Ignoring one’s rep in court

ROBERT GARDNER

Recently, the citizens of South Dakota were shocked when their

longtime congressman Bill Janklow was convicted for causing a traffic

fatality. Observers seemed to feel that jurors would have been

overwhelmed by Janklow’s stature and let him off.

Not in that case. However, there are instances when a person’s

stature makes all the difference.

For years, attorney Melvin Belli was known as King of Torts in

recognition of his overwhelming success in the courtroom,

particularly in the field of personal injury litigation.

Headquartered in San Francisco, he tried cases around the state but

never in Orange County, until one day in the 1950s when he had a case

in my court.

Belli represented some people who were seriously injured when the

defendant’s car went across the double line and hit them head-on. It

was a pretty simple case, and the plaintiffs probably didn’t need an

attorney of Belli’s stature, but they had him.

Because the facts of the accident were indisputable, the defense

used the “phantom car” defense. According to the defendant, he was

driving safely and carefully when a car suddenly appeared and headed

right for him. Involuntarily, he swerved to avoid the oncoming car

and crossed the double line, striking the plaintiffs’ car.

Unfortunately for the defense, no one but the defendant ever saw

the other car -- thus the term “phantom car.” Ordinarily, it has

about as much chance as a criminal case’s SODDI defense -- Some Other

Dude Did It.

Belli was practically salivating at this slam dunk of a case.

After all, he was the King of Torts, and his reputation had preceded

him. However, unbeknownst to him, there were several factors working

against him.

The first was his clothing. He came down from glamorous San

Francisco to what was then a pretty sleepy and certainly conservative

Orange County. The jury might have bought his blue double-breasted

suit, but the red satin lining? That might have wowed them in San

Francisco, but it was a little over the top in a place where

acceptable courtroom attire was gray or gray.

His velvet briefcase didn’t help, either. Nor did his cowboy

boots. At that time in Orange County, only cowboys wore boots, and

they put on street shoes to go to court.

Next was his opponent, Clarence Hunt from Long Beach, one of the

better defense lawyers in the profession. Hunt was a big, rumpled,

shambling, Abe Lincoln-type, smart as hell but adept at keeping his

brilliance well disguised. Hunt was in a gray suit, and he had a

battered brown leather briefcase.

Then there was Belli’s claque. It wasn’t every day that Orange

County had an attorney of Belli’s repute trying a case in its

courtrooms. I’ll bet every young lawyer in the county crowded in to

worship at the feet of the great Belli. You could feel their

adoration ... and the jury’s resentment. Jurors don’t like lawyers

very much anyway, and a courtroom full of them was a bit much. Add to

this Belli’s flamboyant attire ... well, Belli was making all sorts

of impressions, but they weren’t necessarily favorable.

The case went off without a hitch. Belli was brilliant. Hunt was

comfortable. The jury went off to deliberate and returned almost

immediately. Belli could hardly help from smirking -- until he found

out it was a defense verdict. He stayed just long enough to make a

motion for a new trial, which I granted, then stormed out swearing

that he would never again try a jury trial in Orange County. The case

settled, and as far as I know, he kept his promise.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge.

His column runs Tuesdays.