A closed mind; a closed heart.

I often write about how you must know as much as possible about the Judge who will decide your fate.  It is important for your attorney to have face time with that Judge.  It is important for your attorney to have a history with that Judge.  But this knowledge doesn't just come from being pro-active and engaged in events close to the judiciary, this knowledge also comes from the school of hard knocks, the school of unfortunate results.  Lessons learned the hard way.  Losses that were unforeseen.

Some time back I tried a case as good as a case can be tried.  My trial team left no effort in the war room; everything was spent on the court room floor.  We had uncovered the opposing party's hidden bank accounts, stolen property, misappropriated business and malicious scheming of the highest order.  We had documents condemning her by her own hand.  We had testimony from those who knew her best and outed her lies in the clearest terms.  We had photographs irrefutably proving her perjury on every level.

The opposition "phoned in" their case.  They conducted no investigation.  They provided little discovery.  They made a paltry effort.  Their case consisted of the most base innuendo, mere suggestions, nothing that would constitute proof in any serious court of law.  Their accusations were easily dis-proven by hard evidence, the veracity of which even they eventually had to concede.

But the trial judge hammered us.  The judge decided the case based upon bias and bias alone.  As I was told from the bench, "These people lie.  It's what they do."  "These people," are originally from another nation.  Theirs is a nation that has a perceptibly high percentage of people who engage in fraud.  But, for example, if you knew that more people per capita from Ukraine sped than from any other nation, a judge should not find a Ukrainian guilty of speeding without some evidence of the crime committed.  "Sir, your countrymen speed, therefore you sped."  That is not allowed.  That is not good judging.  That is not American Justice.

But I learned.  This judge has a bias streak a mile wide and a fathom deep. This judge had a closed mind and a closed heart. Evidence doesn't enter into it.  Don't bring a client from a perceived discredited population before this judge and expect the evidence to control the outcome.  Now I counsel my clients who fit that bill to use another method to resolve their matter if justice is what they seek.

Lesson learned the hard way.  And as you can probably tell, I'm still not over it. I always demand Justice, America style whether the judge will give it to me or not.  And given the reality I learned in that court room, I won't let another client climb that sacrificial alter to judicial bias.

Know your judge, open mind, closed mind or indifferent mind.  It can't help but improve the outcome.

Michael Manely
http://www.allfamilylaw.com/CM/Custom/Local-Knowledge-Local-Courts.asp

Listen to your lawyer!

Of course I would write that.  I'm a lawyer.  But doesn't it make sense?

Most folks hire an attorney figuring that the attorney knows something they don't.  Lawyering, after all, is a specialized field of knowledge with intricate rules and protocol, strategy and timing, so this body of knowledge and practice is not in the public realm any more than the ability to actually split an atom is.

But every now and then somebody is certain they know better than their lawyer.  I once had a medical doctor who was quite sure he knew how to do my job better than me.  So I attended our next meeting in scrubs and told him I was going to remove his appendix.  It got my point across.  The doctor got out of my way and wound up doing quite well.

Kids fresh out of law school know more law than most litigants.  Add to that decades of seasoning and it ought to be hard to convince yourself that you could do better than the guy you've paid several thousand dollars to.  But a few folks still don't get it.

This creates an ethical conundrum for me.  I've argued for several hours with some clients about their decisions that conflict with my advice.  I tell them I see the train wreck coming.  I tell them I see their legal demise.  I show them the better alternative, a successful strategy.  But that strategy does not fit the client's emotional drive to seek and obtain retribution.  "The Judge will set her straight," they might say.  "The Judge won't set her straight.  She will win and she will laugh at you for being such a fool.  Will you feel better then?" I might say.

All lawyers face this problem from time to time.  Some clients see us as a tool for their use to aid them in their on-going quest to vanquish the opposition.  We aren't.  We are problem solvers.  We employ our craft in very creative ways sometimes but it is to accomplish a productive task, not a destructive one. (That's true for most of us, anyway.)

So the ethical conundrum is, after several hours of attempting to persuade the recalcitrant client to follow my well-paid advice, do I give up and watch the coming catastrophe?

Sometimes potential clients ask me if I have a winning track record.  "Yes," I tell them immediately, but then I follow with, "but that's a trick question."  If you can almost always accurately predict the outcome of a trial, why would you walk into Court with a losing case?  You try your winning cases.  You settle the losing ones. And in Family Law, you settle every case that you can.  Why?  Because it is far less expensive (usually that's a value to the client) and it is far less toxic and damaging to the family's relationship.

So, do I allow the train wreck?  And could I sell tickets?

I don't allow the train wreck if I can at all possibly help it.  I'll argue with a client right up until the moment that the Judge sounds for the case.

(Practice point: this is why, in Family Law, good offers should never be pulled.  A good deal remains a good deal, regardless of when the other side finally figures that out.)

So, listen to your lawyer.  You pay him enough.  And he really does have your best, long term interest at heart. Besides, train wrecks aren't just the drama of flashy explosions.  There is damage and long term pain  that you have to live with afterward. Ultimately life is more complex than Gomez Adams' model railroad.

Michael Manely
http://www.allfamilylaw.com/CM/Custom/Firm-Overview.asp

It's finally over.

So, how does it feel to finally be divorced? 

Imagine, you've suffered through years of increasing distance in your relationship, growing enmity, resulting in downright hostility, and you eventually muster the energy, the inititative to retain an attorney, to finally seek your freedom.

I just finished a tortuous divorce trial that extended over a month.  Now, I didn't try this case every day for a month, but it started a month ago and, with a bit here and a bit there, the trial concluded today.  Even more importantly, this divorce was filed by a former counsel quite some time ago and had not lingered but had been actively litigated from day one.

The opposing party in this divorce practiced Machiavellian parenting.  She was (is) out there.  She feels the children are her property and, if she could, she would keep them under lock and key, away from her husband who had the tamarity to leave her.  The opposing party's mission in life was to make my client's life as miserable as possible.  In that way, her attitude in the divorce was not terribly dissimilar to her attitude in the marriage.

She used the divorce to torture my client every step of the way, and did all that she could to keep the divorce from being final.  She couldn't let him go.  She wouldn't let him go.  She was going to keep him forever.

So we bruisingly battled through each and every possible issue that the opposing party could concoct.  No matter how easily the issue could have been settled, she wouldn't hear of it.  Everything needed to be tried.

Throughout the ordeal I had the distinct impression that this woman was hunting my client.  I can only imagine how trapped like a caged animal he felt.  My firm was the only thing standing between this possessed woman and my client's annihilation.  If she had her way, my client would have been crushed under her heal in eternity.

So, despite his worst fears that it might not ever happen, today my client got his divorce.

Now he is liberated. 

His long nightmare is finally over.  The woman who had her clutches, nails, whatever, dug into him for so many years, no longer has that hold on him. 

Tonight he is popping the champagne, just beginning to sense his independence.  His full blown knowledge of freedom will take a long time to set in.  But for tonight, the first taste is so, so sweet. 

Happy Divorce Day, buddy.

Michael Manely

In the cross hairs.

It's one of the things that I love about this practice.

Recently, at a big, drawn out trial, I had battled my opposing counsel to the point where the judge told counsel that she did not have a case, that she had tried the case so poorly that she had presented nothing for the judge to rule on.

This is a significant difference between types of family law counsel.  Some are pretty good at family law substantive issues but can't try their way out of box.  Others of us realize that if you're going to be in court three to five times a week, you better be damned good at it.

So here was opposing counsel without a case, no way of winning, totally lost, destroyed, on the ropes with her client's life flashing before her eyes.

And that's when the magic happened.  Up until that point opposing counsel and the opposing party had absolutely refused any meaningful discussion of settlement.  But, now that they were in the cross hairs, my client proposed a perfectly fair settlement.  With the judge's excellent help, the opposition finally realized they were in no position to refuse it.

And there, half way into the trial, the case settled, even when the opposing party would have been like a lamb to the slaughter. 

I was proud of my client.  He realized that being parents, being family, even post divorce, trumps victory.

We had them in the cross hairs, but he didn't pull the trigger.  He lowered and holstered his arms.

Michael Manely

Putting your pants out.

Today, after church and the traditional lunch stop with my seven year old, I spent much of the afternoon at work, catching up and preparing for the week to come.

Finally, at about 4:00, I got away and headed home.  By the time I pulled into the driveway and got out of my car to open the garage door, it hit me: this is a great day to play outside!  So, characteristically, I grabbed a rake.
__________

This week, the firm has several hearings and a few mediations, but we have one peculiar case, the kind that doesn't come around very often.  The case is peculiar for several reasons, but to my point tonight, this case is peculiar because of the depth and breadth of the lies the opposing party told the Court and must have told his attorney to have achieved the temporary result he accomplished before we were hired. The lies are bad enough that, once we got into the case, his counsel asked the Court for permission to withdraw representation and the Court demanded the Opposing Party appear in very short order to explain himself.

How does someone get into this mess? 

So often, litigants think they are smarter than the system.  That should be a big red flag for any self-aware person right there.  Probably no one is smarter than the system.  I've been in this business for over 20 years and I can attest that our system of litigation is exceptionally well designed to find the truth.  That doesn't mean that the truth is always found or that the lies are always caught, but savvy attorneys and savvy judges make mincemeat of pants-on-fire litigants every day. 

And what compounds the stupid decision to lie is that almost every time the harm from the truth is far less than the harm from the lie exposed. I often tell my clients, "The truth shall set you free," because it does. 

The justice system is a human system almost entirely comprised of humans.  We in the system often understand why the parties behave the way they do.  Our understanding is part of what greases the skids of family law.  It is a significant part of what makes divorce process endurable. 

Bottom line, if you did it, own it and own up to it.  It helps your case and it helps you.  If you don't set your pants ablaze in the first place, you never have to put them out.

Michael Manely

Old School

I was at an event for Georgia State University College of Law tonight when my chief mentor in law school, Tom Jones (yes, the Tom Jones to folks who know trial law) introduced me to some attorneys as being "Old School".  Given that Tom is pretty Old School himself, I took that as a compliment.  But it got me  thinking.

Over 20 years ago, Tom trained me in some of the greatest courtrooms in this State, the old courtrooms of Fulton Superior Court, the ones with the three story ceilings.  In that hallowed space, Tom got me ready for my State Championships in 1988 and 1989.  In my years since, I've had the immense pleasure of practicing in some of these grand courtrooms, in Fulton County, the old courthouse in Cherokee County, the immense space of Carroll County's Courtroom, and even the fantastic space of the old Bartow County Superior Court Courtroom.  The theater of those old spaces calls up the excellence in every trial lawyer.  You have to be great in such great space.  Every trial attorney ought to cut their teeth in space like that.  I think that's what Tom meant by "Old School," bringing it home, Clarence Darrow style.   

And if I'm right about what Tom meant, then I guess I am "Old School."  I love the Courtroom.  I love the theater of the Courtroom, the drama, the art, staying on your toes and several steps ahead of the opposition, crafting the perfect cross to force the witnesses to finally break down in a tearful, "Yes, it's true!"

And there's the rub.  As I wrote last night, family law, divorce, etc., is not done well when it is about drama, when it is about vanquishing the opposition.  It's best done out of the Courtroom whenever possible.  Yet I love the Courtroom.

But the bottom line is, my cases are always my client's cases.  It's not my opportunity to play.  It's my opportunity to help.  And may I never loose sight of that. 

As I tell folks though, sometimes, after trying with all my might to help the other side see the merit in mutually arriving at justice, they still won't.  The opposition still wants to fight nasty.  Well, I can handle that too.  And I can handle it then with a clear conscience, Clarence Darrow style. 

Attorneys are very focused on professionalism, rightfully so.  And I think that's what professionalism is somewhat about: working out the problems whenever you can; and when you can't, bring on the big guns.  I think that might be "Old School." 

Thank you, Tom.