Posted on Fri, Feb. 06, 2004
Joining the rush for reparations
JAMES OTTAVIO CASTAGNERA
Guest Columnist
'You can go right in. He's expecting you," Archie McAdoo's secretary said.
I found my long-time lawyer staring intently at his computer screen, and had to clear my throat twice before he noticed that his nine o'clock client had arrived.
"What's so important, Arch?" I asked.
"I've found my Holy Grail," Archie answered, his eyes ablaze as only two things '”- idealism and greed '”- could fire them. He handed me a page from the printer. A draft of a newspaper ad:
"Archibald Edwin McAdoo III '” Reparations Lawyer," read the header. My mouth dropped in amazement. "What the heck is this?" I inquired incredulously.
"This," Archie intoned, his wild eyes flashing disapproval at my apparent skepticism, "is the next big thing in lawsuits. Look, I missed the asbestos bonanza and the multibillion-buck tobacco settlement. I could have had myself a piece of the Dalkon Shield class actions, but let them pass me by. Not this time, JC. This time I'm getting in on the ground floor."
"I assume you're referring to the suits being brought on behalf of African-Americans against companies that allegedly profited from slavery 200 years ago," I pressed, my cynicism undiminished. "Didn't a federal judge out in Illinois just dismiss one of those cases?"
"True," he conceded. "But, hey, hundreds of tobacco lawsuits were tossed out of the courthouses before the plaintiffs' lawyers learned how to win them. Besides, I see no reason to limit reparations cases to the descendants of slaves.
"Look here," he continued. "If slave labor deserves compensation, why not the children of immigrants whose ancestors were exploited in sweatshops? The descendants of coal miners who died young and poor from black lung disease? And then there's'¦"
"There's almost everybody," I interrupted. "Who couldn't claim an ancestor like that?"
McAdoo sat back in his chair, a smug smile spreading across his face. "Now you've got it," he said. " Every major corporation in America is a potential defendant. The sky's the limit!"
I picked up Black's Law Dictionary from the corner of Archie's desk. "Reparation'¦ redress for a wrong done." Jeez, I thought, could my fat friend be right? "B'¦b'¦but, the descendants of slaves and immigrants and other exploited workers '¦ the wrong wasn't done to them," I protested.
"Since when has a mere technicality like that gotten in the way of a good, juicy lawsuit in this country?" he asked rhetorically. "If your objection had any merit, JC, punitive damages would have been outlawed ages ago. Far from it. Remember the old lady who got scorched when she was dumb enough to put a hot cup of McDonald's coffee between her legs as she drove from the pick-up window? The jury awarded her millions in damages that had nothing to do with her actual injuries. And she's just the tip of the iceberg. A lot of potential jurors hate big business. They know who's sending their high-paying manufacturing jobs to China and Vietnam and their high-paying computer-programmer jobs to India. They know why their best chance of a new job is as a Wal-Mart 'sales associate.' And they don't know what to do about it."
I wasn't ready to concede. "What about the judges, like the federal district judge in Illinois, who ruled this week that the African-American reparations suit was without merit?"
McAdoo, unflustered, replied: "I've got that covered. 'Reparations Law' is a forum-shopper's dream. Potential plaintiffs live in every state of the union. The target companies do business everywhere. Believe me, pal, somewhere out there," he spread his arms expansively, "are judges ready, willing and able to swallow this legal theory hook, line and sinker."
I could see there was no stopping him. "So where do you propose to find your first plaintiff?" Archie raised his eyebrows and eyeballed me dramatically. "Your dad died of miner's asthma, didn't he?"
"Oh, no," I nearly shouted, leaping to my feet. "I only came in today to go over my will." I headed for the door, hoping vaguely he wouldn't bill me for the wasted visit.
"All right," he called out behind me. "But if you change your mind, I'm giving current client's a special deal. I'm only taking a 25-percent contingency fee." I brushed by his secretary without even a goodbye nod.
"Sleep on it," his voice followed me out to my car. "You could be my test case."
No comments:
Post a Comment