The Ultimate Resolution

by Dave Sullivan

  Jake smiled. This was going to be a good team. "Right on both counts, Professor. This is certainly a serious and catastrophic injury. The damages will be substantial, if we can establish liability. At present, liability is the more important issue, but damages should be up there." Jake marked in a new sixth category, "VI. Damages", and changed the last two categories for "Case Management" and "Plan of Action" to VII. and VIII.

  "Besides," Stanton rose to freshen the coffee, "the proof of damages will be a major matter in this case."

  "What about punitive damages I hear so much about?" asked Hanson.

  Jake was quick to respond. "Not likely. The compensatory damages are recoverable for unintentional torts such as negligence or carelessness. Punitive damages require some intentional, malicious or reckless behavior. A lot of plaintiffs' lawyers sue for punitive damages as a threat just to try to force settlements. We will not make such a claim unless there's a damn good basis for it and the purpose of such damages is served. Besides, now days you can't sue for punitives in the initial Complaint. A later showing by motion is required."

  "I love it!" Stanton laughed. "The one issue he didn't have listed up on the board, I opened my big mouth and we start with it!" This is going to be a slow process."

  "I think it's just fine," Jake raised his cup, "we are going to be careful and thorough. If that's slow then so be it. Let's take our time."

  The three men worked and talked throughout the morning. Issues were raised, discussed and analyzed. More notes and changes were made on the large easel pad, and on smaller yellow legal pads.

  Bert looked out through Stanton's sliding glass doors. "It's an awfully nice day to be here all day. Let's go to Maggie's for lunch and take our work out on the water this afternoon."

  "A man after my own heart! Sustenance!" Stanton rose from his chair. "A big juicy burger, fries, beer and maybe even some soup is definitely in order."

  The men took their coffee cups to Stanton's dishwasher in the kitchen and left for the short drive to Bayfield for some of the fine food to be had at Maggie's on Manypenny near the marina in Bayfield.

  After lunch the three returned to Bay Harbor and took their discussion out on the water. It was about two o'clock as Resolution sailed on a broad reach past the west end of Oak Island. The breeze was gentle. Jake had put the auto pilot in charge of steering so they could continue their discussion.

  "Well, just another shitty day in paradise." Stanton repeated the old cliché as he leaned back in the cockpit and stared up at the clear blue sky. "Almost no clouds at all. Just a little puff over there to make the rest of the sky all the more impressive."

  "Don't let the bright sun and Maggie's burgers and beer dull your senses, you old coot." Bert was emerging from below. "You got work to do. If you can call sitting on your ass and thinking and talking … work."

  Jake smiled. "Speaking of work, let's do it." He produced a yellow legal pad on which he had transferred the list from the easel. "Okay, let's begin with the facts, at least as we know them."

  "Good." Stanton adjusted his bulk on the cockpit seat. "Let's start with the undisputed facts, so we begin the application of the legal theories to facts we know we can prove. We can worry about the sticky fact issues later."

  As Resolution slipped through the water at a lazy four knots toward Otter Island, they reviewed what they knew about what happened to Robert Pallmeyer and, more importantly for their purposes, why it had happened.

  Working with his two friends, and now maybe associates, Jake analyzed the facts. Young Pallmeyer was injured when the tractor he was operating rolled over, front-to-rear, and landed on him. Why? Was he doing something wrong? Why couldn't he get off in time to avoid injury? Had other tractors done this? Apparently so. This same model? Why? What did the manufacturers know? These were all questions to be pondered...and carefully investigated.

  Jake thought about the cost of a lawsuit like this. Could it be handled and the inevitable expense, which might be compounded by defense counsel, avoided or reduced enough to make the case even possible? More questions to answer.

  Finally, Bert addressed the other two men. "Well, what evidence do you need? Who are the witnesses?"

  "Hah!" laughed Stanton. "Ever practical Bert Hanson! We theoreticians can talk, but here comes the engineer to apply the theory . . . to get the job done."

  "He's right." Jake stepped to Resolution's helm and switched off the auto pilot to begin a slow swing to the North and West around Otter Island. As they passed by the island, they looked at the Otter Island dock and the hillside beyond. It was on that hillside where young Bobby Pallmeyer had been injured.

  "Yes, he’s right." Stanton joined in, looking at the hillside injury site. "Who are the witnesses, indeed? What exhibits do we have, or need?"

  Stanton produced a legal pad and began to think out loud. "Our logical first on the list is Sarah Pallmeyer to tell her story and the condition of her son. On the medical side, though not important now, we'll need medical records, perhaps a 'Day in the Life' film, doctor's testimony, family photos, et cetera."

  Jake stood behind the wheel. "Yes, and probably a good economist to establish Robert's impaired future earning capacity and, in this case, to deal with future medical care costs. But now, I need your help, gentlemen."

  Resolution was now well past Otter Island heading north. A tack was now necessary to make progress upwind to the West and eventually resume a port tack north to Rocky Island.

  Bert moved to the port jib sheet winch. Stanton prepared to release the starboard jib sheet from its cleat and winch.

  "Ready to come about!" The preparatory command came from Jake.

  "Ready!" two voices answered.

  "Here we go!" came the execution command as Jake turned the wheel sharply to port.

  Resolution's bow began to swing through the wind. As the big Genoa jib began to luff, Stanton eased the starboard jib sheet to allow the big sail to cross the foredeck to the port side.

  As the sail moved, Bert Hanson's big arms went into action. Hand over hand he pulled in the port jib sheet. Three wraps had been taken on the winch. The winch sang out loudly as it turned with Bert's pulling.

  As the jib came around and began to drive the boat, Jake shouted to Bert Hanson, "Bring it in tight!"

  The professor moved behind Bert to tail the jib sheet as Bert attached the winch handle and cranked.

  "Okay! That looks good! Cleat it!" Jake commanded. "I'll sail to trim!"

  The crew took seats on the higher starboard side of the cockpit to enjoy the ride. With the wind coming from starboard, on starboard tack, Resolution was close-hauled, heeled over, and pushing through the water at about eight and one-half knots.

  Jake stood at the wheel, his bare left foot braced on the port cockpit seat because of the boat's angle of heel. The big jenny and the full main were driving the boat hard. The smaller mizzen was also driving the boat but keeping the boat steadier than a sloop rig would on this point of sail in this wind. The small staysail jib was still in its bag on the deck. The sun was shining. It was warm. Sky and lake were bright blue. Just about perfect.

  "You cannot, I repeat, you cannot beat this!" Stanton smiled as he too braced his feet across the cockpit sole to the opposite seat.

  Bert Hanson leaned back to enjoy the sun and wind. "This really is why we are here, isn't it?" He waved his arm in gesture to the bright sun, blue sky, cobalt water, and lush green islands with their sand beaches. The sand spit on Bear Island could be seen at that moment.

  Jake was momentarily in another world. The stainless steel wheel in his hands, white sails taut before the wind, he watched Resolution charge through the water, the sound of her bow wake filling his ears.

  Bert Hanson climbed forward to the foredeck. He stood on the bowsprit, hand on the forestay looking out at the passing islands.

  Stanton disappeared below. Shortly he emerged with three cans of cold beer. Hanson returned to the cockpit. The three men enjoyed their beer, companionsh
ip, and general good fortune as they sailed into the afternoon sun.

  Resolution sailed on to the West-southwest for about an hour, then tacked back to the North towards Rocky Island.

  Off the Park Service dock about half way up Rocky's east shore, Resolution dropped sails and started her engine.

  Bert and Charles tended to the sails. The big jib was roller furled so it self-wrapped along the forestay. Completely furled, it was just a thick wrapping on the forestay, the same shade of rich dark brown as the other sail covers.

  The mainsail was gathered and tied to its boom, as was the mizzen. The sail covers were fitted over the sails and booms.

  Bert Hanson took the wheel and steered toward the dock as Jake and Charles readied docking lines. Charles stood behind Bert in the cockpit with stern line in hand.

  "Look at Jake. He sure enjoys this."

  Jake stood by the bow, waiting to step onto the dock with the bowline.

  "Me too," said Bert, easing the shift lever into reverse to slow Resolution's approach to the dock.

  "Yes, me too," agreed Charles, stepping up on the cockpit seat to get ready for docking himself.

  Bert eased the boat alongside the dock. Stanton and Jake both stepped to the dock and put their lines to dock cleats as Bert used the engine's reverse gear to bring Resolution to a complete stop. He drew two spring lines from a cockpit locker, tossed one to Jake and began preparing the other. Charles Stanton moved along the dock adjusting fenders for maximum protection.

  Even at this time of the season, Rocky Island was fairly quiet on a Friday night. Vacationers were usually on their way back to Bayfield or Port Superior by now. Weekend charter boaters didn't usually get out this far until Saturday night. So, the men had planned to stay the night. Bert had already told Jake and Charles that Sandy had welcomed some private time, but would want a full report on the case when he came home. "Make the explanations simple, then," he had said.

  The three men stood on the wide, massively built, wooden dock, looking back at Resolution, surveying their handiwork.

  "She's a beautiful boat, Jake," Bert looked admiringly at the ketch gently swaying to the water's motion. "I bet I've said that at least a dozen times and it's still true."

  "You never saw a boat you didn't like, Bert."

  "True, but she is beautiful . . . nice lines. Rides on her waterline proper."

  "Well, I won't disagree. I like her . . . a lot."

  "With all that kind of talk, I'm surprised she's not blushing, boys!" Charles moved toward Resolution. "Allow me to be steward. The usual?"

  "The usual," acknowledged Bert.

  "You bet," Jake grinned.

  Charles disappeared down below.

  Standing in the water near the land’s end of the dock were two men bent over staring into the water. They were apparently from the only other boat on the dock, a thirty foot Catalina named “Summer Snow.”

  “What have you got?” asked Jake.

  One of the men looked up. “We don’t know,” he said. “It looks like just a piece of old-fashioned black fishing line floating vertically in the water, but it seems to be moving.”

  The other man spoke. “Must be the wave action,” he said.

  “I don’t know,” said the first man still studying the water. “There isn’t much wave action.”

  Bert looked at Jake and grinned. “Hair snake.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a hair snake,” said Jake. “They look like old fishing line. I’ve only seen them here at Rocky, sometimes in the water near the dock like that or under rocks and logs along this beach.

  Charles came up from down below. “Ah, the hair snakes of Rocky Island,” he said, “actually, they are not snakes, but roundworms … Gordius Aquaticus, to be exact.” He handed out the usual cocktails: brandy and water for Bert, Scotch and water for Jake, and dry martini for himself. “they are parasites to insects until they mature at which time they break out of the host insect and live in the water and lay their eggs.”

  “Were you drinking when you were down below?” asked Bert.

  “Not so, my friend,” Charles responded. “It’s just that I am a veritable fountain of useless and irrelevant information.”

  After Summer Snow motored away from the dock heading for Oak Island on her way back to Bayfield, they had the dock to themselves except for a park ranger who stopped to greet them and left. The ranger knew the boat and knew that these locals were probably not interested in an island history or a nature walk the next morning at 7:00 a.m. So, he left without the usual formalities his job required. He also knew, from others, that Resolution's cooler might produce a late evening beer, if he didn't offend.

  The men sat on wooden benches bolted down near the outer end of the dock. Resolution was moored only a few feet away.

  Stanton sipped his martini and smiled. "You know, I've never been very religious. I'm educated in some of the sciences, philosophy and the law. I can understand and accept everything in this world without the necessity of a divine creator except the female breast, the dry martini," he took a sip, "and now maybe these islands."

  Bert Hanson stood and shook his head at Stanton, trying to suppress a wide grin. "Well, I can't help you on the first one, though I've tried to introduce you to a few of the peninsula's finer ladies; I can certainly help you enjoy these islands; and I will make you a martini," Bert reached for Stanton's glass, "but don't expect a divine martini!"

  Charles handed up his glass with a dreamy smile. "All martinis are divine, my friend." Suddenly his face grew serious in mock realization, "unless they're screwed up by an amateur bartender," he paused, "such as a brandy-guzzling, ex-fisherman, ex-Chicago cop, marina operator. I'd better go with you." He rose to join Hanson.

  "How about you, Jake?"

  "I'm fine." Jake raised his glass, showing it to be about half full. "Maybe an ice cube."

  "Say, who's cooking?" Stanton patted his substantial stomach, "Should I start some charcoal?" He pointed to the stainless steel covered grill mounted on the stern rail.

  "No," replied Jake. "Bert got some fresh Lake Trout filets off one of the fishing boats, this morning. We'll cook 'em up down below."

  "Excellent!" Charles nodded to Bert Hanson approvingly. "And I shall visit Resolution's quite adequate wine cellar for an appropriate vintage for the table."

  Charles Stanton's comment about the wine "cellar" was said less with approval than with pride. Somewhat a connoisseur of wines, mostly California, Charles had provisioned one of Resolution's cabin lockers. He had let Jake know in no uncertain terms that a boat with the obvious beauty and class of Resolution must have an appropriate selection of wines, not snobbish or haughty, but appropriate.

  As the boat was outfitted, Jake had enjoyed Stanton's interest. He had let Stanton select the locker.

  "Here we are!" Jake remembered Stanton exclaiming, "Just out of the way enough to make it worthwhile. Whites and blushes against the hull in the back for the coolness of Lake Superior. Reds in front at ideal "cellar temperature.'"

  Although the locker was not very big, Stanton had stocked it with a very nice selection of wines for all dining purposes.

  "I think a nice Chardonnay for tonight," Stanton smiled as he followed Bert Hanson down below.

  Jake sipped his Scotch. He looked across the water toward South Twin Island, bright in the afternoon sun coming from behind him. What a pleasant way to spend time, he thought. Why spoil it with work? With a lawsuit? On the other hand, just as "busy hands are happy hands", so too with minds. And it was this legal problem, this possible lawsuit, that brought the three friends together at this moment. So, maybe it was a good thing and not a spoiler of the pleasant environment in which he now stood enjoying the peaceful panorama before him.

  Jake climbed aboard Resolution. He stepped down below to find Stanton extolling the relative virtues of two bottles of white wine while Bert Hanson listened.

  "Ah! But this St. Jean's has much subtler taste and is a little d
ryer. We'll have this with the fish." He held the bottle up, put it on the galley counter and moved aft to replace the other bottle in the "cellar."

  Bert sat at the main cabin dinette table. He looked to Jake standing at the galley.

  "You guys were talking about doctors and damages witnesses. What about liability witnesses and evidence? I assume that's where I come in."

  Jake was lighting the gimbaled propane oven. Although he had always used alcohol as stove fuel before, Resolution used bottled propane. The tanks were aft in a lazarette which was actually abaft the hull. Jake figured if they blew, the transom would be gone but the forward wall of the lazarette was the hull itself and therefore watertight. The boat would look funny, but probably not sink.

  He responded to Bert's question. "I'm sure you'll have work on both liability and damages issues. But I agree we should now be thinking about liability."

  "And," said Charles as he moved past Jake to the dinette and his waiting martini, "unlike most cases our client is not a liability fact witness. She wasn't there."

  "Yes, and as to negligence in manufacturing or instructions, witnesses almost have to come from the defendants themselves." Jake reached into a lower cupboard and brought out a large, deep, cast iron frying pan which he placed on the stove.

  "Going to deep fry that fish are you, and add to my cholesterol?" Charles placed both hands on his formidable paunch.

  Bert Hanson chuckled. He knew better.

  "Wrong!" Jake was slicing a lemon. "A little pan poaching, tonight." He removed the white butchers' paper from the two large, red Lake Trout filets.

  "They look fine, Jake." Stanton stretched to look at the filets on the counter. "Bert, when were they caught?"

  "Came in the nets this morning."

  The conversation about witnesses continued as Jake browned a clove of garlic and some green onions in the pan.

  Obviously, we need to talk to people who saw the accident. I can look into that, “said Bert.

  "We need an expert to look at the tractor," added Charles.