A lawyer's thanks can come in many forms
Marcel Strigberger.
We all appreciate a showing of gratitude when we do good. But how often do we get it from our clients? Let me share some of my experiences that often made my day, while trying to manage the usual three-ring circus most lawyers experience.
I’ll start with George. George owned a coffee and doughnut franchise. He must have appreciated my services, as whenever he came to my office, he never failed to bring us a box of fresh doughnuts. Almost never. I used to joke with him while munching on a scrumptious walnut cruller, telling him my meter was running. He returned the compliment by quickly closing the doughnut box with my hand still in it fishing for a second cruller.
Once he actually arrived doughnut-free. I got alarmed, wondering whether I had been remiss in my services. Did I not return his phone messages quickly enough? Or did I keep him waiting at reception too long? Or did he not like the psychiatrist I sent him to for an assessment? The last explanation made most sense. Likely the shrink gave him a good work-over, asking all those personal questions such as, “Did you have a good relationship with your mother?” George then said to himself, “Who is this guy? That’s it. No more doughuts for Strigberger.” Who knows?
Food was indeed a common show of gratitude. Clients from time to time took me for lunch. One, Max, took me to two lunches for the same lunch. After a successful morning motion argument, he asked me to join him for lunch at a nearby restaurant in Toronto’s Chinatown. When he asked I told him the veggie tofu was excellent. He took that comment to heart. After the lunch.
When I returned from the restroom he handed me a brown bag containing a large order of tofu. I pleaded with him that though delicious I had really had enough tofu for now—I was tofued out. He insisted that I take it home to my wife. My wife actually despises this whitish rubbery substance, claiming it is likely manufactured by Goodyear. For the next three suppers I found myself dining on tofu while visualizing the blimp. More validation that there is no such thing as a free lunch.
Some clients showed their gratitude by offering me unexpected money. I am talking about Dorianne, whom I represented in a farm fire claim when her insurance refused to pay her claim, alleging arson. Dorianne offered to pay me in addition to my fees a “tip” of 5% on the total recovery. We eventually settled her claim after a few years of litigation for about $100,000. I billed her the expected quantum and then discretely expected her to say, “And here is your $5000 tip I promised you.” The tip was not forthcoming. I kicked myself, wondering whether I should have noted on the bill, “Tip-5%-8%-10%-Thank you, your server, Marcel.”
I did actually once get a real tip, likely an illegal one at that. While spending the day in the courthouse as duty counsel, or per diem public defender, I provided legal advice to a gentleman, getting him to reverse his intended guilty plea to a DUI charge as he had a strong technical defense. He was so pleased with my advice that he offered me a $50 bill. I told him I could not accept it and fought him off bravely as he eventually slipped the banknote into my jacket pocket. My unlawful act has been a complete secret for over 50 years now. And it has bothered me constantly, like that character Rodion Raskolnikov, in Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, I have chosen now to come clean. Phew!
Some clients have expressed their gratitude by offering to provide me their services pro bono. A gentleman in my neighborhood, Angelo, is a handyman superior. He can build or fix virtually anything—the neighborhood Tim Allen. He’s the other end of the spectrum of guys like me who likely sparked that joke, “How many lawyers does it take to change a lightbulb?”
I once resolved an issue with City Hall for him, following which he called me a genius. I did not totally share his assessment, but I did not wish to tell him that and offend his astute judgment. He said to call him anytime if something in my house needs fixing.
He once came to our house to repair a sink and, when he was done we noticed a parking control officer outside in the process of giving his van a ticket for “illegally parking on the boulevard,” I managed to talk the officer out of issuing the ticket. Though tempted, I refrained from telling the guy something like, “Hold off on that summons. This is Angelo’s van. Know who he is? Ever expect to have a broken sink?”
Some clients expressed their gratitude with words only. They were meaningful and sincere though at times strange. One guy, Nick, was charged with a cluster of offenses arising out of him stealing a Corvette. The prosecution was seeking a penitentiary term of 2-4 years. After complex maneuvering and negotiating, the judge gave him a lighter sentence, aka a kiss, of one-year incarceration. Nick was ecstatic and couldn’t thank me enough, as he buzzed around in the courtroom bellowing, “One year. Great lawyer. Wow!” (Actually he did not use that three-letter exclamation).
Nick must have been an influencer, as consequently a string of criminal clients approached me, amazed that I was able to get Nick off with one year. Trying hard to maintain my expected humility I told them all anybody could have done it. (Likely even Angelo).
Some of my colleagues had clients whose gratitude was expressed more lavishly than what I experienced. These comrades were invited by their wealthy clients to spend time at luxurious country cottages, onboard fancy yachts or at extravagant country clubs or golf courses. All sounds good but it never happened with me. The gratitude I experienced was more on the culinary side, such as doughnuts or a Chinese meal. Or a hand with a home repair, or a good word. The only possible chance of my landing a weekend on a yacht would have been had Nick stolen one.
OK I did score a modest tip, which to this day made me feel like Raskolnikov. Speaking of which I don’t even recall what I did with those 50 bucks. I doubt I bought myself a batch of tofu.
Marcel Strigberger, after 40-plus years of practicing civil litigation in the Toronto area, closed his law office and decided to continue his humor writing and speaking passions. His latest book is First, Let’s Kill the Lawyer Jokes: An Attorney’s Irreverent Serious Look at the Legal Universe. Visit MarcelsHumour.com, and follow him at @MarcelsHumour on X, formerly known as Twitter.
This column reflects the opinions of the author and not necessarily the views of the ABA Journal—or the American Bar Association.
