Vermont Bar Journal, Vol. 40, No. 2 Spring 2014, Vol. 40, No. 1 | Page 32
A Lawyer’s Gratitude
all of us when we’re struggling in life, and
are criticized. You believe in yourself—you
believe in your cause. You are a trial lawyer.
I am thankful to the judge who allowed
me to treat my own expert as a hostile witness (to allow for leading questions) because the expert had developed Alzheimer’s Disease shortly before trial but had
submitted a twenty-page disclosure letter
to the defendants when he was of sounder
mind.
I’m thankful to every judge who took his
time to help me, to the judges who listened
to me and showed me respect, to those
who showed my clients respect. Any judge
can judge. All of us, in fact, do it too freely. Those who make a difference—those I
am thankful to have worked with—are the
ones who make every effort to make the
process a fair one. They listen to you. They
let you know that they understand your position. They are patient. They show you respect. They help you on your path to becoming a better attorney. They remember
how difficult it is to walk the tightrope of a
courtroom.
Ironically, the donning of a judge’s robe
uncovers the character of the person who
wears it. Whether or not his experience on
the way to judgeship has enlightened him
is far less important than where and how
and why he shines what light he has.
5. Fear and Uncertainty
You have done your best. Your client, the
Pope, could not have been more persuasive. It’s almost as if the cardinals’ testimony was overkill. Yet there you stand, watching for favorable eye contact with just one
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of the jurors (even if only the one wearing
the habit) as they march into the courtroom
to deliver the verdict … and you are trembling.
I’m not thankful for the times I trembled,
but I am thankful for the times I could resist
the shaking of my body, forcing myself to
keep in mind that I had met my obligations.
I had done my best; the rest was out of my
control—a lesson from the serenity prayer
… and from the courtroom.
A trial lawyer who is unafraid is most likely a trial lawyer who is unprepared. I never
tried a case when I wasn’t afraid. You need
to remember: when you start to sweat,
when your body shakes, when your heart
pounds, when every part of you wishes you
were somewhere else, look out—courage
has a chance to be born.
I was afraid that my discovery might be
inadequate. I was afraid that a deposition
might give away more than I got. I was
afraid when I met with insurance adjusters and/or opposing attorneys that I would
appear unprepared or unconfident. I was
afraid of the law, that I might have missed
a critical statute or case. I was afraid of voir
dire—not only that I might fail to ask the
right questions, but that I would have no
idea how to interpret the answers to the
questions I did ask. I was afraid of my opening statement, that I might overstate my
case, forget to say all that I had intended
to say or, worst of all, not convey powerfully that I believed in my client. I was afraid
that my direct examinations would leave it
for the jury to seek out what I had assumed
would be obvious to them. I was afraid that
my cross-examinations would be more fire
than light, making the witness more likable,
THE VERMONT BAR JOURNAL • SPRING 2014
and myself less. I was afraid that my closing arguments—my final opportunity to
persuade—would not reflect that I was a
lawyer to be respected and trusted, that I
believed in the justice of my client’s cause,
that there were good reasons for my belief,
and that those reasons merited the passion in my argument. I was afraid the jurors
might not feel as strongly as I did.
Fear can cripple, and I acknowledge that
it stopped me from doing things I wish I
had, but in the end its name is on every
favorable verdict I earned, and it was with
me—so often—to encourage me to prepare more. The fearful may suffer, but the
overconfident fail. I am thankful for all that
my fears forced me to do, and my fear-driven success as a trial lawyer serves as a reminder today, in life, that the best goals are
most often the most difficult, and what’s
most difficult is usually most feared. Appreciate your fear in the courtroom and in life.
It may well mean that you’ve set your goals
high, and that you’re on the right path to
reaching them.
____________________
Gareth Caldbeck, Esq., was a trial lawyer
with Caldbeck & Schweitzer, P.C., in Shelburne, Vermont, and a former president of
the Vermont Chapter of ABOTA (American Board of Trial Advocates). He currently resides in Naples, Florida. He may be
reached at [email protected].
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I’ve chosen to use the male reference only to
avoid the cumbersome he/she, etc. Everything I
say applies as well to “her.”
2
William Butler Yeats, preliminary poem, in 2
The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William
Butler Yeats (1908).
1
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