I looked over at Moonlight. “I told you there were people out there watching us.” I turned back to my client. “But tell me this: Why’d they hide from us?”
Moore looked at Moonlight. “I didn’t want any of them involved. How would we explain that? It would just complicate things. Plus, if you thought the secret was already out, I didn’t know but that you might have dropped the whole thing.” He spread his hands out, palms up. “And if they don’t mow the tees and greens and get the course ready, you may not see what’s there or why it was such a great track.”
I turned and looked at Moonlight. “You kept saying it was magic. I knew someone else was out there.”
He was unmoved. “If ya’ think what you’ve just heard has nothin’ to do with magic, then ya’ don’t understand magic. We’ve had a guardian angel here all along, an’ you’re lookin’ at him.” He pointed to Francis Moore to make certain I understood what he was saying.
We spent the next half hour reviewing the petition. Moore had a number of questions. He seemed intent on understanding everything we were doing. At the same time, he never expressed any hesitancy about the course of action we were taking. If anything, as he spent more time with us, he became every bit as resolute as Moonlight.
When we finished our meeting, I asked our new friend if he needed someone to take him back to the airport. “I’d take you myself, but I can’t leave for another half hour, and I don’t want to make you late for your flight.”
He smiled. “I’m happy to wait, Charley. It would give us a chance to talk more on the ride out. Don’t worry about making me late. I flew up here in our company Lear. It won’t leave without me.”
On the way to Hartsfield Airport, I asked Moore if he had ever played Bragg’s Point. He said that he had never been allowed to.
“It was Bob Jones’s retreat, a very personal escape from a terribly painful condition. My dad used to say that the least understood part of medicine was the powerful effect the mind had on diseases and the pain they caused. He said that Jones was almost like another person when he was at Bragg’s Point. He was away from public view and could really let his hair down. I understand that he would ride out to the water’s edge and sit and watch the surf for hours at a time. According to my father, his face would relax in a way that showed that he had escaped his pain, at least for the time being. He was truly happy in that setting, and that’s the most powerful medicine there is. Letting anyone out there who he wasn’t familiar and comfortable with would have defeated the purpose of the place.”
As we parted, Moore made it clear that he wanted to be kept in the loop on every development now that he was on board. I promised our new comrade-in-arms that nothing would be done without his approval. He also reminded me again that he could get to Atlanta on virtually a moment’s notice on the Lear.
We filed the lawsuit the next morning, and I soon learned why Francis Moore had so carefully avoided any confrontation with his brother all these years.
Chapter 34
IT SEEMED LIKE the phone started ringing within 20 minutes after we filed the petition. At first, it was one of the local television stations, whose courthouse reporter had picked up the petition during a routine review of the court filings. Then it was a reporter from the Atlanta Constitution, who wanted to know how an Atlanta doctor came to control land overlooking the Pacific Ocean in northern California.
I guess I should have expected the media to run with it. Our suit had lots of sex appeal: a dispute within a prominent and successful family, lots of money at stake, prime oceanfront property, and a controversial foreign buyer. And, of course, as if that were not enough, there was the name of Clifford Roberts in the trust papers. Anyone who discovered that immediately knew there was a connection to Bobby Jones and Augusta National. In these parts, that was instant newsworthiness.
Still, it took me by surprise when the local media calls were followed by CNN, TBS, CBS, and all the rest of the alphabet soup television networks. Apparently, one of the local media organizations had put the story on the AP wire, and it got picked up by the big boys. The numerous calls I received in succession reflected a kind of herd instinct at work among the competing news departments of the various networks. If CBS was interested in a story, then NBC became interested, mainly out of fear of being scooped.
Instead of independent evaluation, each network seemed just to imitate the others. I suppose it was much safer for them that way (when you’re wrong—like telling the country on election night that “we now can give the state of Florida to Vice-President Gore” —misery loves company), just not terribly creative or informative.
At first, I preferred to say “No comment” and let it go at that. I actually began to enjoy the pleas from some of the news representatives as they tried to get me to abandon that position. One young reporter even told me she might get fired if she didn’t get at least one quote. I laughed and told her to offer her pain up for the poor souls in purgatory. When she asked me what it meant, I told her it meant that she obviously hadn’t attended parochial schools.
Before long, however, producers of the various news programs were calling me back to respond to quotes from Stephen Moore and his lawyer expressing total outrage at the suit and threatening us with everything from a countersuit to disbarment. Their spin was that Cliff Roberts had acquired the property for speculative purposes. According to his lawyer, Dr. Moore was simply planning to convert an asset that had been out of commerce for years into money that could be used to make golf more accessible to handicapped and disabled persons. How could we be opposed to that, they asked.
I went to Paul Watkins for advice about what we should do in the face of this rhetoric. He told me that it wasn’t unusual for lawyers to try controversial cases in the media. If the judge assigned to the case was sensitive to public opinion and perceived that public sympathy favored one side, it could make a difference.
So he advised me that, when one side started pandering to the media, it was sometimes important to give them back a dose of their own medicine. As distasteful as it was, his view was that loyalty to the client demanded it when necessary.
And it appeared to be necessary that day.
I locked myself in a conference room and sketched out some notes for a response to the blustering put out by Stephen Moore and his lawyer. Words and phrases like “wildlife sanctuary” and “unqualified foreign investors” appeared on my legal pad. I also penciled in the words “personal enrichment at the expense of handicapped Americans.” That ought to have broad appeal, especially among the media.
The best, though, was the phrase about Bobby Jones “turning over in his grave.” It was a cliché, but I had learned that clichés were useful for lawyers. Their vice was also their virtue: the very overuse that rendered such expressions as clichés also meant that there would be no doubt about their meaning.
Before long, I was giving interviews to numerous reporters on the telephone and before cameras, and my spiel got better and better with repetition. I learned to change it up a little each time, too. CNN preferred not to run the same sound bite that NBC had just shown a half hour earlier.
I chose not to challenge the way Dr. Moore and his lawyer downplayed the use of the property. Our petition had not gone into that in any detail, and something told me they may not have been fully aware of everything that happened there. Based on what Francis Moore had told me, his father may not have told his brother much about the magical golf being played at Bragg’s Point.
It was to our advantage if our opposition was truly unaware of the historical significance of the property, and it gave us a hole card to play in court at a more opportune time. Besides, we had enough, I figured, for an effective counterattack for the time being.
Not long after the reports aired, I got a call from our client. In a tactful voice, he suggested that we not let things “get out of hand.” In particular, he asked me to drop references to Jones turning over in his grave, saying “I’m not sure that’s the right
tone for what we’re trying to do.”
I got the message and apologized for getting a little carried away. It was an embarrassing lesson from my first experience with the news media.
According to the media accounts, Stephen Moore’s lawyer was a fellow named Stuart Bordelon. At least, that’s the lawyer who was being quoted. From everything I had learned, Bordelon had a good reputation. One of the partners in our firm, Henry Hoskins, had tried a stock fraud case against him a couple of years before. Hoskins gave Bordelon high marks.
Although I was put off by the bloated rhetoric I was reading in the papers, I tried to give Bordelon the benefit of the doubt. I knew that he would call sooner or later so that we could discuss the case and get down to business.
When the call came, I was prepared for it. I knew that Bordelon would do his homework, find out that I was a young lawyer, and test me early to see if I would fold as easily as one of those old squeeze boxes played by Cajun bands back in Louisiana.
Paul Watkins had talked with me about it. I asked him if he should deal with Bordelon instead of me, but he thought it was important that I take the lead. “This is your baby,” he said, “and you need to see it through.”
The test came almost immediately after our phone conversation began. Even though we had never met, Bordelon tried to sound familiar and friendly by calling me by my first name. “Look, Charley, I have a lot of respect for your firm. And if they took you on, it means you’re a pretty good hand. I don’t want to see this get expensive for your client. Unless I’m missing something, there’s no way he can win this thing, so why don’t you talk to him about dismissing it?”
Suppressing a laugh, I said, “Well, I appreciate your concern, but my client’s determined to see that the intent of the trust is enforced. What your client wants to do violates that intent. But we will certainly entertain your offer to dismiss the case—just as soon as your client agrees to cancel the sale of the property.”
Bordelon’s tone immediately turned harsh and unpleasant. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’. Do you understand this is a hundred-million-dollar deal we’re talkin’ about?”
I was determined not to respond in kind and so replied evenly, “I don’t see how the amount of money is at all relevant.”
He guffawed. “In this business, young man, it’s always about the money. Don’t ever let your clients tell you otherwise.”
I didn’t care to be patronized, but said nothing. It was an old trick to remain silent as a way of making your opponent uncomfortable, something else that Emile Guidry had shown me.
Bordelon eventually filled the vacuum I had created. In a more conciliatory tone, he said, “Okay, what does your client want?”
Interesting, I thought. The first sign of weakness: before even answering the lawsuit, they want to talk settlement.
I tried to sound uninterested. “I just told you what he wants. Cancel the transaction.”
“That’s not possible. Let’s talk about other solutions.”
I was enjoying this. “I don’t have any authority to discuss other solutions. I’m afraid my client is adamant.”
He gave out an audible sigh. “Well, there’s gonna be lots of bloodshed on this one before we’re done. Please do me a favor and talk to your client to see if there’s any other way to settle this deal. You know, we’re dealin’ with family here, and no matter who wins the lawsuit, their relationship with one another will never be the same.”
“I’m aware of that, and so is Mr. Moore. But he feels obligated to fulfill the responsibilities his father took on at the request of Mr. Roberts and Mr. Jones, and I don’t think he feels he can turn his back on that.”
I purposely mentioned Roberts and Jones to remind Bordelon that he was taking on a rather influential part of the Georgia establishment if he continued to fight us. But he obviously had already given that some thought.
“I wouldn’t be much of a lawyer if I refused to represent somebody just because our side wasn’t as popular as the other guy’s. If I’ve got to deal with the ghosts of Augusta National, then that’s what I’ll do.” He laughed. “Hell, I don’t even play golf; what can they do to me?”
I was impressed by his loyalty to his client, and he was right—I wouldn’t have respected him much if he was unwilling to fight for an unpopular cause. But the fact remained that his cause was not just unpopular, it was greedy. And I intended to expose Dr. Stephen Moore’s greed if necessary.
I told him I would speak with my client about settlement but made it clear that I did not expect Francis Moore’s position to change. Then, as per Paul Watkins’s suggestion, I asked him for dates for his client’s deposition.
“That’s kinda quick, don’t you think?”
I knew that I had caught him off guard. “Well, we don’t have much time. Your client apparently wants to get this deal done by the end of the year.”
He muttered something about checking on Dr. Moore’s schedule and calling me back. I wanted to let him know that we would be aggressive, so I added, “We’ll be sending you some interrogatories and requests for production in the next day or two. Do you want us to serve your client, or will you accept service on his behalf?”
If Stuart Bordelon was hoping to discover that we were less than resolute about the case, he now knew otherwise. I could hear the disappointment in his voice when he said, “No, that won’t be necessary. Just send your stuff to me.” He paused and then added, “I’ll have some discovery of my own to send you.”
“Of course,” I said, as brightly as possible.
When we hung up, I was exhilarated. While I reminded myself that it was just a telephone conversation, I had learned that every encounter with an opponent in a lawsuit was an opportunity to gain ground. Sometimes an advantage was gained by lulling an opponent into a false sense of security, but on other occasions it was important to send a very different message.
Stuart Bordelon had really called to take my temperature and see how I was reacting to their initial bravado. If he had sensed any weakness on our part, it would only have encouraged him. From the outset, we wanted to avoid giving any aid or comfort to the enemy.
I felt confident that we had achieved our objective. There was no doubt in my mind that, before Stuart Bordelon had replaced his telephone receiver in its cradle, he knew his client was in for a fight.
Chapter 35
AFTER BOTH SIDES swapped interrogatories and requests for production, we settled on a date for the depositions of the two brothers. Francis Moore seemed surprised that he would have to submit to a deposition.
“Why do they want to ask me questions? I’m not the one who’s trying to sell the course.”
I had to assure him that it was routine for all parties to be deposed. “There’s an old rule,” I told him, “that a lawyer should never ask a question that he doesn’t know the answer to. A lawyer learns the answers to his questions by asking them in a deposition. They know you’re going to be a witness, and they want to know what they should ask you on cross-examination when you testify at the trial.”
Then I explained to him that a deposition was nothing more than an out-of-court question-and-answer session. He would be under oath, and a court reporter would be there to take down Bordelon’s questions and his answers. “That way, if you change your story at the trial, they can bring out what you said before. It’s called ‘impeachment with a prior inconsistent statement.’” He still looked a little ill at ease, so I added, “It’s done all the time. We’ll go over everything with you beforehand. Believe me, you’ll do fine.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that. I just hate any confrontation with my brother. Is there any way around this?”
“I’m afraid not,” I told him. “Besides, if we try to get out of it, they’ll think we’re hiding something. It’s best to act as nonchalant about it as possible.”
Once I explained that we would be there the entire time, he became less reticent about the whole thing. Still, it worried me. Why was Francis M
oore so worried about a deposition? Was he hiding something? Would he crater under the first bit of pressure applied by Bordelon?
I didn’t quite understand his reaction, so I talked with Paul Watkins about it.
“You’ve got to put yourself in your client’s shoes,” he advised me. “You know all about depositions. They’re routine for most lawyers. But, to a guy like Francis Moore, they’re a really big deal. They see witnesses getting beaten up by lawyers on TV and in the movies. Maybe it’s good for dramatic effect, but people begin to believe that’s the way the real world operates.”
He shook his head sadly. “On top of that, now we’ve got all this ‘reality’ court TV with pompous little dictators for judges, who are rude and abusive to the people who come before them—all in the name of entertainment. That really adds to people’s fears about lawyers and the whole legal process.” After a short pause, he added, “Isn’t it amazing what happens to some people when they get in front of a camera?”
Without waiting for an answer, he then handed me a memorandum the firm had prepared. It was entitled “How to Prepare for Your Deposition.”
“Sit down and go over this with Mr. Moore. It covers all of the situations and lawyers’ tactics he’s going to experience when he’s deposed. Once you walk him through this, he’ll be a lot more comfortable.”
I sent a copy of the memo to Francis Moore and invited him to review it. I also promised him that we would go over it again when we met to prepare for his deposition.
In the meantime, I began preparing questions to ask Dr. Stephen Moore. Paul Watkins and I met several times over the next week to discuss our tactics. I also got some input from Emile Guidry over coffee one morning. This was the most important deposition I had ever taken, and I wanted to be prepared.
When the fateful day arrived, we went to the court reporter’s office, which was a neutral site. There was a comfortable conference room there that accommodated us nicely.
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