Each November 3, I post a picture of my dad and write something long about him. It’s usually a story about growing up as a youngster or certain values he instilled in me. I was going to write something new I learned not long ago, but that can wait until another time.

Not this year. Just three photos, the non-color ones in 1952, the year I was born. Today, I mark my dad’s 104th birthday. I got him a gift for his birthday, the first in more than twenty years. My dad had two requests of me before he died.

The first was a military funeral. Typically, it would be handled locally, but I got a regular U.S. Army burial detail from Kentucky. The playing of Taps always overcomes me with emotion. Only a few things do. I remember my dad telling me the words when I was a kid.

The second was a bronze military marker recognizing his service in the Army Air Force in WWII. It took me over 21 years to complete it—such a simple request and easy to do. The delay is on me alone. But the plaque was affixed to his stone three days ago. My last earthly duty is now fulfilled, bringing closure and completion to his journey.

There are times I think about him more than other times: his birthday, certain holidays, the date of his death. Sometimes, out of the blue, I’ll think of him. The love between a father and his son is unique. A son gets guidance, support, and a silent understanding. It evolves.

It differs from what one shares with a mom, which is more nurturing, protective, and emotional. My dad was a stoic teacher. He taught me how to ride a bike, pitch, defend myself, persevere, and prepare for life outside the home—quiet pride by him and unspoken gratitude by me. The fruits of his labor will never be known to him because my odyssey continues.

What I know is his love for me continued until he drew his last breath. Mine for him will continue until I draw mine.

I was saddened to learn of the passing of a former client a few days ago. I had the opportunity to get to know her both personally and professionally. Over the years, I would call upon her professionally, and she would silently provide needed assistance for people as much as I would like to go into it because it could reveal her identity. She leaves behind two children, and while they may be okay with what I’m about to write for their privacy, I’m going to conceal her identity, as well as the identity of others.

My first professional involvement would come 33 years ago. For this, my client shall be known as Mary. The opposing party shall be referred to as John. For this, the children need not be named. The other attorney will be opposing counsel (OC). My daughter, Krystal, took the photo accompanying this was taken around the time of the trial.

Let me take you back to a case that I remember vividly. It’s the case of Mary and John. This was not just another case; it was unusual, more than it needed to be.

The outcome is that Mary won; the unusual part is how we got there. John had a very good attorney. Before going on, I have to give kudos to OC. Although the final outcome would have remained the same, some attorneys would have fought a losing battle to fight, either out of pride or to run up fees. Over the years, I had many cases and trials with OC, including what I consider one of my best. OC was tough, always prepared, and at all times professional.

The trial itself was nasty. There was no love lost between Mary and John. Cross-examination was brutal. At the end of the trial, we did our closing arguments, which was always my favorite part, and the case was then submitted to the judge for a decision. This judge would sometimes review his notes while the attorneys and parties sat and then issue a verbal decision with reasons for it.

Or, the judge would go back to chambers to consider it. If it was clear the judge was going to rule, we could hang around the courthouse to be summoned back in to listen to the decision. The other option would be to return to the office and wait for a phone call. If the judge was going to write the decision, we could leave and wait, whether it was a few days or weeks.

There is a third option, one I don’t think most attorneys like, even though an attorney can request it. The judge took the third option, asking attorneys to prepare Findings of Fact and Conclusions of Law. We had seven days to do it.

If you’ve not been through this, let me explain what Findings and Conclusions are. I put together the facts the court should use to make a decision based on the testimony and exhibits, then do the conclusions the court should make based on those findings. Those conclusions would serve as the final order.

I put the best spin on the facts I could for my client, concluding we should win. The OC does the same thing on behalf of his client. It doesn’t mean you ignore the bad aspects of the case. You have to deal with those because you know the OC will bang you over the head with those. There’s a little more to it, but that’s what is meant by Findings of Fact and Conclusions of Law. Arguments in court can be over the timing of the filing by each party.

It may seem like a silly exercise. It makes the judge’s work easier, sometimes too easy. Often, a judge will pick and choose facts from each side, likely after the judge decides. Sometimes, the judge will use what is provided, writing his Findings and Conclusions, putting aside the summary attorneys invariably do. It is nothing more than making the closing statement again, this time in writing. I’m sure judges read that portion. It’s our way of highlighting what should be evident in the first two sections.

So, the judge writes, does some copying and pasting, and issues the final decision. Here’s the rub for the Mary and John case, and it’s the only time I ever had it happen in all the years I did this.

I knew we had a strong case, so as I was reading the Findings and Conclusions of the judge, I was reading the facts to be found as I wrote in my submission. It was a good sign because it meant we won. But when I got to the second section, we lost everything. My first call was to Mary to explain it to her, but there was no logical explanation.

The judge found she was the best parent and John was a lousy parent; then concluded that John would have custody, and Mary would pay child support. My next call was to the other attorney. OC had read it. I let OC know he would lose on appeal, but I would file first for a new trial. However, we should have a conference with the judge first, and I was calling the court immediately. OC agreed we would win on appeal, and there was no doubt the court would grant a new trial, but agreed we should have a conference with the court.

Some attorneys on the other side would have balked at everything, laughed, and told me to do what I felt I had to do. However, OC had a strong sense of professionalism. I’d like to believe I would have done the same, but at that stage of my career, every case was one to destroy, annihilate, and win at all costs. The attitude didn’t change, but I did get to a point where experience and plain common sense came into play.

We had our conference. I took the lead since I called for it to tell the judge he screwed up without saying it that way, except as a last resort. I had a theory of what probably happened, and it turned out to be correct. Our original drafts of the Findings and Conclusions still existed as part of the record. The judge rewrote part of mine, but my revised Findings had OC’s Conclusions attached when his administrative assistant put the final together. The judge fixed it. Mary still had custody of the children.

As I said, Mary was a good, kind woman. She had two good children; as I write this, both are around 40 years old or older. My hope is they’re doing well and coping with the recent loss of their mom.

Eighty-six years ago, Orson Welles broadcast the now-famous War of the Worlds (YouTube linked below). Is there a legal issue here?

It must be since I have it on this page. Yes, but it’s a minor one. Note, though, that the weird part is that the show was publicized before it aired. It shows that people’s gullibility has stayed the same. There was a similar episode on television in 1984.

Welles was a mere 23 when he made the broadcast. A notice was placed in the newspaper telling of the fictional invasion by Martians on our planet. Three times, once at the beginning of the program and twice toward the end, it was announced the story was nothing but fiction (note above)

There were headlines about panic and terror following, but there wasn’t much of either. It was a small audience. The show was up against the ventriloquist Edgar Bergen, and several affiliate stations ran local programming. You get bonus points if you know the name of Edgar’s dummy. Plus, I’ll know you’ve read this far.

There were lawsuits, none of which would likely have been successful, although I’ve read CBS did settle cases. For example, one listener sued CBS for $50,000, claiming it caused her “nervous shock,” but the lawsuit was dismissed. On the other hand, I’ve more than once thought a man’s claim was successful for a pair of shoes. The man claimed he had spent the money he had saved to buy shoes on a train ticket to escape the Martians. Reportedly, Welles paid for the man’s shoes.

The title of this is misleading. The broadcast did happen, and although there were lawsuits, not much came of it. Most were dismissed or thrown out of court.

For Welles, though, people started listening to his show. Still, his biggest triumph came three years later when he directed Citizen Kane, winning an Academy Award for Best Writing, Original Screenplay. The movie had other nominations, but none succeeded. Citizen Kane lost money, but some say it is the best film ever made.

Listen tonight and on YouTube to hear the show that “terrorized” America.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OzC3Fg_rRJM&t=17s

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LinkedIn invited me to write about my thoughts on mediation to settle conflict resolution. I picked the section on establishing rapport and trust. What I wrote isn’t important, even though it’s attached here. People like pictures, even if the images are more written. After starting, I found the exercise was limited to 750 characters.

In school, maybe around seventh grade, we sometimes wrote. As homework, an assignment would be a 500-word essay. Classmates would moan and groan about the length.

My first was as punishment assigned by the principal in seventh grade. On the first day of school, getting off the bus, another boy and I had a slight disagreement, witnessed by the principal, Mr. Walter K. Legg, a reasonable man, from his third-floor window. Expecting swats, he assigned us to write 500 words on the evils of settling disputes in a manner other than rational discussion. As I write this, I realize Mr. Legg was expecting my project for LinkedIn. We not only had to write it, it had to be signed by our parents and turned in the following day.

I took a piece of notebook paper and the whole 500 words on one 8 1/2 x 11-inch sheet and gave it to my parents for signatures. My dad squinted to read it without comment. I wasn’t sure of his reaction when I handed it to the principal. Maybe swats, after all. It was an act of defiance, after all. But, nothing. He read it and sent me on my way with some words I can’t remember but to admonish me.

As a side note, I learned nothing except that principals can be unpredictable. He was sent to seventh grade that year for a reason. The seventh-grade class was incorrigible the year before, and he was there to fix it. We would have him in again in high school. He was strict but fair. I respected him, not something I can say about other principals I had over the years.

As I grew older, the writing assignments grew longer. They were usually a certain number of pages, sometimes typed. Then came college and law school—always longer. Then came the practice of law and briefs, but now with a limitation on length. I had to cut words to keep it to twenty pages. I wouldn’t say I liked it when we were limited to only ten pages. But each challenge, each limitation, was a step in my personal growth as a writer.

And now I’m limited to 750 characters. This whole thing is 2736 characters, 497 words, and what have I really said? Essentially nothing. This is only slightly less than what Mr. Legg wanted in seventh grade. I would have preferred swats rather than to write 500 words for him. Today, it’s easy and doesn’t have to be signed by my parents.

Anyway, the whole point is how things have changed for me. I don’t expect anyone to find this as fascinating as I do.