Patrick Berry, The Levison Group
A few weeks ago, I received a call from my wife, Laura, on her morning commute to work. She sounded harried and upset. She exclaimed that the police were coming and that someone was screaming at her. She was in trouble. My heart sank. I immediately assumed the worst. Was someone seriously hurt? Was she being arrested?
I told her to take a deep breath and tell me what happened. I braced myself. Laura regained her composure, paused for a moment (seemingly, an eternity) and then timidly explained: Her car had “lightly tapped” another vehicle’s bumper and the two were parked on the side of the road, awaiting the arrival of the police. Neither driver was injured, nor was there any visible damage to either vehicle. Really!? A fender bender (without the fender bending)?! A bit annoyed by the unnecessarily suspenseful build up, I exhaled an audible sigh of relief.
Despite my joy that there was apparently no injury — to person or property — the other driver did not share my sentiments. She began yelling at my wife, accusing her of causing the accident and demanding that she call the police. She even went as far as to insinuate that our dog — an impossibly cute English bulldog named Lily who was sleeping in the passenger seat — must have distracted Laura, thus causing the accident. (By the way, I have referred to our bulldog as impossibly cute, because referring to Lily as “bulldog ugly” would not sit well with Laura.) Anyway, I knew this dog argument didn’t hold water: Lily, true to her breed, is about as lazy as any dog I’ve ever met. If the car is moving and Lily’s breathing, she’s in the back seat sleeping, typically snoring loudly. (Lily is three years old now, and we’ve become accustomed to her thunderous snoring, so I knew that wasn’t a source of distraction.)
I told Laura to get back in her car and wait for the police to come. Lily promptly went back to sleep and resumed her snoring. When the police arrived, the officer surveyed the scene. He told Laura that there was no damage to either vehicle, so he saw no reason to write her a ticket. However, he explained, if the other driver insisted that Laura be punished, he would feel obligated to issue the citation. He went and spoke to the other driver for a few minutes. He quickly returned to deliver the ticket.
Staring at 300 bucks, three points on her license, and insurance ramifications, Laura was fuming. Amazingly, this was the first traffic ticket she’d ever received, and she vehemently believed it was unjustly issued. She immediately vowed to fight. I told her we’d discuss it that night, hoping that, upon reflection, she would decide the ticket wasn’t worth disputing and that she would elect to pay the fine. Boy, was I wrong.
When Laura got home that night, she was indignant. Under no circumstances would she pay the fine or take the points! She quickly concluded that it didn’t make sense to hire a lawyer to fight a $300 citation, but then she had an epiphany: “Hey! You’re a lawyer! You can help me fight this.” Okay, that thought had previously flitted across my mind and quickly evaporated. After all, I’m an attorney, but a corporate transactional lawyer. I have no experience fighting traffic tickets, and as far as practical experience goes, I’m not even a particularly good driver.
However, because she was so upset (and because I fully subscribe to the notion that “a happy wife is a happy life”), I knew I needed to help — not as her lawyer, but as her husband. I didn’t know of any revered treatises that would be helpful here — apparently there’s no traffic law analog to Professor Chemerinsky’s seminal work in “Constitutional Law: Principles and Policies” — so I consulted the next best resource: Google. It turns out there is a plethora of advice for fighting traffic tickets on the internet, a sliver of which might actually even be good advice. Based upon my initial research, I determined that if Laura went to court and disputed the charge, we could potentially get the ticket reduced to two points, and possibly even one point if we got extremely lucky. So, our team got to work.
As my (real, paying) clients know, once I assume responsibility for a matter, I dedicate myself fully to the cause. Naturally, I treated my wife no differently. I spent hours researching the matter. I read through personal accounts of individuals who had been cited for similar incidents. I reviewed the ordinance she was alleged to have violated. I studied the police report. We even went back to the “scene of the crime” to take photographs. The older readers among you might remember the “twenty seven eight-by-ten color glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one” from Arlo Guthrie’s great trash dumping crime as described in his Sixties’ anti-war anthem “Alice’s Restaurant.” Like Guthrie’s antagonist, Officer Obie, we left no stone unturned.
Once we had our evidence in order, I began helping Laura prep for the arguments she’d make in municipal court. She’d have an opening statement, a thorough presentation of the evidence, and a persuasive closing. Yes, I know this is muni court, but we treated it like she was preparing to be peppered with questions by Posner and Easterbrook in a 7th Circuit oral argument. She practiced in front of me. I was convinced she’d prevail. I gave myself a pat on the back for a job well done.
We woke early on the morning of her hearing. I walked her to the courthouse, all the while reciting the arguments I thought would be most persuasive. I felt I had come up with truly creative arguments. However, as any good lawyer understands, it’s imperative to manage your client’s expectations, and ensure that they aren’t unrealistic about the case’s prospects. I reminded her that, according to my reliable anonymous internet sources, we should be happy with a small reduction in the fine and only two points. A reduction to one point would amount to a victory of advocacy over reason. Don’t be too hard on yourself if it doesn’t go your way, I told her. Court is a crapshoot. With those parting words, I wished her good luck as she walked into the courtroom alone, and I escaped to my real day job.
A couple hours later, my phone rang: It was Laura. The moment of truth. “How did it go?” I asked. “Well,” she said, “I decided to ditch your legal arguments, and I didn’t show the judge any of the exhibits.”
What!? I couldn’t believe it. I’d spent hours on that trial prep. “You know, I just thought your approach was a bit too formal and stuffy for municipal court. Instead, I just decided to tell the judge what happened, in my own words.” She proudly explained, “I didn’t even mention the law once!”
I was baffled. I’ve had clients ignore my advice before, but this one took my breath away. Fearing the worst, I asked for the verdict. She proudly retorted that the judge sympathized with her predicament, appreciated her candor, and decided to cut the fine by 70% and reduce the points to zero. That’s right, zero! Take that, anonymous online legal experts!
I was thoroughly impressed, if not a bit humbled. At dinner that night, Laura casually told me she would be happy to consult, for a “reasonable fee,” on my next complex corporate reorganization. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t kidding.
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