WHY PEOPLE HATE LAWYERS

fiction by John Merriam, contributor and attorney-at-law

Any resemblance to characters alive or dead is pure coincidence.

“Jay, can I run a case by you?” Walter Williams walked into the office of one of his partners at the three-lawyer firm of Goober, Manning & Williams, located just north of the Public Market in Seattle. Walter was of diminutive build, balding with a black mustache.

Jay Manning had been sitting and staring idly at Elliott Bay out the window behind his desk. He was watching a factory trawler tie up and wondered what new scheme the fishing company that owned it would concoct to cheat processors on their wages. Jay’s curly brown hair and goatee gave him a slightly disheveled appearance. “Shoot.” He swiveled the chair to face his partner.

“I just signed up Billy Thorgrimsen, the chief mate on a crabber in the Bering Sea who dislocated his shoulder. He fell on the deck of the F/V Darling but isn’t sure what he slipped on. He missed out on $15,000 as his crewshare for the rest of Opilio season. I want him to say that he slipped on jellyfish and the seaweed that came aboard with the crabpots so we can get extra money from a claim of unsafe working conditions aboard the boat.”

“That’s a stretch if Billy doesn’t know what he slipped on. Why isn’t the fishing company paying him the $15,000 as unearned wages regardless of who is at fault?”

“The insurance adjuster, Peter McGilvra, won’t pay anything. He claims the primary duty doctrine prevents Thorgrimsen from being entitled to any compensation—-that my client is not entitled to recover because it was his job to keep the deck clean in the first place.”

“That’s b.s. He’s calling your bluff to see if you’ll litigate this case.” Jay swiveled his chair back toward Elliott Bay as a sea lion surfaced near a harbor tour boat. He silently speculated that a couple of the tourists would fall overboard if they got their cameras any closer to the sea lion.

“Do you think I should file suit?” Walter didn’t have much trial experience and sounded uncomfortable. “This isn’t a big case.”

“Well, you’ll have to if McGilvra won’t pay unearned wages. 95% of these cases settle, most ‘on the courthouse steps’ just before trial actually starts. What was Billy’s track record for earnings from fishing before he got hurt?”

“Good. His tax returns for the past five years show income averaging $100,000 annually.”

“Can he go fishing again?”

“Yes. He made an excellent recovery.” Walter finally noticed the tour boat. “Boy, those tourists are going to get rammed if that boat doesn’t get out of the way!” They watched as a state ferry coming from Bremerton bore down on the tour boat. The smaller boat applied full throttle and darted out of harm’s way as the ferry angrily sounded her horn.

“Then maybe you and Billy should just drop this claim.” Jay swiveled to face his partner again.

“Why? It’s a slam-dunk. He’s entitled to at least $15,000—more if we prove he was hurt because of an unsafe condition on the boat—and we take one-third of what we can get him. This is easy money!”

“You and I both know there’s a blacklist out there, Walter. I’ve never been able to prove it in court but the fishing and insurance companies make sure that any fisherman who files a lawsuit for injury or wages is going to have a hard time getting another job. If Billy can make that kind of money when he’s working, it might be in his best interest not to pursue this claim.”

“But we need to make money too.”

“Which is more important?” Jay swiveled toward Elliott Bay again.

After several seconds of silence Walter said, “I’ve got to prepare for a deposition in another case.” He left Jay’s office.

Walter did file a lawsuit for Billy Thorgrimsen, claiming $15,000 for unearned wages, and more because the injury was the result of unsafe working conditions. The marine insurance underwriters told the adjuster to hand his file over to an attorney, Denny Lugen, to defend the fishing company against the lawsuit. Denny called Peter McGilvra, the adjuster, and asked to meet and discuss the case over cocktails. They met at Chinook’s, a restaurant at Fishermen’s Terminal designed to look like a cannery on the inside.

“I’ll have a Chivas and soda.” Peter McGilvra was a dapper dude in his 50s, trim and immaculately dressed, with short brown hair neatly parted on the left. He and the attorney were seated at a table near the bar, opposite Dock 9 where 30 or 40 fishing boats were moored. A waitress took their order.

“Give me a rum and coke.” Denny Lugen was in his 30s with an athletic build that was going soft. He had sandy hair, a weak chin and watery blue eyes.

“You want rum from the well?” The buxom young waitress pushed thick glasses up on her rather large nose.

“What’s in the gun?”

“Monarch.”

“No, give me Bacardi.” The waitress went to give her order to the bartender. Denny turned back to the adjuster. “What’s that all about, Pete?” He pointed to their left, at a dock perpendicular to the western edge of the restaurant. A trawler displayed a large banner in her rigging proclaiming, “YACHTS DON’T FEED PEOPLE, FISHERMEN DO.”

“Some of the fishermen are upset that the Port of Seattle is considering allowing pleasure boats to use empty slips at Fishermen’s Terminal.”

“Yachts here? Why is that an issue?”

“There are fewer and fewer fishing boats.” The adjuster shifted in his chair and swept his arm across a view of the docks, all the way to the Ballard Bridge. “The fleet is shrinking. More than half the slips are empty. Some of these piers are better than 60 years old and need repairs. Without moorage fees, where do these guys think the Port is going to get the money? Meanwhile, there is a shortage of marina space for large recreational boats, and yacht owners are willing to pay top dollar for a place to tie up.”

“Then why is this a problem?”

“These fishermen think they’re too good to rub elbows with pleasure boaters. One of the troublemakers is trying to get the Port to delay its decision until fall when his cronies get back from fishing salmon in Alaska. I guess he thinks he’ll be able to yell louder if he has reinforcements. I’m telling you, these guys are dinosaurs. If they had their way, this joint would still be The Wharf.” The waitress brought their order.

“The Wharf?” Denny Lugen took a long drink from his rum and coke.

“That’s what this place was called until it changed hands during the last renovation of Fishermen’s Terminal 10 or 15 years ago.” Pete McGilvra lit a cigarette and sipped his scotch and soda. “You didn’t miss anything. The Wharf served coffee so strong it would put hair on your chest. Old ‘Myrnas’, geriatric waitresses, walked around with runny eggs and burnt hashbrowns. But this is enough small talk, Denny. Why did you ask me here? What is your plan for this Thorgrimsen character?”

“I’m going to destroy him.” Denny took another pull from his drink.

“Why bother? We could settle this thing now for $15,000, before it escalates. This is a small case.”

“It’s exactly because this is a small case that we’ve got to teach Thorgrimsen and his buddies a lesson. They all know that fishing is the most dangerous occupation in the country, and they knew that when they started. If they get hurt on the job but can still go back to work, they should just suck it up. We shouldn’t have to defend against a lawsuit any time one of these saps has a sore arm.”

“I think this guy would be happy with just getting his wages for the end of Opilio crab season after he dislocated his shoulder, although I don’t know how much his lawyer wants.” The adjuster sampled his drink again.

“That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that word gets out that not one dime will be paid on minor claims unless these guys are prepared to go to trial.” Denny guzzled the last of his rum and coke.

“Trial preparation is pricey—more than this case could be settled for. What about the expense of taking Thorgrimsen to the eve of trial?”

“Money is everything, Pete. If we don’t stop Thorgrimsen on this claim, it will be like the Dutch kid taking his finger out of the dike. The floodgates will open and every sonofabitch with an ingrown toenail will be filing a lawsuit. That will cost millions in fees for insurance defense lawyers. I’m saving you money by fighting this claim.” Denny signaled to the waitress for another round. “This is all about money.”

“Well, all right. The underwriters trust your judgment. How do you propose to destroy Thorgrimsen?” The adjuster snuffed his cigarette.

“First, I want you to spread the word around, telling boat owners that this guy is lawsuit-happy and they’d be taking a chance if they hired him. I’m going to make this guy think his wife is cheating on him while he’s out fishing. After that I’ll file a motion for summary judgment to get this case thrown out of court based on the primary duty doctrine. It won’t work but I’ll show that asshole lawyer representing Thorgrimsen that he’s going to have to put in some time and effort before he steals a third of what he gets his client.”

“How are you going to make him think his wife is having an affair?” Their drinks came.

“Thorgrimsen’s relief on that crabber is a guy named Joe Grinder. He’s the mate when Thorgrimsen’s home, and vice-versa. I put Grinder under surveillance in a different case—he was going to testify that a crabpot launcher was defective and caused a deckhand on the boat to lose his left hand—because I wanted to find some dirt. I have videotape showing Joe Grinder being let in the front door of Thorgrimsen’s house by Thorgrimsen’s wife.”

“So what? He could have come to the house for a variety of reasons.”

“So what! You don’t understand, Pete. The few fishermen that can stay married always wonder what their wives are doing while the husbands are on the boats. It doesn’t matter what Joe Grinder was doing at Thorgrimsen’s house, or the date of the videotape. All that matters is that Billy Thorgrimsen sees the videotape during his deposition, while I ask him if his wife is sleeping with his relief. The trick is to poison his mind.”

“OK, you’ve got my file. I’ve got to go meet a factory/trawler called the Fish Harvester when she comes in this evening. A female processor is claiming she was raped by three of her co-workers. I need to get her statement before she hires a lawyer. Call me if you need any help on this one.” The adjuster got up and walked toward the door, leaving his half-finished drink on the table.

Denny Lugen stayed at Chinook’s for a few minutes longer to drain his rum and coke. He pondered how difficult he could make the life of Billy Thorgrimsen’s lawyer, Walter Williams.

There followed thirteen months of contentious litigation in federal court. Walter Williams wished he had never filed the lawsuit. Denny Lugen billed the marine insurance underwriters for 150 hours spent on the case. So much paper was used in legal maneuvering that the scheduled shutdown of a pulp mill in Pacific County might have been delayed.

Five days before trial the case settled for $15,000. After lawyer fees and expenses, Billy Thorgrimsen got less than half that amount. The insurance underwriters paid $30,000 for Denny Lugen’s fees. Billy and his wife got divorced, and he is having a hard time finding work. Joe Grinder and Billy no longer speak to each other.

John Merriam is a former merchant seaman who now works as a lawyer representing seamen on wage and injury claims.