when you win; I know it could have gone the other way and I’d be less forgiving and glib about the whole thing. The important thing is, I learned from this — I don’t want to be caught with my pants down in closing again. I know you can’t prepare perfectly for everything, but I’m going to take the advice and start there next time. Right after jury instructions, of course. Trial is trippy. It’s an experience that taxes you individually like almost nothing else, but it’s also kind of an exhilarating and life-affirming team sport. It’s not without standing on the experiential shoulders of others that come before and beside us, relying on the contributions of your team and colleagues that we get through any trial, let alone one with a satisfying outcome. The good news is, the pain of trial is short-lived and each time I do it, I feel more willing to suffer it again. Will our next effort end in victory? Who knows, but you’ve got to try to find out and I hope the next one is sooner rather than later. For context, the above ramblings came in the wake of a trial that Ron Cheng and I handled when we were young, or younger, at least. After delivering a late closing, the jury went home with instructions to come back in the morning and start deliberations. I don’t think I slept a wink that night because I was full of remorse, regret, worry and a thousand other negative things. In the morning, the jury came back so fast I thought it was a joke when the clerk called and said the jury had reached a verdict. We solemnly prepared our client to keep any disappointment close to vest on the harried scramble to the courthouse. Then, in one of what had by then become habitual chambers conferences, Judge Wittmayer mused aloud that it must either be a defense verdict or the plaintiff “got the prayer” due to the speed of the verdict return. I contemplated only the former possibility until that moment. Shockingly, the jury indeed found for us across the board, giving us everything we asked for, including finding no comparative fault on our plaintiff’s part, which was argued vociferously by the defense. Later, in the courthouse lobby, one of our lovely jurors approached and gave me a hug, telling me they were 100% with us, loved the plaintiff and then earnestly asked why we hadn’t asked for more, saying, “we would have given you more.” With the award being close to two million dollars and my own first seven-figure verdict, this shocked me and I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to him. I can’t say I don’t think of that exact moment often, when wondering if a prayer in a draft complaint is too high. I mean, don’t go crazy, but give the jury some room to work with! What that case, and all subsequent cases, have increasingly crystallized for me as a trial lawyer, is that it is truly the stories that matter. Not just the story of what the defendant did wrong (because I know we’re all trying to start there), or the story of what happened, but the story of your client. What makes them unique, what has made them who they are, what brings them joy and what others perceive of the damage their injury has wrought. It’s not easy being a lawyer, let alone a trial lawyer, where we willingly subject ourselves to public observation, oft unfair criticism and so much opportunity to fail. But the thing that helps me step into the arena with hopes I can stand on my hind legs and sing, so to speak, is the strength of spirit of our clients. They have endured and continue to endure so much, surely fighting for them is the easier row to hoe. As I reflect on memorable cases, I’m thankful for the lessons I’ve learned from so many singular clients, many of whom have grown near and dear over the years. Even the most difficult clients have a way of making us better lawyers and more astute human beings. We are so lucky to work in a profession that forces us to experience, learn and grow, all in rapid-fire succession. And thank goodness we have each other — I’m so thankful for and appreciative of the people I get to work with day in and day out, both from within our office and from without. The community we build and feel while working through legal challenges and conundrums seems unparalleled in many other aspects of life. Each of us bringing different skills to the table, perceiving different nuances of meaning, finding different avenues forward, while working together in the name of the greater good — telling stories that might not otherwise be told — shepherding into the light those who have been in the dark. I may not have a favorite case, but I’m deeply grateful for each and every one and all of the life lessons and blessings derived therefrom. 47 Trial Lawyer | Fall 2024
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