Well, I Do Have Two B.A.s

In thirty-five years of defending lawsuits, one case sticks out more than the rest. I have thought about this case a lot lately. Perhaps the “2009 Pass the Pork Bill” signed by Obama which mortgages our great great grandkids’ future reminded me of this case. Perhaps it is the all-pervasive attitude in America that leads so many to think that, because they are taking in air, the government, or their fellow citizens, owes them a living, or owes them protection against their own stupidity or poor judgment.

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I do not know which. However, The Case of the Spoiled Plaintiff got me thinking—about greed, laziness, and how a common sense jury of good, solid working folks did justice. “Robbi” was a recent college graduate and professional student, who thought the world owed her a living. Calling it quits after only ten years of college, she lived with her hard working mother in a trailer in a small town in Iowa. Her mother worked very hard as a nurse—sometimes as many as 12-14 hours a day. Robbi, on the other hand, spent her days loafing. Somehow, she just could not seem to find a job. It was not that there were no jobs to be had; it was just that, well, she was waiting for the right one to come along, and not exactly busting her buns to find one. Her mother supported them both. Mom even bought her highly educated loafer a sporty new Honda. Robbi’s typical day was occupied with watching TV, taking her dog for a walk, reading the paper and eating. Looking for work was somewhere near the bottom of her priority list. “Taking Care of Business,” was her theme song. (“Look at me I’m self employed; I love to work at nothin’ all day.”) One day Robbi pulled her fancy new Honda up to a stop sign on a busy street. Another driver (my client) struck her from behind. The impact was not hard. In fact, the proof at trial would be that the sole extent of the repair to her brand new Honda was to touch up two scratches on the rear bumper with a two-dollar bottle of touch up paint that she purchased from a local Honda dealership. That was it. Of course, she was injured so badly in the accident that she saw four doctors, amassed a total of $13,000 in medical bills for treatment to her “sore neck and back,” and needed to purchase a $7,000 six-person hot tub which she installed adjacent to her mother’s home as a “therapeutic device.” [sic] Her doctor, a friend of her mother, prescribed the device to treat Robbi’s “chronic” neck and back condition. I could not have constructed a better scenario for a defense attorney had the Court allowed me to make up the facts of the Plaintiff’s case. But, as we will see below, it got better yet. Put simply, Robbi--like so many Plaintiffs nowadays-- saw a golden opportunity to play the Judicial Lotto, try to hoodwink a jury into paying them some serious money and make a few bucks off of the most minor of accidents. Unfortunately, we see a lot of this sort of case in the American judicial system. Prior to trial, I deposed Robbi and grilled her about the accident, the facts of her case, and her alleged loss of the ability to earn income, which—by the way—she had never done. To fully appreciate the context, you must know that the court reporter was a good friend of mine with whom I had worked for years. She and her husband were hard working reporters who supported nine—yes nine—children; seven of their own and two adopted. I too had worked since the age of eight—mowing lawns, working at a store, working on a moving van, working in a brickyard and on a construction crew during my younger years. My mother told us that the best favor she and Dad did for us was “being poor.” While I never considered ourselves poor, my brother and I did fully understand the value of hard work. Nothing was ever given to us, by the government or anybody else. We, like most people I knew, earned our keep and worked for what we owned. Fast forward to Robbi. After she was sworn in, I spent a considerable amount of time covering her background, the fact that she was a professional student who had never worked a day in her life and was quite happy to have spent 10 years in college, mooching off her mother and living on college loans. After going over the facts of the accident, the improbability of any injuries and so forth, I moved to the subject of her life after the accident. What did she do to occupy her time? Well, she sat around, watched TV, read the paper, and—when she felt energetic-- dusted the house a little and walked the dog. Perhaps she would drive her car around a little, but that was it. What was her mother doing all day? Working as nurse. “Well, of course,” I asked, “you certainly cook so your mother has a nice meal when she comes home at night right?” “No,” she replied, “I don’t really cook.” I asked what they did for dinner when mom got home. She said, without blushing: “Well, when Mom gets home at night I tell her, ‘hey Mom you have been working hard tonight, why don’t we just go out to dinner?’” So, as if she were doing her mom a big favor, she agreed to just go out for dinner and save her mom the trouble of cooking. Who paid? Mother, of course. I asked Robbi whether she had any permanent impairment rating or whether any doctor had told her not to look for work. No, she replied. “Well, had you considered doing light clerical work or cashiering since you admit you have no disability rating? Certainly,” I suggested, “you could work at Casey’s gas station or Wal Mart or any number of stores in town who were hiring—just to earn some money and help support your mother who worked so hard to support you both?” Then came one of those priceless moments that causes a “Chris Mathews tingle” down the leg of any defense attorney—one of those moments which is the legal equivalent of the heavens parting and a dove descending from on high with angels singing: Q: “Robbi, why is it that you do not simply go work at a Wal Mart or a Casey’s General Store and earn some money to help your mother rather that sit around all day doing nothing?” Without looking left or right, or stopping to consider her answer even for a moment; without the slightest bit of shame, and with a look of piety, condescension, and disbelief at the sheer absurdity of my question, this 28-year-old professional college student looked at me straight faced and replied: “Well, I do have two B.A.s, after all.” For the first time in my life, I was nonplussed. The reporter stopped typing momentarily and an uncomfortable hush fell over the room. I looked at the reporter; she looked at me. Nothing else needed to be said. We all understood. The case was over. Only the decorum of a deposition proceeding and the fact that we did not want a criminal conviction on our record prevented the reporter and me from reaching across the table and strangling her then and there. Of course, I should have known how stupid my question was. Two B.A.s…I had simply forgotten that once you have that much education, you are too good for menial work and your family, and your country owe you a living. Since I did not have two B.A.s, but only one, how could I have known? I maintained my composure, concluded the deposition and walked out with the reporter. “You just won the case,” my friend told me. “I know,” I replied. I do not know whether it was the six- person hot tub bill that offended the jury or the “I do have two B.A.s” that killed her; however, the jury was out less than a half hour before finding for the defense. I did tell the Plaintiff’s attorney that if he succeeded in getting the hot tub bill into evidence at trial I would probably reach across the table and kiss him because it was going to sorely offend the jury. He did not see it that way. Perhaps it was the 4 foot by 5 foot chart I showed them in closing argument with nothing but the words “WELL, I DO HAVE TWO B.A.s” on it. Or, the fact that I told the jury, “if you buy her a $7,000 hot tub ‘therapeutic device’ which has enough room for Robbi, her mother, and her four doctors who testified at trial, then they have a bridge in Brooklyn they would like to sell you as well.” Whatever if was, the jury, God bless them, gave her nothing. The jury of hard working, tax paying commonsensical, middle class Americans from the Midwest saw the attitude of privilege and entitlement that pervaded this girl’s case and were offended by it. “Pay me because I have an education; pay me because I am a victim; pay me because you owe me a living; I am here, I am breathing—so give me what I want.” The attitude among many Americans today just sounds so eerily reminiscent of Robbi’s attitude about life. I think about her case a lot lately. There are many Robbis out there, who believe that the world, their government, their fellow citizens, or their parents, owe them something because they are alive and living in the greatest country on earth. They have no idea as to how we got this way—how we built the strongest, most powerful and wealthiest nation in the history of the world. The case reinforced my longstanding trust in the goodness and wisdom of hard working folks who do things right, play by the rules and not feel the world owes them a living. I still believe that most Americans are like the jurors who sat on this case, and pray that the Robbis of the world are still in the minority. God help us if they are not.