Tips on Technology

A Holiday Poem with a Message for the Whole Year Through

by Richard K. Herrmann, Esquire

It is just before dawn
And I have nothing to say,
But I know I must fill
A page in IN RE:.
This week was quite quiet
An unusual calm,
Like before a large storm
Or an unforeseen bomb.

As I glanced out my window,
My eye caught the glare
Of the last oil slick
On the Great Delaware.
It then came together,
I realized the solution:
I shall write about
A new kind of pollution.

’Twas the week before Christmas
And all through the State,
Each deadline was checked
To see none was late.
The Holiday spirit
Was now settling in,
Like mist from a landfill
Where pollution had been.

Office parties were scheduled,
With hopes to deter
More sittings with counsel
To meet and confer.
The Judges were smiling
And not lowering axes,
Because of the break in
The week’s motion practice.

For the lawyers are kinder
To each other this week,
In the relief that is sought
Or the sanctions they seek.

I stopped for a moment
And put down my pen,
To gaze outside
Of my window again.
When a small speck of dust
Or grit, I surmise,
Flew right through the window
Into one of my eyes.

Let me tell you it hurt
As the tears ran amuck.
It was nature’s own way
Of cleansing my duct.
I pulled out a tissue
And wiped my face dry,
Then I blinked once or twice
To clear the old eye.

Now I’m not a young kid,
And thank God, I don’t drink.
My mind is all there
And my health’s in the pink.
I preface all this
‘Cause you just won’t believe
Who was standing before me
On this Christmas Eve.

No. He wasn’t a Santa
Or a Dickens’ book Scrooge.
But he wasn’t quite human,
In fact he was huge.
Let me try to describe him
So you won’t think me daft.
Now please hold your judgment
And try not to laugh.

He stood fourteen feet tall;
His hair was all gray.
He looked about seventy-
Two, I would say.
His shoes were well polished,
He was robed all in black.
It was all I could do
To keep my mind on the track.

To each there’s an image
In his own mind’s eye,
Of the perfect jurist
Way up in the sky.
This God-like Cardozo
Had a beard which was grand
And he stood right before me
With gavel in hand.

His presence was awesome
With brilliance abound,
I could tell he was angry
Without hearing a sound.
But the silence was broken
As he spoke his first word,
With a projection so perfect
Each letter was heard.

“I’m distressed,” he began
As he looked down on me,
“That the profession is lacking
What it used to be.”
“There once was a time
When all lawyers, I’d say,
Would respect one another
In a professional way.”

“They would sharpen their skills
Of oration so fine,
That the art of deposing
Was truly sublime.
And briefs were well crafted
So that they made sense,
Each sentence complete
And in proper tense.”

“And that was the time
Before fax was seen,
And electronic mail
Was only a dream.
Yes, there once was time,
And this is a true fact,
When each lawyer would have
A chance to react.”

His voice became gentler,
As he continued with me.
Now he sat in the chair,
A full seven foot three.
“You all have forgotten
The real reason you’re here.
It’s not just to make money
In a new fiscal year.”

“You are part of a System
Of jurisprudence so fine
That the way it’s now practiced
Is truly a crime.
There are THREE obligations
That you cannot forget.
And the case is not over
Until each one is met.”

“Whatever the facts
The TRUTH must prevail.
If you win without TRUTH,
Then justice will fail.
So please keep in mind
As you maintain your fight,
That a falsely won victory
Just isn’t right.”

“Now armed with the Truth
You can do a great deal.
And you must represent
Your client with great ZEAL.
For unless you are Zealous
The Trust won’t be heard,
And your client’s position
Will be lost among words.”

“A Zealous proponent
With Trust at his side
Must use the Truth FAIRLY
For the Court to abide.
Unless you are FAIR
In your offer of proof,
You just might lose sight of
Your goal for the Truth.”

“If you all will remember
That Justice is frail,
And without your assistance
It just won’t prevail.
Then the System will work
and you’ll be a part
Of a living profession
And not a lost art.”

He smiled and he nodded
As he gazed up towards Heaven,
“How pleasant it was
Before Rule 11.”
I took a deep breath
As the sun broke the dawn.
And quick as he came
This image was gone.

You may not believe me.
I’ll be shocked if you do.
But he left me his gavel,
So 1 know that it’s true.
l hope that you’re with me
As the Holidays near,
And that we’ll remember
This message next year.

Return to December 2003 Table of Contents.