008 – Not Johnny Cochran

Her calls from jail pain me, baffle me.  One day she was nice and appreciative and sweet.  “I appreciate how you are trying to help me,” she’d say.  And the next day her calls were cold and suspicious of me.  I could feel it in her voice from the first hello.  She didn’t trust me.  Thought I was ripping her off.  Couldn’t or wouldn’t understand why things were taking as long as they were taking.  “I shouldn’t even be talking to you,” she’d say, “I should just report you to the Board of Bar Overseers.”  And, of course, I would get angry and hurt, without critical distance.  I should have been saying, “I understand why you feel that way.  I’ve tried to explain it to you before, and I will try to explain it to you again if you’d like.  The law is not fair.  And it’s hard to hear that.  I know how you feel.  And you are not wrong to be feeling what you feel.  But there is nothing we can do about it at this time.  We have done everything we can.  Now we just have to wait.  There is nothing further that can be done at this instant.  Not by anyone.  Not F. Lee Bailey, or Johnny Cochran.  We’re held here.”  Not like I haven’t said this before.  Instead I say, “Look, if you don’t trust me find another lawyer.  I am doing everything I possibly can for you.  You’re the one going behind my back; talking to people you shouldn’t be talking to, making matters more complicated.  I have nothing more to say to you.  Call if you can be nice or leave me alone.”  Did we say fifty nine year old lawyer here or did we say nine-year-old boy?