A Few Nearly Apocryphal Stories

Whenever lawyers of a certain generation meet, they inevitably default to the same conversations. They note the passage of time and express regret for the “good old days”. “We learned so much from attending short calendar”. “There are no characters left anymore”. “Remember when the Courts were closed during the summer”. And they repeat stories of lawyers now gone and of events or practices they claim made life much more colorful “back then”. Frankly, I’m not so sure any of that is really true, but whether true or not, the stories are part of the lore of our practices. They are worth preserving, even if just to maintain the illusion that those old days really were good.

I pass along a few.

Fred White. I never really knew Fred White. I saw him occasionally around the New Haven Courts when I came to practice in the early 70’s. He was legendary. He was, I think, an Army vet and maybe a pilot. I think he’d been a boxer.

Fred was Italian, but as with many of that generation, his name had been anglified. Whatever it was before, it was White now. But he was proud of his heritage. He was a solo. He represented mostly plaintiffs and the occasional criminal defendant. A blue collar practice.

Not surprisingly, Fred was and saw himself as Everyman. And so, he was. He had the skill, rather, the gift, of being able to talk to people on their level in their language so they could follow what he said. In short, he knew how to communicate.

Fred loved jury selection. And when he questioned a potential juror, Fred liked to get up close near the witness box and engage them in a conversation. And, when he could, he would actually put his hand on the juror while talking. Fred said, “If I can touch them, they’re mine.”

And it worked.
Fred was once selecting a jury in the New Haven court. He represented a plaintiff injured by an employee of a company. The company was represented by Wiggin and Dana, at that time smaller but a big for New Haven firm. The firm sent over a young associate. Introductions were made to the venire. The defense went first. Young Mr. Wiggin and Dana rose, identified himself, his client and witnesses, and then named the 25 to 30 lawyers of the firm.

Then it was Fred’s turn. He knew his audience. He stood up, said “My name is Fred White. Did you listen to that list? There wasn’t one Italian in the whole bunch”. And, as the story goes, Fred prevailed at trial.

Ray Ganim. Ray Ganim was a walrus of a man. He was bald, had a thick salt and pepper mustache, and a friendly informal personality. He was everyone’s uncle. Ray was related to the present Mayor of Bridgeport and the others of the extended Ganim clan. He had a rumbling voice that was calming, not threatening. He was a guy you had to like.

Ray was a real good lawyer. He represented many of the accused in Fairfield County. He mainly traveled the Bridgeport courts. His specialty seemed to be people who played on the fringes.

Ray loved to tell this story on himself. His clients, as he described them, were gypsies. They were accused of some type of flim-flam. Plea bargaining broke down. A trial was necessary. Ray represented the defendants. The result was not positive. His clients were displeased and angry. They expressed their displeasure aggressively. They insisted on an appeal. Ray complied.

Whenever the principals of this family were called to Court, they were always accompanied by a retinue of friends and relatives. And so it was, on the morning the appeal was scheduled before the Supreme Court in Hartford, Ray took his position in the well of the Court. When he turned, he saw his clients and the entire congregation in the spectator section prepared to monitor his performance.

Court opened. The justices emerged, took the bench and called his case. Ray rose. The Chief Justice announced, “Mr. Ganim, your papers are not in order. You will have to refile them. We will not hear your case today”. The gavel fell. Next case.

Ray rose, collected his papers, and trundled toward the immense atrium at the entryway of the building. He was followed by the retinue. And when he stopped, the doyenne of the family, speaking for the disappointed observers, screamed in a voice that could be heard in Bridgeport, “Ganim! You f_ _ _ _ d up again! You f_ _ _ _ d up again!” And, as Ray tells it, her words echoed throughout the building, so loudly the marshal came out from the Supreme Court into the atrium and invoked the rule of silence.

A Trip to Boston. I won’t identify the lawyer in this story. And, like the others, I won’t vouch for its veracity. But it’s worth the telling.

This was at a time the justices of the Supreme Court were appointed from the Superior Court based on seniority. A very well-known, respected and beloved elderly New Haven attorney had a Supreme Court argument somehow unfortunately scheduled for the Red Sox opening day.

That morning he gathered up his two sons, advised they were going to the ballgame, put them in the car and they headed north. As one son relates, there was an unexpected detour into Hartford. They parked at the Connecticut Supreme Court. They entered the Courtroom. The sons sat bewildered. They rose when Court opened. They watched their father. The case was called. He stood, identified himself and proceeded to advise the justices he couldn’t really proceed forward today; he had an obligation in Boston. The Court understood. He was excused. They would advise him of the new date. Lawyer and sons left the court, entered the car and, priorities having been properly aligned, drove to Fenway Park for the more important of the two scheduled events.

I am not sure any of these are really true. But they are good enough, so that they should be true and deserve to be treated as true.

Veracity aside, they are worth remembering if only for the telling.