Fictional Attorney of the Month: Gordon Bombay

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I confess that The Mighty Ducks may not be everyone's favorite film. Or even a great film. But among the genre of children's sports movies, it's hard to beat this story of a Minnesota youth hockey team.

Gordon Bombay (played by Emilio Estevez) is a hotshot attorney at Ducksworth, Saver & Gross. A recent court victory gives him a 30-1 trial record, which prompts a drunken celebration and a drunk-driving arrest. As penance (and to keep his high-powered job), he must do community service, which involves coaching a youth hockey team. The team, of course, is filled with local riff-raff, highlighted by the team's piling atop his limousine as it drives up to the first practice.

As may be expected in such a film, Bombay learns to coach and to love his team; the team learns how to play together; and all things end up well for Coach Bombay--including a perilous decision that confronts him late in the film when his law firm conflicts with his new love of coaching.

Gordon Bombay wraps up our 2013 fictional attorneys of the month. The year's list is below.

2013 Fictional Attorneys of the Month

April: Justice Strauss

May: Sir Robert Morton

June: Cliff McCormack

July: Officer Shrift

August: Marius Pontmercy

September: Tom Hagen

October: Portia

November: D-Bob

December: Gordon Bombay

Fictional Attorney of the Month: D-Bob

Photo from TIME.

Photo from TIME.

As November winds down, so, too, does college football season. Few films capture the spirit of college football like Rudy, a 1993 movie about an undersized kid in the late 1970s from a blue-collar family with a dream of playing for the Notre Dame Fighting Irish.

The film's protagonist, Rudy Ruettiger, can't get admitted to Notre Dame because his grades are poor. Instead, he attends nearby Holy Cross in an effort to earn high enough grades to merit transfer. He quickly befriends D-Bob (his full name is never revealed, but his girlfriend once calls him "Dennis"), a socially awkward tutor who helps the struggling Rudy in exchange for Rudy helping him find a date.

Near the film's end, D-Bob reveals he's been accepted to law school at the University of Miami, and he's overjoyed (see this clip) at the prospect of moving there. It turns out that a first-year law student at Miami must do relatively well, because D-Bob returns that fall to see Rudy play in his last game, arriving in a limousine with a glass of champagne.

It must have been a delightful time to attend law school, which is enough to make D-Bob the fictional attorney of the month.

Fictional Attorney of the Month: Portia

William Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice  is the tale of Antonio, the titular merchant, who lends Bassanio money to pursue Portia. Antonio lacks the money at the moment and borrows it from Shylock, who agrees to lend it only on the condition that if Antonio fails to pay on time, Shylock may collect a pound of flesh from Antonio.

Antonio fails to pay, and Shylock demands his pound of flesh. And then enters Portia, "dressed like a doctor of laws," as Shakespeare tells us (and as depicted in this nineteenth-century portrait by Henry Woods), and interprets the contract at length.

PORTIA: A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine:
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 
SHYLOCK: Most rightful judge! 
PORTIA: And you must cut this flesh from off his breast:
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 
SHYLOCK: Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare! 
PORTIA: Tarry a little; there is something else.
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
The words expressly are 'a pound of flesh':
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
One drop of Christian blood, they lands and goods
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate
Unto the state of Venice.

And even though one member of the Supreme Court has called Portia a "terrible judge," she's the Fictional Attorney of the Month.

Fictional Attorney of the Month: Tom Hagen

The Godfather is a great film. So is The Godfather Part II. And part of what makes them great are the great characters.

Tom Hagen is an Irish-German adopted son in the Corleone family. As a non-Italian, he's excluded from certain mafia-related events. But his career as an attorney makes him an invaluable asset to a notorious criminal gang.

When his credentials are questioned by another attorney in the film, he calmly explains, "I have a special practice. I handle one client." That client, of course, is Don Corleone.

Tom is a quiet character, but his presence is a valuable contrast to the hot-tempered emotions or conniving schemes of the Corleones around him. And perhaps (or so I like to think) it's because he has a slight dispassion in his role as advisor and counselor. He's allegedly based, at least in part, on University of Southern California Law School alumnus Frank DeSimone. And it's for Tom's profession as an attorney that he's the Fictional Attorney of Month.

Fictional Attorney of the Month: Marius Pontmercy

Although most think about Jean Valjean and Javert when considering Victor Hugo's Les Misérables, or even Cosette, the student and attorney Marius Pontmercy (illustrated here by Fortuné Méaulle) is not to be forgotten. 

Of course, even Javert finds him forgettable when he comments that "a lawyer can be hunted up at any time." 

But in a story driven so much by notions of justice and the good and vengance, it is (at least, in my view) a delight to see that the lawyer-liness of Marius does not get in the way of his humanity. He and Cosette rush to reconcile with Valjean when he discovers near the novel's end that Valjean has been a friend, not a foe, as his prejudice had assumed.

It's a thick work, in translation, and one that seems more popular as a musical adaptation. But Marius (inspired by the request of my former student and research assistant, Ryan Killian), is the Fictional Attorney of the Month.

Fictional Attorney of the Month: Officer Shrift

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Norton Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth is a silly and delightful book. Just over 50 years old, it recounts the exploits of a bored boy, Milo, who finds a tollbooth in his bedroom one day. The tollbooth whisks him away to a fantastic land of grammar and language and numbers, and he is aided by the watchdog Tock. He meets a host of amusing characters, including Officer Shrift. He is, appropriately enough, "the shortest policeman Milo had ever scene. He was scarcely two feet tall and almost twice as wide, and he wore a blue uniform with white belt and gloves, a peaked cap, and a very fierce expression." (You can see that the illustration by Jules Feiffer captures this image perfectly.)

But Officer Shrift styles himself a lawyer at one point, and while he may not be an attorney in the formal sense, he's close enough to serve as the Fictional Attorney of the Month. (And it offers a small separation-of-powers lesson, too.) 

"You have committed the following crimes," he continued: "having a dog with an unauthorized alarm, sowing confusion, upsetting the applecart, wreaking havoc, and mincing words."
"Now see here," growled Tock angrily.
"And illegal barking," he added, frowning at the watchdog. "It's against the law to bark without using the barking meter. Are you ready to be sentenced?"
"Only a judge can sentence you," said Milo, who remembered reading that in one of his schoolbooks.
"Good point," replied the policeman, taking off his cap and putting on a long black robe. "I am also the judge. Now would you like a long or a short sentence?"
"A short one, if you please," said Milo.
"Good," said the judge, rapping his gavel three times. "I always have trouble remembering the long ones. How about 'I am'? That’s the shortest sentence I know."
Everyone agreed that it was a very fair sentence, and the judge continued: "There will also be a small additional penalty of six million years in prison. Case closed," he pronounced, rapping his gavel again.

Fictional Attorney of the Month: Cliff McCormack

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I confess that I love the television series Veronica Mars. And while most of the revolves around sleuthing detectives and high school drama, there are nontrivial portions dedicated to law. And as Veronica Mars, the movie, has started filming this month, one of the lawyers who'll appear in the film is the Fictional Attorney of the Month.

Cliff McCormack is the public defender in Neptune, California. He comes across as a little sleazy and occasionally hedonistic, but he's always ready to zealously represent his clients. And Daran Norris is a phenomenal actor for this role. (I don't simply say that because he followed me on Twitter.) His deadpan delivery and keen sense of sarcasm make him a delight.

One choice self-deprecating quotation from the series: when described as an "ever-loving lawyer" who represented an accused murderer who confessed and sits on death row, Cliff responds, "Yes, me, his $20 an hour public defender. Dershowitz, Cochrane, and Shapiro were offering up their limbs, and he comes here for representation. I failed criminal law and I still know that can't be good. "

Fictional Attorney of the Month: Sir Robert Morton

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The Winslow Boy is a play about an incident that took place at the Osborne Naval College in 1908. A cadet was accused of theft; the family, convinced of his innocence, hired a prominent barrister to fight it; and, after a public battle, the cadet's name was cleared.

Sir Robert Morton is the fictionalized version of that barrister, Sir Edward Carson. In David Mamet's phenomenal film adaptation, released in 1999, Jeremy Norrtham plays Sir Morton. And he has all the traits of a zealous advocate, ranging from the ability to ask incisive questions to an unflappable confidence in his cause.

And if you're so inclined to take 10 minutes to watch one of the most delightful scenes of the film, highlighting Sir Morton's ​calculating and deliberate interrogation, I've embedded it below.

The Winslow Boy (1999( - Jeremy Northam,Rebecca Pidgeon

Fictional Attorney of the Month: Justice Strauss

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Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events  chronicles the plight of the Baudelaire orphans, three children who are sent from guardian to guardian and repeatedly escape the clutches of the evil Count Olaf, who will stop at nothing to steal the Baudelaire family fortune. The thirteen-book series is dark, clever, and well-written.The first stop for Baudelaires is the home of Count Olaf, a grimy prison-like house, and they find their only solace in the comfort and kindness of Olaf's neighbor, Justice Strauss. Justice Strauss is a justice on the high court and, late in the first book, The Bad Beginning, is duped by Count Olaf into performing a marriage with the eldest Baudelaire, a marriage that she believes to be theatrical.

Justice Strauss took the document in her hand and read it quickly. Then, closing her eyes, she sighed deeply and furrowed her brow, thinking hard. Klaus watched her and wondered if this were the expression Justice Strauss had on her face whenever she was serving on the High Court. "You're right," she said finally, to Count Olaf, "this marriage, unfortunately, is completely legal. Violet said 'I do,' and signed her name here on this paper. Count Olaf, you are Violet's husband, and therefore in complete control of her estate."

The plot, however, is foiled because Violet actually signed the document with her left hand, even though she is right-handed.

Finally, she smiled. "If Violet is indeed right-handed," she said carefully, "and she signed the document with her left hand, then it follows that the signature does not fulfill the requirement of the nuptial laws. The law clearly states the document must be signed in the bride's own hand. Therefore, we can conclude that this marriage is invalid. Violet, you are not a countess, and Count Olaf, you are not in control of the Baudelaire fortune." 

Our narrator assures us, "Unless you are a lawyer, it will probably strike you as odd that Count Olaf's plan was defeated by Violet signing with her left hand instead of her right. But the law is an odd thing." The latter sentence, of course, is true; but the former... well, it strikes me, a lawyer, as odd.

But thank goodness it is Justice Strauss interpreting law, for she helped Violet escape Olaf's evil clutches. 

In the twelfth book, The Penultimate Peril, we find Justice Strauss holding court, with this exchange before the Baudelaires face the judicial panel:

"Here are your blindfolds," said one of the managers, opening the door and handing the children three pieces of black cloth. . . .
"Blindfolds?" Violet asked.
"Everyone wheres blindfolds at a High Court trial," the manager replied, "except the judges, of course. Haven't you heard the expression, 'Justice is blind'?"
"Yes," Klaus said, "but I always thought it meant that justice should be fair and unprejudiced."
"The verdict of the High Court was to take the expression literally," said the manager, "so everyone except the judges must cover their eyes before the trial can begin."
"Scalia," Sunny said. She meant something like, "It doesn't seem like the literal interpretation makes any sense," but her siblings did not think it was wise to translate.

Guffaw.