The Gentleman Lawyer
Small beads of sweat forming above his upper lip were his tell. Standing in front of the witness stand, the wise old barrister could see his prey’s angst and knew he had him cornered.
“Just to be sure, I understand your story completely, Mr. Sawyer. You testified the vehicle in question was your grandmother’s 1969 Oldsmobile 442, which you received... Let me see”—he paused to reference his notes—“as a part of the settlement of her estate. So sorry for your loss, by the way. Is that about right?” Jesse McDonald asked forthrightly.
“Yessir,” Frank Sawyer responded confidently.
“And this Oldsmobile, despite being nearly twenty years old when you received it, had only twenty-four thousand miles on it, correct?” Jesse continued.
“Yessir,” Frank stated again.
“All original equipment?” the gentleman lawyer asked with a raised eyebrow. “No flim-flam after-market stuff?”
The witness shook his head no, which elicited a reprimand from Judge Judith Stern. “For the record, Mr. Sawyer, please answer the questions out loud.”
The jury waited with rapt attention.
With a chagrinned look on his face, Frank responded, “Oh, sorry. No, sir. No aftermarket equipment.”
“If it pleases the court, defense would like to enter Exhibits 143A, B, and C into evidence.” Jesse’s booming voice echoed throughout the chamber.
“So noted, Mr. McDonald,” Judge Stern responded.
“Now, Mr. Sawyer,” Jesse continued, “on the easel to your right, I’ve had my office enlarge a page from your sworn deposition, in which you assert the same testimony as that which you’ve just told the jury. Sixty-nine Oldsmobile 442, roughly twenty-four thousand miles on it, all original equipment, no after-market effects, etcetera. That is your testimony, isn’t it, sir?”
Frank was fidgeting. He smelled a trap. Nonetheless, the only way he could truthfully respond was, “Yessir.”
“Mr. Sawyer,” Jesse pressed, “could you please identify the three-by-four-foot picture on the easel to your left, known and marked as Exhibit 143B?”
Sitting up a little taller in the witness chair, Frank appeared self-assured. “Yessir, that’s me standing next to my grandmother’s old car right after I had it cleaned and took title to it.”
“Your pride and joy, isn’t it, Mr. Sawyer?” Jesse politely kept on hammering. “Look at the smile on your face in the picture. This was a happy day indeed, wasn’t it, Mr. Sawyer? A twenty-year-old but practically new Oldsmobile 442, all original factory equipment, and it was sitting in your driveway, correct?”
“Yessir,” Frank responded, grinning ear to ear.
“Mr. Sawyer, aren’t those . . . What do the kids call ’em? Ah, racing slicks on the rear wheels of the car?” Jesse continued. “Those aren’t original to the car or standard equipment, are they?”
The beads of sweat on Frank’s upper lip were suddenly becoming prolific, forming a racing slick of their own. “Well, the original tires were cracking after twenty years, so I had to—”
With a wink and very slight nod, Jesse finished Frank’s sentence. “But of course, cracked tires would have been dangerous, so you went ahead and replaced the old tires with new ones. Was that the only thing you changed or adjusted on your grandmother’s car?”
Frank’s imperceptible sigh of relief was quickly followed by his now-patented, “Yessir.”
“By the way, Mr. Sawyer, racing slicks weren’t standard equipment on a ’69 Oldsmobile 442, were they?” Jesse innocently queried.
Wanting to appear as one of the boys in on the joke, Frank chuckled, “No, sir.”
Taking one posterboard down off the right easel and replacing it with another, Jesse quickly changed tactics. “Mr. Sawyer, Exhibit 143C is another enlarged section of your sworn deposition in which you address the essence of your lawsuit against my client, General Motors. I’ve highlighted your testimony where you said, ‘The engine was sluggish, acting like it might want to backfire or something, so I pushed the accelerator to give it more gas. There was a huge explosion, blowing the hood off the car and engulfing the garage in flames. I felt lucky to get out with my life.’ And a little farther down it reads, ‘Fire investigators told me they found the air filter housing blown clear across the garage. I lost everything in that fire, my entire house, as the result of that darn GM Rochester Quadrajet, which they’ve had lots of problems with.’ Was the Rochester Quadrajet carburetor standard factory issue on a ’69 Oldsmobile model?”
“Yessir, it was.”
“And again, Mr. Sawyer, my apologies for repeating myself, but you never changed out the carburetor, had it worked on, or in any way tampered with it—all stock and original to the car, correct?” Jesse asked.
“Correct.”
“And even though the car had racing slicks on it, you’d never raced it, correct?”
Hesitating, Frank answered, “Correct.”
Jesse paused with a seemingly troubled look on his face. “Mr. Sawyer, had you been drinking right before the explosion?”
“Why, no. Why do you ask?” Frank responded tentatively.
“Well, the fire investigator found numerous beer cans around the car, but you say you and your friends hadn’t been drinking, correct?” The wise old barrister was setting the trap.
“I never said anything about any friends being around. I just—”
Cutting him off, Jesse consulted his notes and barreled past Sawyer’s defensive reply. “Oh, sorry. Mr. Sawyer, when the hood blew off the car, was it in the open position, or was it snapped down tight?”
“Mr. McDonald, I believe my deposition states clearly that the hood of the vehicle was closed at the time of the explosion,” Frank replied indignantly.
“Mr. Sawyer,” Jesse continued, “do you know a man named Harvey Gleason?”
“Why, yes! Harvey is one of my good friends. How is my relationship with him relevant here?”
“Well, Mr. Sawyer, he may be one of your good friends, but he moved away. Said he hadn’t seen or talked to you in a couple of years. He did mention he used to race against you. He probably forgot to tell you that he offered his testimony in deposition several months ago.” Jesse’s beady eyes were suddenly wide open, boring a hole through Frank. “As a matter of fact, he said three other guys were there when the explosion occurred. I’ve talked with all three, and I’d be happy to call them as witnesses if I need to.” Jesse paused and let the facts sink in with the jury for a moment.
“Mr. Sawyer, your story isn’t adding up. Mr. Gleason said the front hood was wide open at the time of the explosion, which is consistent with this picture of the mangled remains of the hood hinge mechanism. This suggests the hood most likely blew over the top of the car. He also said you’d been in and out of the driver’s seat trying to tweak the carburetor for a richer air-to-fuel ratio so you could gain more power for racing. By tweaking, I assume Harvey observed you adjusting the carburetor. Have you ever removed the carburetor or rebuilt any part of it?”
“No, sir!” Frank replied adamantly.
“If it pleases the court, defense would like to enter Exhibit 48, a receipt from ACDelco Auto Parts, and a canceled check into evidence, your Honor,” Jesse offered.
“So noted, Mr. McDonald,” Judge Stern replied.
Jesse approached the witness stand with a plastic bag in his hand. “Mr. Sawyer, I have in my possession a check, drawn on your account and signed by you, for three dollars and seventeen cents, an amount equal to this ACDelco invoice for two new screws and a fuel inlet filter gasket—replacement parts for a Rochester Quadrajet carburetor. These are items you purchased, is that correct?”
With his head down and his feet lightly shuffling, Frank quietly replied, “Yessir.”
As if quietly admonishing the son he never had, Jesse McDonald spoke as if he were in a funeral home. “Had you taken the time to read the installation insert in the gasket box, perhaps you may have heeded the warning, which says, ‘The fuel inlet/fuel filter housing threads tend to be very fragile. When care is not properly taken to align the insert, it is possible for the fuel inlet to cross-thread and to strip when tightened in the main housing. Should the screws strip, in nearly all cases the carburetor will require disassembly and internal cleaning of the aluminum thread residue, especially up to and including the needle and seat (needle valve) to prevent flooding.’ When the General Motors engineers took apart the charred carburetor, this is exactly what they found. You altered the carburetor, didn’t you, Frank?”
“Yessir,” was all the response he received. Jesse McDonald, master of products liability and medical malpractice litigation, had just won another case for the good guys.
Had Frank Sawyer’s phalanx of plaintiff’s attorneys bothered to do their homework prior to filing Sawyer’s lawsuit, they would have quickly realized that Jesse McDonald handled most all of the General Motors’ products liability legal work in Louisiana. Napoleonic Code, established by the French at the time of the Louisiana Purchase in 1803, is the only State in the Union to practice this archaic form of law. It is virtually impossible to do business in the state without hiring local counsel. And Jesse’s firm was the selection of choice for most Fortune 200 companies having legal problems in Louisiana.
Jesse D, as he was known while growing up in Bernice, Louisiana, was hewn out of the tenacity required for his rough-and-tumble childhood while aspiring to succeed at something far greater than the enterprises of the one-stoplight town in which he was raised. His focus and self-discipline took him at age twelve to Jefferson Academy—a college preparatory school in Mississippi—and later at age sixteen to Louisiana State University where he stayed through law school.
Under the watchful and cautious tutelage of professor Wex Malone, the young law scholar graduated first in his class while becoming editor of the Law Review at Louisiana State University Law School. His 1956 Law Review treatise, “Proximate Cause in Louisiana,” is still regularly cited for having had a profound impact on the law of torts in the state—almost seventy years after the twenty-four-year-old introduced the duty-risk analysis of proximate cause to the state legislature.
His scholarly attention to detail caught the eye of Mr. Henry Bernstein, senior partner in the largest law firm in Northeast Louisiana. With eyes on retirement, Mr. Bernstein, a highly respected gentleman’s gentleman who was highly skilled in the ways of the courtroom, taught Jesse everything he knew, mentoring him until his retirement.
Jesse D—as he was known amongst his friends and colleagues—was always impeccably dressed in finely tailored suits, polished shoes, and a small-brimmed fedora hat, which he always tipped toward the judge and jury as he entered the courtroom. His appearance gave no hint of the little boy who once sought retribution from an ole tomcat, feathers still in his mouth, after Tom ate his prize FFA chicken. Luring ole Tom out from under the house, Jesse had wrapped a firecracker in a piece of bacon and lit the fuse. Slack-jawed, ole tomcat scattered, never again to mess with young Jesse—an analogy to defeated plaintiffs’ lawyers and clients who later opposed Jesse in the courtroom.
For Frank Sawyer’s case, an insurance claim for the total destruction of his home and garage, General Motors brought Jesse to Detroit for a week of meetings with their carburetor engineers for the sole purpose of teaching him everything there was to know about the design, construction, and function of the Rochester carburetor and how it was prone to malfunctioning. By the time he would counter the plaintiff’s “expert” with his own General Motors engineer, who had originally designed the carburetor, Judge Judith Stern later would comment in the record that Jesse knew as much, or more, than the engineer himself.
Often, for the benefit of the jury, Jesse would have entire sections of automobiles erected in the courtroom for purposes of educating those who held the fate of his case in their hands. Because of favorable appellate rulings that the State of Louisiana courts would regularly hand out, General Motors picked Jesse to try the first airbag case in America—and he settled it! Physics professors, German engineers, Asian technicians, former law professors, and captains of industry were regularly hired by Jesse as the experts necessary to refute an opposing counsel’s bogus claims. The night before their testimony he would always entertain them either in his lovely home with his beautiful wife, or down on the river at a local catfish joint teaching them the Southern intricacies of eating fried catfish and hush puppies.
But Jesse D never rested on his laurels. He and a prominent physician in his hometown of Monroe lobbied the state legislature to pass the Louisiana Medical Malpractice Act: the second such legislation passed in the United States. He was the principal author of the Louisiana Products Liability Act. For many years he served on the Louisiana State Law Institute, where his fingerprints can be found on most of the state’s legislation. He was a member of both the State and Federal Bar Associations. And he held way too many positions to count as president, board member, principal, and the like. Jesse McDonald was emersed in the law, often referring to it as his “jealous mistress.” One of the young partners he had trained eulogized him as “a titan” in his chosen profession. Jesse didn’t just practice law; he studied it, he lived it, and—if one can truly love the law—he loved it.
Dozens of lawyers throughout the South owe their prowess in the courtroom to Jesse D. Always the meticulous planner, he was quiet, thorough, and never condescending as he’d patiently wait for his proteges to conquer some obscure nuance of the courtroom—even if it was three o’clock in the morning and the judge and jury were scheduled for six hours later. Often he would tell them, “I may be wrong, but I’m never in doubt.” They were the benefactors of the voracious student of the law, who usually knew what the judge would do even before the judge himself knew. And rarely, despite his command of legal precedent, when a ruling on substance didn’t go his way, Jesse would smile politely, consider the judge for a moment, and say, “Your Honor, I hear and obey.”
His wisdom, especially when meeting with family and friends, extended far beyond the courtroom into his personal life. He’d signal Martha, his longtime secretary, to hold his calls. This often resulted in endless phone messages from people wanting a piece of his time. But it also meant, When my family calls, put ’em right through—no matter what meeting I may be in.
Despite his love of the law, family was second closest to Jesse’s heart right after his relationship with Jesus Christ. Born to an alcoholic father, and a mother who had to leave Bernice to teach school in El Dorado, Arkansas, so her son might one day have a better education, Jesse was raised by his grandmother. As a child, the only close family members he had were his mom, grandmother, two cousins, and an aunt and uncle. Though love was plentiful, Jesse longed for a “true blood” family like all the rest of the kids had.
~
While still in law school, God blessed Jesse and his beautiful wife, Carol, with the first of three daughters. Subconsciously making up for what he never had, he doted over his girls, always managing to have more than enough time for them. Despite starting each day at five a.m. and loudly whistling his way to the car every morning, the standing rule was he’d be home by six-thirty every evening, enjoy dinner with his family, tuck the girls into bed, and head to his office to finish up. Often he would tease his associates, saying, “It’s funny how sixteen-hour days and good luck always seem to go hand in hand.” Fortunately, Jesse never required much sleep.
He was always at the office long before anyone else. Before plowing through a desk filled with legal matters needing his attention, he’d start each morning by reading his Bible at his desk and then finish his daily introspection on his knees in prayer. Dutifully, he’d record major life events and prayer requests in a diary never far from his side. Clearly, he knew exactly from where all of his strength came.
God’s teachings helped him stay balanced between the demands of his work and family, the likes of which he’d never known. Jesse could see human frailty in the biblical words he’d read every morning. After all, it was human frailty that necessitated the law. Though his job was always to defend his client, rarely would he raise his voice. Never would he offer profanity, choosing instead to dispense justice with a deadpan sense of humor. Juries loved him. Judges revered his talent.
Jesse loved like few have ever known how. His joy was always evident. He’d made peace with his circumstances long ago, and patience was one of his many trademarks. Faithful and kind to those around him, his mild manner outside the courtroom was sometimes mistaken for constraint. Yet those unfortunate enough to have faced his cross-examination quickly discovered they’d mistaken constraint for gallantry. His unwritten motto was, “Never ask a question of a witness to which you don’t know the answer,” leaving him with the delicious chore of teasing truth from his prey. In a kind and respectful way, he was ruthless in the courtroom. But for all of his prowess in the legal profession, Jesse was never anything more than Papa to his three girls.
Be sure to catch Part 2 of “The Gentleman Lawyer” on Thursday. Subscribe for free to get the story delivered right to your inbox.
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