As my presidency finally begins to wind down, I have realized that most of my prior presidential letters have had discussed serious topics and issues that we face as attorneys. So, as a change of pace, and while it may have no intrinsic value, I thought I would look back to some of the lighter moments in my 40 years of practice. Courtroom humor is often the funniest because it is unscripted and unexpected.
For example, I am aware of a trial in South Carolina that had funny and unanticipated results. A plaintiff had filed suit because he had swallowed a bug while drinking a soft drink. The insect had somehow found its way inside the soda can during the manufacturing process. At trial, the plaintiff testified that ingesting the insect had made him violently ill. In rebuttal, the defense attorney called an entomologist (PhD bug expert) from Clemson who testified that swallowing a bug would not cause a person harm. On cross-examination, the plaintiff’s attorney inquired about the basis for this opinion. The good doctor stated, “I knew you were going to ask me that,” and with that proclamation, unveiled a glass jar of various insects from inside his coat pocket. Without hesitation, he unscrewed the jar lid, raised the jar to his mouth, and began to crunch and swallow the bugs. Observing this, the plaintiff immediately vomited on the table. The case settled during the recess.
Years ago, when I was still handling criminal defense matters, I was asked to defend a man charged with indecent exposure. The state’s key witness was an older, not-well educated maid at a local hotel. When the district attorney asked her to subscribe what she had seen, she said that she was too embarrassed to describe the body part she saw. The DA offered her encouragement by saying, “Ma’am, we are all adults here. Just tell the Court what you saw.” Reluctantly, the witness responded, “That’s when I seen his subpoena.”
Our firm had filed a civil matter in Union County, but it really should have been filed in Brunswick County. I knew that we were going to lose the motion for change of venue, but I thought it would be good experience for one of our young associates to argue the motion. So, I invited him to accompany me to court. I sat silently while my associate made futile arguments before Judge David Lee to leave the trial in Union County. Before ruling against us, Judge Lee turned to me and asked, “Mr. DeVore, what do you think about this motion?” I replied, “I think it should remain in Union County under Rule 2(b).” “2(b)?” Judge Lee questioned. “Yes, 2(b) closer to my office.” Whereupon Judge Lee entered the order transferring the case to Brunswick County.
Fresh out of Wake Forest Law School, I was hired as an “expert” to testify about the validity of a deed in a hotly contested divorce action. The late, lovable but irascible Nelson Casstevens was the opposing attorney. It was my first time actually appearing in court, and I was very anxious about Nelson’s potentially searing cross-examination on my qualifications to testify as an expert. My attorney went through the standard qualifications of my education before tendering me as an expert witness. My witness-stand fear escalated as I watched Nelson, who also attended Wake Forest decades earlier, furiously scribble on a notepad. As soon as the attorney said, “Your Honor, I tender Mr. DeVore as an expert in real estate,” Nelson jumped to his feet and said, “What did you just say?” The lawyer said, “I tender Mr. DeVore as an expert in real estate.” To which Nelson turned to the judge and said, “Your Honor, if Mr. DeVore attended Wake Forest Law School, I would stipulate that he is an expert in all areas of the law,” and sat down.
In 1993, I was one of six attorneys representing three defendants in a murder trial. Our judge, who will remained unnamed, was late for court. The bailiff informed us that the judge had received a speeding ticket on the way to court and was running behind schedule. At my suggestion, each of us pulled out a business card and wrote down the price we would charge to represent the judge on his infraction. I fanned out the cards on the bench in front of his chair. A few minutes later, the judge rushed onto the bench, and with his robe flowing, took his position of honor and opened court. It took him several minutes to realize why there were six business cards arranged in front of him with prices on them - but we could tell by the sudden glaring stare the moment he figured it out.
At one time I represented a newly built apartment complex that had lots of construction defects. The contracting company was a large, international, construction firm. I had requested to depose the foreman for the job. The defendant was represented by a prestigious law firm out of D.C., and they sent several lawyers to the deposition, which was expected to last a couple days. I began the deposition by asking the foreman about his work experience and he explained that he had just completed building a "clean room" for NASA. "Very impressive," I thought to myself.
"Have you ever built anything out of wood with shingles on it?", I asked.
"No," he replied.
"Are you a licensed general contractor?" Again, "No."
"Do you have a copy of the North Carolina Building Code?" Still again, the answer was no.
Changing course, I asked him how often did he talk to the subcontractors during the project? "Not that often," he said. I inquired, "Do you remember anything you would have told them?" - and he said, "I do remember telling them to quit drinking on the job." To which I responded, "No further questions." The deposition lasted about five minutes.
Lastly, I am aware that an attorney once asked his expert pathologist this question, "Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?" To which the doctor answered, "All of them. The live ones put up too much of a fight."
Apologetically,
Fred