Chapter 17: Dudley Do Right
New to The Closer? Visit the Table of Contents to catch up on everything you’ve missed.
Perhaps you’ve been waiting since the “hook” at the end of Chapter 16 to find out who blinks first and what I’d say to Jack’s Mouthpiece. Mr. Gucci blinked first. He knew I knew he’d lost. Jack had said he wanted to “think of me as his partner.” The agreement would have made me his employee. What would you have said to an over-bearing, egomaniac attorney and to his client who had driven you all the way to Beverly Hills, only to be led into a legal ambush?
I didn’t say a word to Levine, I spoke only to Jack.
As he swung his feet off the desk, the three hundred dollar leather loafers knocked the agreement to the floor. I got up and looked down at the agreement which was laying face down on the plush carpet. Then I looked at Jack. I said, “I’m taking a cab to LAX. I’ll catch a flight back to San Diego. I made a point of looking at my twelve dollar Cassio watch and said, “We’ve only been here for fifteen minutes. I hope he doesn’t charge you for an hour.” I took a sip of Perrier and walked out.
I’d cold shouldered Levine because, at that moment, I had nothing to say to him, and little to say to Jack. The fact was, now was not the time for a conversation. The elevator took me to the first floor. It’s fortunate there were no cell phones back then. Had Jack chased after me or called me it would have ruined my dramatic exit. The lack of technology afforded me a clean getaway. Sadly, we no longer have clean getaways. Instant and constant communication dominates our lives and eats up our time. We’re held prisoner by a small device which is an ever-present and constantly annoying companion. Sometimes I long for 1979.
As I exited the building, a man with a briefcase was getting out of a cab. I hollered to the driver, “I need to go to LAX.” The cabby said, “I Just came from there. Hop in the back. We’ll be there in 35 minutes. What time’s your flight?” I said, “I’ll find out when I get there.” He asked, “Where’s your luggage?” I said, “I don’t have any, I travel light.”
Once again, I found myself heading to San Diego in the bosom of PSA. I had 55 minutes, gate to gate, to start planning my next move. If I decided to do the Tahoe Village deal, sooner or later I’d have to deal again with Mr. Gucci. But this time I wouldn't show up to a gun fight armed only with a slingshot.
I needed someone to be MY legal champion, someone who would be Mr. Gucci's perfect foil. I didn’t want a prissy Beverly Hills Barrister with a peanut farmer’s picture on his wall. I wanted a real man, a guy with his sweetheart’s picture on his desk. I needed a square-jawed defender of justice and doer of good, a champion against evil. I needed Dudley Do Right.
Other than for my divorce, I’d never hired an attorney, but I’d met one named Bill at Dart’s corporate HQ in Orange County. He was Ivy League, young, eager and wired way too tight. He made his living dwelling on small details and spoke a secret language full of Latin words that could make or break a contract. He loved to talk about the times his “magic words” had kept Dart out of trouble. Bill was about as interesting as your average mechanical engineer or CPA. Which is to say, not very.
The plane landed at San Diego’s Lindbergh Field, so named for Charles Lindbergh. Here’s a bit of trivia for you. Lindbergh's plane was manufactured in San Diego at the Ryan Airlines factory and was first tested there prior to his famous 1927 transatlantic flight. So, in reality, Lindbergh's non-stop flight, Long Island to Paris, originated in San Diego. Local officials, quick to capitalize on his fame, got him to lend his name to the airport, which was built with bond money and dedicated on August 16, 1928.
I grabbed a cab to Jack’s office to retrieve my keys from Jack’s desk, and get my car. I walked in, greeted Zoe and went into Jack’s office. I left a note on Jack’s desk which read, “Don’t ever do that again.” In five short words I’d left the door open, but established ground rules for going forward, and those rules excluded Mr. Gucci’s “employment agreement.”
As I was leaving the office Zoe said, “Larry, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Larry, this is attorney Al Pitman. Al, Larry is going to be sharing an office with Jack.” Al was wearing shorts, a t-shirt and tennis shoes. He wore a suit in court, but never in the office. Al didn’t need expensive threads to impress. He was 6 foot 3, 225, square jawed, blond, had crystal blue eyes, and was leading man handsome. He was the flesh and blood embodiment of DUDLEY DO RIGHT!
We stepped into Dudley—I mean Al’s—office. His desk, chair and bookcase were, like Al, practical, sturdy and functional. On top of a legal size metal file cabinet was a picture of—you guessed it—his fiance’. On the wall across from the bookcase were lots of pictures of Al and his jock buddies enjoying life on the beach in San Diego. In the center of those pictures was one of Al in a football uniform. He’d played full-back for a professional team in Canada (Dudley Do Right’s native land) before coming back to the states to get his law degree. I said, “Al, what do you specialize in?” He replied, “Well, I do a lot of things, but what I really like is contract law.”
Ok, I couldn't be be this lucky. There must be a God.
I told Al I was thinking about going into business with Jack. He said, “Watch yourself. He’s only been here for a couple of weeks, but there’s something about him that bothers me. I just can’t put my finger on it.” Al went on to tell me how Jack had told everyone about his wife’s death. About how he’d bragged about his real estate holdings, and about his “big deal” in Tahoe. But Al said, Jack didn't seem to have any interest in hearing anybody else’s story.
I told Al I’d first met Jack in Ensenada, shortly after his wife’s fatal plane crash and that, unknown to Jack, by chance I was at ground zero when the plane hit. I told Al that I felt sorry for Jack then, and that I still felt sorry for him now. I suggested Al think of Jack as a lost soul, a man steeped in guilt and sorrow. Jack was easily taken advantage of as evidenced by his potentially disastrous investment in Tahoe Village, and by his choice of attorneys. I told Al I thought Jack was a man reaching out for help. Even his choice of the shared office was, to me, indicative of a man needing friends.
Al just shrugged and said, “Maybe so. Time will tell.” I thanked Al for his advice, walked to the parking lot and jumped in my car. I knew I had my Dudley Do Right, but I couldn’t spring an attorney on Jack after I’d just bailed on his. I thought to myself, what does Mr. Gucci know that I don’t know? What does Al know that I don’t know? The answer was, they knew the law and I didn’t. And where did they get that knowledge? They got it from reading law books. I headed straight to the B. Dalton book store.
They had an entire section of law books. Most started out at a point I’d never be or never need. They were hard to read and full of latin words; Suo moto, Ipso Facto, Prima Facie, Inter alia, Ex parte. My head started to spin. Then I spotted a little paperback entitled, Handbook of Everyday Law. A practical Guide to Your Legal Rights and how to Protect Them. I opened the 300 page book. The first 39 pages were on contract law. It was written in simple plain English. I bought it. I took it home and read the first chapter.
The book said that, contracts are “agreements which create legal obligations and are enforceable in a court of Law.” Some of the necessary elements of a valid contract are, “The contract obligations must be voluntarily assumed.” (No coercion.) “Each party must contribute something.” (such as, a promise for a promise, or money for a deed or action.) “The parties to the agreement must have legal capacity.” (You can’t make a contract with a minor or with a mental incompetent.) “The subject of the agreement must, itself, be legal.” (The agreement cannot violate the law.)
I’m certain the agreement Mr. Gucci wanted me to sign contained ALL the essential elements of a contract and that it was, therefore, legal and binding. Well, it may be legal to jump off a cliff, but the results will likely be disastrous for the jumper. I had no intentions of jumping. A more scrupulous attorney would have urged, even required me to retain my own counsel before signing anything.
So far, my story has been about success, much of it through blind luck and without the advice of an attorney. But every lucky streak comes to an end. I’m about to make two BIG mistakes. You certainly have made mistakes yourself, and will make more in the future. I don’t want you to waste your time making the mistakes I’ve already made. In Chapter 18, I’ll reveal my blunders. I’ll make them by ignoring two old sayings; “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” and, “The path to hell is paved with good intentions.”
Chapter 18…. Coming Soon