Outside Your Office Window

THE WEIGHT

OUTSIDE YOUR OFFICE WINDOW By: Robbie Pryor

Pryor, Priest & Harber

It was Wednesday, the third day of a week-long trial. The trial was my first since the pandemic arrived on our doorstep and set in the middle of our beautiful state. I moved into a hotel room the weekend before, a room I shared with trial exhibits, boxes of files, and an alwayspresent belief that I will prevail. We were in the Defendant’s case and in a ten-minute break. I sat slumped in my chair, my normal posture according to my family and my secretary, coming off of a long night of torturing myself over every detail of each of the cross examinations I would perform. My clients were in the restroom. The only souls on the battlefield were me and my opponent. I heard my name from across the aisle. “You know,” he began. “You can’t really even explain what this life is like to someone who doesn’t do it.” I smiled. Barely. Truth on a Wednesday afternoon.

I wanted to respond, but I could only nod. What a statement. An adequate response needed more than the time we had left in this break. I knew I was feeling exactly what he was experiencing. The weight. I was a bit surprised because we all have tunnel vision in a trial, unable to comprehend the toils of others, but I was also so surprised because he had an entire “team” with him. I had help, primarily back at the office, but I’d been impressed by his “team.” He had co-counsel, a clerk, a paralegal, and an IT guy who worked all of his equipment, including a printer, and audio-visual system - “The Machine,” as I call it. His was a slick operation. However, in that moment, I realized it didn’t matter - we are all in the same world, a world outside the one everyone else sees. It is a world that requires a law degree, a client, a bit of confidence and a great deal of insanity.

Why do we do this? If you can clearly answer, and quickly, then you are not one of us. Each of you, voluntarily, has agreed to take up a load, a weight to move down a path and to the top of a hill. The load includes the client, their problems, your partners, your staff, your reputation, the skills you have honed and a belief you will win. Inside all of it are insecurities - will I make the right objections, or worse, the wrong ones? Can I meet the burden of proof? Am I the intellectual equal of my opponent, my witness, am I being condescending, a smart ass (that may only be in my wheel barrow). Is my best, genuine self, coming through the insecurities, and is it good enough? Hell, is my hair too long, coffee on my tie? We are a fascinating sort, meant to study, always on guard, but outwardly confident. There is always a concern our opponent is trying to screw us over in some way, an insecurity burned into us by another lawyer whose name we will never forget. It is always an event that goes beyond a clever or “in bounds” tactic, and he/she knew it. We can appreciate the wounds that come with learning even though it takes time to heal. The scars come from the out-of-bounds hit that we carry for the duration and are the ones that sit next to you at the retirement party. You have all experienced it. It doesn’t matter how many years you’ve practiced or the tricks you’ve learned to manage it all, the weight is always there. I teach at the law school, and I tell the students that you must have thick skin and carry yourself with a “deliberate nonchalance.” My father loves that quote from W.C. Fields. The weight is why divorce, addiction and depression are so prevalent in our world. It is why we wake in the middle of the night or drive to the office 3 hours earlier than planned. I tell them you must have things outside our weird little world to ground you, to fill in the empty spaces - love, family, spirituality, a football team, and a good dog, usually of the Golden Retriever breed. I tell them to go to seminars, watch great lawyers exercise their craft - the lions of the bar, the superstars, and the simple mechanics who can tear you apart. I’ve tried to learn from every one I’ve been lined up against and those I haven’t yet had the privilege. I’ve learned more in defeat than ever in victory, but I can always remember a moment from every trial that made me cringe at my insufficiency and smile at the fact I can do things others can’t. Do you think a pilot ever looks around up there and says “Wow, I’m flying a plane?” We need to do that more. We are human. So much we do is fueled by courage - putting one foot in front of the other when the edge of the cliff feels a couple of steps away all in the hope we can make a difference in someone’s life or feel the rush of accomplishment.

Still, we do it because there is a love beneath it all. I don’t care if you’re jaded, exhausted, and beaten. You are one of those that loves to stand when the door opens and the bailiff calls out for all to rise. You feel the rush when the jury and judge file in the room for in that moment you feel the history of the republic, the thrill of the arena, and the weight of it all culminating in the moment, and nothing can tell you that even the low-speed rear-ender is anything less than the most important case ever tried. It is because you can do something very few can. You belong to the club.

I lost the trial. It is never easy. Opposing counsel and I shook hands and genuinely offered words only we understood. Clients always seem amazed that we shake hands with our opponents after a trial - win or lose. If a lawyer doesn’t, something enormous is missing. I think it is an act that defines our profession and serves as our mutual recognition of the weight we all must carry. Carry on.

LEGALLY WEIRD By: Lisa L. Hall

Hodges, Doughty & Carson

LITIGATION IN BEDROCK:

A (FLINT)STONE’S THROW AWAY FROM SAN FRANCISCO

In my extensive research for this column, I have explored the history of The Flintstones. I was surprised to learn that the beloved cartoon was actually already about 15 years old before I started watching it as a child. I thought the birth of Pebbles and the discovery of Bamm-Bamm had basically occurred in real time with my own childhood, but Pebbles is about nine years older than I am. If Pebbles follows a fairly traditional career track, she will be ready to retire in about seven years.

As a slightly older child visualizing my future career as a hotshot1 lawyer with regular mic-dropping2 performances in the courtroom, uncovering smoking guns, exonerating innocent defendants in the most dramatic ways, serving the interests of justice everywhere I went, I certainly did not imagine myself one day as a fully grown lawyer writing articles about The Flintstones. This is nothing short of a full circle moment, but it feels right for an article written in Rocktober, even if I will never achieve “hotshot” status.

I don’t know if you were a Flintstones fan, but I’ll bet you weren’t the biggest one. That honor has to go to retired publishing mogul Florence Fang of Hillsborough, California, a suburb outside San Francisco. Ms. Fang’s house, generally described as “bulbous,” is widely known as the “Flintstone House” and features 15-foot dinosaur statues, a Bigfoot, pigs3 , two pterodactyls, as well as life-size statues of Fred, Wilma, Barney, Betty and…Great Gazoo4 .

Perhaps all you HOA lawyers should keep these photos handy and tell your clients, “It could be worse!”

The town sued Ms. Fang in 2019, alleging a public nuisance and that she did not obtain permits for many of her improvements. She counter-sued. The case settled in April but received no publicity due to a confidentiality provision (which, in retrospect, does not appear to have been airtight).

In 1976, the house was designed by architect William Nicholson, whose plans for the Modernist structure specified spraying concrete over a structure molded from rebar, wire mesh, and giant aeronautical balloons. At the time, there was no architectural review board to enforce design standards. The Hillsborough Architecture Design and Review Board was established shortly after the Flintstone House was constructed, which was no coincidence according to one former resident who stated that the board was formed so “there would never be another home like that built in Hillsborough.” The 78-page list of design guidelines says that Modernism itself is not objectionable but “when this style is designed badly or executed poorly, the results can be dramatic” and that Modernist dwelling plans “will be subject to a higher level of scrutiny.”

Of course, the Flintstone House was there first. After Ms. Fang purchased it from the prior owner in 2017 and started installing dinosaur statues and concrete mushrooms, the town issued a permit for a retaining wall but an inspection “found other improvements outside the scope of the permit” and Ms. Fang was ordered to stop work on those things. Ms. Fang did not stop working on those things. Ms. Fang hired a lawyer who held a press conference, suggested that the city’s motive might have been discriminatory, and threatened to file a “very ferocious5 counterclaim.” Ms. Fang did indeed file a counter-claim, the ferocity of which is unknown.

Fast forward to the resolution, as many details seem to be missing (guess that confidentiality provision had some efficacy), but Ms. Fang agreed to drop her lawsuit and to apply for permits in the future, and the city agreed to approve permits submitted retroactively for the existing improvements. The town will also pay Ms. Fang $125,000, which the settlement agreement states is “solely to cover expenses incurred by Flintstone6 related to the lawsuit, and shall not be as a payment related to any claim for discrimination.” Chalk one up for the prehistoric good guys. I can just hear Ms. Fang screaming “YABBA DABBA DOO” from here! (In case you are wondering, to date, it appears that Fred has yet to win the fight regarding the cat staying out for the night, as the Fred statues are outside and there is no mention of saber-tooth tiger statutes anywhere.)

1 A past version of myself definitely aspired to be a “hotshot lawyer,” stated specifically that way. This vision included a forest green Jaguar. 2 Mic dropping as a concept existed in the 1980s, but I was not aware of this phrase until much later. So, I did not actually imagine myself dropping the microphone in the courtroom. 3 You all remember all the pigs in The Flintstones, right? 4 Yes, perhaps this was the Jump the Shark moment for The Flintstones, but this is neither the time nor place to have this debate. 5 I know he was just trying to talk a big game, but can a counter-claim actually rise to the level of being ferocious, let alone “very ferocious?” That is a tall order. 6 It is unknown whether this was a Freudian slip by the reporter or if the house (“Flintstone House, Inc.”) was also a party suing on its own behalf.