air were discharged. Curses were mumbled just loud enough to be heard. Shoulders sagged. They wanted to throw something at Sully, but he was just the local and they had learned a long time ago that he had no clout.

F. Clyde Hardin wiped sweat from his wet face and tried valiantly not to throw up.

There was a sudden rush to leave, to clear out. It was maddening to sit there and stare at the empty chairs, chairs once occupied by men who just might have made them rich. The trial lawyers quickly gathered stacks of papers, restuffed their briefcases, and offered brusque goodbyes.

Wes and Mary Grace said nothing as they drove to their apartment.

Chapter 31

Monday morning, the Wall Street Journal broke the news of the collapse of the settlement negotiations down in Hattiesburg.

The story, on page 2, was written by a reporter with some very good sources inside Krane Chemical, one of whom blamed the plaintiffs’ lawyers. "Their demands were just too unrealistic. We went in in good faith, and got nowhere." Another anonymous source said, "It’s hopeless. Because of the verdict, every trial lawyer thinks his case is worth forty million bucks." Mr. Watts, Krane’s CEO, said, "We are very disappointed.

We wanted to get this litigation behind us and move on. Now our future is quite uncertain."