THE WHOLE TRUTH AND NOTHIN' BUT DA TRUTH
Evasions.
I love them.
Hate them actually, but here's an example that has the merit of humor and wit, since it concerns someone else:
Op-Ed Contributor
My Trip
My Trip
The governor is hiking along the Appalachian Trail.
— Gov. Mark Sanford’s office, June 22
I’M going to tell you where I was. Because it’s a funny story. I think it’s funny. My wife doesn’t think it’s that funny. Nor does her legal team.
I was ... well ... I’m getting ahead of myself. Work had been brutal — brutal — that week and I was really looking forward to the weekend. Father’s Day weekend, I might add. One of my favorites. I also like Halloween, as you get to dress up in silly costumes. Last year I went as “Despair.” Anyway. I was really looking forward to the weekend. I thought I’d play some golf, which I don’t get to do much, what with Janie, our precocious, sometimes (mostly?) super-difficult 7-year-old, and the twins (age 3). Life’s very different now. But do I miss the single life? Let me answer that in three words. Not. This. Guy.
So I decided to go to Cape Cod with my wife, Ellen, and the kids. A kind of surprise. Only I didn’t take Ellen or the kids. Or go to Cape Cod. But I did mention, during the first few days while they were searching for me, that I was on Cape Cod in a Facebook posting. Though to this day I don’t know why I wrote that, nor do I have a memory of making that posting. Or of driving to Teterboro airport. But I’m jumping ahead again.
So it was a tough week and I was looking forward to relaxing and also I’d been laid off that Friday. Which was a surprise and disappointing. And yet as I sat in the office parking lot reviewing my two-day severance package, I found myself chuckling. Also sweating. This was in large part (I later learned from the police and paramedics) due to the Vicodin, which is a new kind of cold medicine, according to my former colleague, Frank.
So I was chuckling, but also sweating quite a lot, when I decided to call Ellen. Only I misdialed and called “Escort,” which is, I think, an honest mistake anyone could make, and to my surprise I was met in a room at the Pierre by Ilyana instead of my wife. Which is why I immediately left six hours later.
Where did I go from there? I went to my gym. So how did I end up in Marrakesh? Blame the A train to J.F.K. and my crazy passion for Berber history. Ask anyone who knows me, though it’s unlikely you’ll get a call back from most of those people right now.
So I sent Ellen — along with my credit card companies — an e-mail message saying I was detained on business in Morocco. A slight exaggeration, as I was not on business, and, coincidentally, not in Morocco. I was in La Paz. Turns out I got on the wrong plane. Which I tried to explain to Ellen, though the woman who happened to be standing next to me in the airport when my phone rang accidentally answered because we have the same ring tone. Of course, we weren’t actually in the airport, we were in a rental car, just leaving McCarran International, which, as it turns out, is not in Bolivia, it’s in Las Vegas. Well, you can imagine Ellen’s response, especially when Babette, my airplane friend who was coincidentally going in the exact direction I was and needed a ride, kept giggling. Who wouldn’t have been suspicious?
But I’m here now. Home. Well, not home home. Not where I used to live. But a different place. Far away. Honest.
I saw an empty desktop on which there happened to be at the moment not a solitary dime.
But the gesture was so grand that I've never forgotten it, and it's been decades.
Look, Reader, the reason I'm giving you all this money is because (hands and arms gesturing grandly over your monitor)...
Spend it at your peril.
***
And speaking of evasions, I see that Bernie Madoff got 150 years.
His lawyer asked for 12.
The prosecutors asked for the 150.
Thirty years is what you get if the amount you steal is over a few million.
Bernie disappeared something like $50 Billion, by his own estimate.
Twelve years is a joke.
He wiped out a lot of people who now have to go back to the salt mines. His wife got to keep $2.5 million so she doesn't have to go back to the mines, however.
But Bernie, he stays in durance vile for the duration, I'm afraid, and it couldn't happen to a nicer guy. I hope Ruth will put a few bucks on the books for the canteen so he can buy a safety-razor that doesn't scratch.
It's those damned little evasions that will get you every time.
As in, "The reason I'm putting all this money on your desk [wave arms grandly over desk] is because I've heard such good things about you, Mr. Investor..."
When you can see the rainbow is a good time to walk away from the deal.
Deals aren't supposed to be rainbows and there are no pots of gold, anywhere, so far as I've ever been able to see.
But you might see things differently.
Good luck.
***
Bragging a bit:
I had a client who was facing 468 years on some horrible charges if I didn't get him off.
I can get you 250, I cautiously counseled. He didn't think it all that funny. Maybe I only thought that and didn't actually say the words.
I did try his case, however, hung the jury, and negotiated a dismissal of all 61 felony counts of these horrible crimes.
Turned down an offer to plead guilty one count for straight probation, to boot.
Client said that if he took that deal, he'd never see his daughter again.
He never did.
The deal was that the court would appoint a psychiatrist to evaluate him, the ex-wife, her lawyer boyfriend, later husband, and the daughter, an infant of three at the time of the alleged crime.
The court expert studied the case for three-years while the daughter lived with mom and lawyer-daddy.
The charges were false, the psychiatrist reported, the product of a vengeful mother seeking to alienate the daughter from her father. Father ought now to have visitation resumed.
No, said the judge, the child has come to a position of rest with the mom and lawyer daddy, so it would hurt the child to force her to visit the man she believes molested her.
But, but, but...your honor...
So his parental rights are ordered terminated, said the judge.
Yes, I know, the father could've appealed.
But by this time he was broke, had met a new wife, and started a new family. So he had no money to appeal.
I still see this client and have done other things for his new family.
Not a day goes by that he doesn't think of the daughter who was judicially kidnapped from him as the result of the mother's manipulations assisted by lawyer-boyfriend-daddy, a psychologist who didn't know better, and a legal system gone haywire.
This is the case that introduced me to Salem, 1692.
There's a lot you can learn about life today from reading about our Puritan forbears, even if you don't trace your own particular ancestry back to those English Protestants. Our society still behaves in largely the same way, alas. When you see a headline noting the release from prison of someone falsely convicted of the most heinous of crimes, rape or child-murder, you can thank Salem for the false conviction and the release.


headed down the stairs and out of the house. English also lacks an expression to describe the antithesis of treppenwitz,
those occasions when one has a perfect remark carefully prepared in
advance but fails to deliver it properly. If English did have such an
expression, we could apply it to the words of the first man on the
moon,
