“Can my spouse and I save on legal fees by having one lawyer represent both of us for our dissolution?”                                 

NOPE. A divorce lawyer can only represent one spouse. The other spouse is self-represented. Find another lawyer if a lawyer tells you that s/he represents you and your spouse. The person represented may save a lot in terms of settlement at the expense of the unrepresented spouse.

Here’s the deal. Ethically, I can only represent one party. This ethical obligation ensures that I advise my client in a way that secures everything the person is legally entitled to or doesn’t give up something not required by law. This ethical standard is in place to protect the rights of each party involved.

It happened a lot, and when both people came in together, I immediately told the couple this. I used a welcome sheet, and since I had no information, I told them my standard practice was to represent the person feeling it out. Or we could do it the opposite way; it’s their choice.

The person who was not my client was then told I couldn’t answer any questions because I would be giving legal advice. My concern was that they would think I was hiding something, but they had choices. They could leave and get an attorney. They could stay, and I would insist, but I couldn’t make it mandatory; they consult an attorney before signing anything. This insistence on seeking independent legal advice empowers each party to make informed decisions.

The papers signed made it clear which party I represented, but I understood it; the person, not my client, had been advised to seek counsel and received no legal advice from me.

I like to write about Woodstock because, though I am not quite 17, I had the idea to go with a friend from my parents. But, as it got closer, it seemed so far away(it was), and then the thought of no one showing up, some groups didn’t go feeling it was going to be nothing, we decided not to go.

So my friend and I were not part of the 400-500 thousand, which showed up in August of 1969 and listened to about 30 performers. Thinking about the size of the crowd, looking back, I’m glad I didn’t go.

I write something reasonably long and put it on social media: this time, a short version because, after all these years, I just found out something new. For years, I told people that my friend Mike and I had permission from our parents to do so. I wasn’t quite 17, and Mile would Mike was a few months younger than me.

A few weeks ago, Mike’s wife, Bonnie, told me she’d be surprised if his parents would have agreed. I knew his parents well because the two of us were together all the time. Mike’s parents were great people.

On the other hand, Bonnie would know them better than I ever did. We still could have pulled it off. Mike and I could have covered a few days gone during the summer through the usual teenage maneuvers. I can’t ask Mike. He’s gone now, way too young.

It has me wondering if Bonnie is right, and she may be, what the heck were my parents thinking?

I use stories like this to demonstrate a point. Another attorney and I battled it out in court for almost three hours one day. It was a case that had to be heard by the court. What I liked was that the other attorney was like me. We were throwbacks to a time when cases were tried in court, when necessary, not settled or continued. The Magistrate did a good job of ruling on objections. I believed I knew the outcome, but that’s up to the Magistrate, not me. At this point, it’s not important.

Sometimes, I hear people complain that attorneys have some buddy system. Are we friends outside of court? Yes, some are. Do we do what we can against each other in court? Yes, we do. I point this out only because clients see their attorney talking to the other attorney, and at times, the conversation appears friendly. I remember That part of it ends when we walk into the courtroom.

I use the analogy of boxing. For 12 rounds, two guys pound on each other and then embrace (attorneys don’t do the last part). It ends; we go our separate ways and can be friendly toward each other again until the next time we meet in court.

Folks, please believe there is no collusion regarding your case. Most of our business is by word of mouth, which requires us not to cut secret deals but to fight for the rights of the people we represent.

As a side note, I remember getting ready to leave for a hearing and telling my wife, the attorney on the other side. Regarding attorneys, he was the only one I considered a friend. When my wife asked about going to court against him, I made a comment that shocked her but assured her he would do the same. Looking back, it did have a nasty tone to it.

It sounded to her like we hated each other. I assured her that it would seem like this while in the courtroom, but when it was over, it would be forgotten, and we’d move on. After the hearing, we talked about the hearing on the phone. It was almost like a critique of each other—some joking with neither conceding our points. Only the judge could decide which was right, or more right.

On this day in 1876, Jack McCall murdered Wild Bill Hickok in Deadwood, South Dakota. The so-called ‘dead man’s hand” Hickok was holding isn’t entirely known. Two black aces and two black eights are accepted. The fifth card, if even dealt, is not.

First, something about Hickok: he was a folk hero known for his life on the frontier as a soldier, scout, lawman, cattle rustler, gunslinger, gambler, showman, and actor, and for his involvement in gunfights. Some fictionalized, some not. He was, though, a legend during his life.

Back to the fateful hand dealt him. Even the black aces and eights have been called into question by a man claiming to have retrieved the cards. The man gave the cards to his son, who told another person the cards were the ace of diamonds, the ace of clubs, the two black eights, clubs and spades, and the queen of hearts. But there was no evidence to support the claim.

Hickok’s biographer, Joseph Rosa, wrote about the hand in which the fifth card was the queen of clubs, along with the black aces and eights. The two pairs, black aces and eights, became known as the dead man’s hand, but they weren’t associated with Hickok until 50 years after his murder in yet another book.

The fifth card is open to speculation. The nine and jack of diamonds come up often. The fifth card has been described as a bullet to the brain from behind because, for Hickok, it was.

The story of Wild Bill has fascinated me since I was a child. I watched the television show in the 1950s featuring him and his fictional sidekick, Jingles, played by Guy Madison and Andy Devine]. I had the lockbox from the show and a fringe coat like the one Jingles wore. My parents got me the Wild Bill outfit, including two six-guns and a holster. That is another story in itself.

Later, I followed the path of Wild Bill from Illinois to South Dakota, where he died at 39 years of age in Saloon No. 10, and read up on the trial of Jack McCall. McCall was found not guilty but tried a second time; the defense of double jeopardy failed on technical grounds. From trial and appeal, McCall was hanged in just under three months. That is speedy justice and interesting to read about.

I played some poker at Saloon No. 10 and won a small amount of money playing blackjack, but it was enough to get my photo taken with the lovely lady dealing cards. I still have the photo somewhere.

Usually, on Facebook, I post a memory from this date; it is from something I put on. This one was by another person, and thinking about it made me smile.

Many years ago, things were different. For a few years, it was the old proverbial cats and dogs relationship. It wasn’t always pretty, and details aren’t necessary, but to use a trite phrase I hate in the past tense, “It was what it was.”

It brings something up for later. My wife became aware that certain kids, boys mostly, seemed to get in tussles with others. I remember she asked me various times why, and not being a sociologist, I gave the only answer that made sense to me.

“We’re from a small town, there was really nothing else to do.” We drank some, but I didn’t add that since I figured she knew it. Words to that effect, which she challenged because it made no sense.

Fast-forward 40-45 years. We attended an off-year class reunion. Tom was there. I have a photo of the two of us from that night. It had been since we were in school I’d seen him. While the relationship had been chilly at one time, it was, after all, years ago. I decided to chat with him.

I’m glad I did. We talked about our lives, some from when we were kids to the present. Like most of us, he joined the military, married, had kids, played pool quite well, sang karaoke, loved his family, and was battling a medical problem.

I spoke with others but seemed to gravitate to him for more conversation, maybe because of how things once were and how we followed different paths but ended up with much in common. One thing we didn’t have in common was getting swats in school. We all got them, and girls were not exempt. But, one year, Tom got 199. He kept track because he was in a race with another kid, and his goal was 200.

The discerning reader will note the date he wrote, July 29, 2014. He was acknowledging a birthday greeting from me and had a question. Less than a year later, on April 12, Tom died. Looking back, I’m glad we had that evening together.

Incidentally, as my wife listened and joined in, she asked him the same question she had asked me about this fascination some seemed to have with pursuing pugilism, though not in those words. Tom thought momentarily, then said, “There wasn’t anything else to do.” I laugh now; it was vindication.

Rest In Peace, Tom.