So Help Me God

by Larry D. Thompson

  "My friends, for the past several weeks I have watched this lady and her niece, sitting here every Sunday. I have seen this beautiful young woman in a wheelchair and I have asked God why? Today God has given me an answer, but not to my question. Instead He has answered by telling me that if I have the strength and faith in Him, I can make this young lady rise up out of her wheelchair and walk again."

  The spotlight and cameras showed Lucy as a frightened teenager with nowhere to hide. T. J. approached, placing his right hand on her head and lifting his left hand to God as he began to speak in tongues. He paused, looked at the television cameras and commanded, "Lucy, stand up!"

  When Lucy didn't move, he commanded again, "Lucy, in the name of God, forsake that wheelchair and rise on your own two legs!"

  Mesmerized by the situation, Lucy gulped and pushed herself out of the wheelchair. Gasps from the audience were followed by cheers. T. J. demanded silence and walked back to the pulpit, turning as he reached it and commanded, "Lucy, come to me!"

  This time Lucy hesitated only a moment before walking slowly to the preacher. When she reached the pulpit, T. J. placed his hand on her head and turned to the congregation, crying, "Behold the power of God!"

  The clapping, cheering, yelling, and stomping of feet were deafening. Lucy tried to blink back tears and stood beside T. J. as he said the final prayer and the stage went dark. When the house lights came up, T. J. and Lucy were gone.

  The ushers led a furious Jessie backstage. The Chosen and Lucy were surrounded by his entourage who were praising him for the most brilliant performance since his resurrection. Jessie pushed her way through the staff members, and getting right in the face of The Chosen, she screamed, "How could you do that? How could you take advantage of my niece and make a spectacle of her? How could you betray the trust I had in you? You're no man of God. You're nothing more than a self-serving hypocrite!"

  Jessie's tirade stunned the crowd around The Chosen into silence. For once T. J. was also at a loss for words.

  A quiet voice interrupted. "Aunt Jessie, it's all right," Lucy said. "Something happened out there. When he put his hands on me, I felt forgiven for the first time since I had that awful thing done. It's like I woke from a long sleep. I'm fine. Don't blame The Chosen."

  Jessie paused in mid-breath, turning to look at Lucy. In the months since her niece's surgery, Jessie had rarely heard her speak more than three words. Jessie took two steps to face her niece and hugged her as she said, "Welcome back, Lucy. We've missed you."

  As he looked at the attractive seventeen-year old, T. J. said. "Jessie, what I have done here is just a beginning. When Lucy is ready, I think I can further improve her mental outlook with some pastoral counseling."

  Not sure what had happened, Lucy looked at T. J. who only smiled in return. Jessie took her niece's hand and left. Maybe there had been a minor miracle that day. Maybe it was God's will. Maybe it was the powerful presence of The Chosen that had brought Lucy out of her shell.

  As T. J. watched them walk away, he turned to continue receiving the acclamation of his staff as his mind leaped to the next day. His plan was beginning to come together.

  CHAPTER 25

  On Monday morning at nine o'clock T. J. met with his public relations people. He ordered the staff to take the video clips of his "miracle" with Lucy and add a voice-over, describing her near death experience. Next, he directed them to disseminate the videos to every network, cable news service, and religious channel in the country, along with every television station in the country's top hundred markets. Of course, not all of them would feature the video. But, if it were a slow news day, this kind of human-interest story would garner attention. He had important reasons for wanting Lucy's name to become a household word.

  At ten o'clock, he called the receptionist at The City's "think tank" and asked her to send for Albert Hammond and Riba Clibourn, the two staffers who studied and analyzed the abortion debate. Albert was forty, thin, with greasy red hair, and wore old-fashioned black horn-rimmed glasses that made him appear akin to an emaciated owl. Riba was about the same age. In contrast to Albert, she was short and dumpy with brown stringy hair and a face that occasionally saw lipstick and little else. What they lacked in appearance they made up in fervor for their cause. Both came from families of strong religious faith, one Catholic, and one Assembly of God. They had adopted abortion as their cause while still in college and had dedicated their lives to ending abortion in the United States. They gathered evidence, compiled statistics, catalogued the daily influx of newspaper clippings that mentioned anything about abortion, and reviewed radio and television clips where abortion was debated or discussed. Additionally, they compiled a dossier on every politician who achieved at least the rank of state representative and tracked the status of any bill anywhere in the country where abortion was the topic.

  The receptionist announced their arrival, and T. J. met them at the door of his office, escorting them to a sitting area overlooking Fort Worth in the distance. After exchanging small talk, T. J. got to the point. "Tell me the status of our pro-life movement."

  "Reverend Luther," Albert said, "I'm not sure where you want me to start. The war is being waged on so many fronts. I suppose, since this is an election year, we might as well start with the politics of abortion. On the Democratic side, it's easy. All of the Democratic candidates for president are pro-choice, meaning, of course, they favor a woman's right to choose abortion without limitation. On the Republican side, it's a hodgepodge of rhetoric. One or two candidates are against abortion in any form for any reason. Some are saying that abortion should be banned except in cases of rape, incest or the health of the mother. Another takes the position that abortion should only be allowed if the life of the mother is threatened. Even among the Republican candidates, they often have a hard time keeping their position straight, particularly if asked how they would advise their own teenage daughter if she became pregnant. As to Congress, they pretty much line up the same way except that a number of the Republican women in Congress come down on the pro-choice side, as do a few Republican men. I don't know of any Democrats in Congress who are pro-life."

  "Is there any hope of a favorable bill getting through Congress and having it signed into law by the president?" questioned T. J.

  "Not in our lifetime. At least not in mine, Reverend, since I'm not sure exactly how many lifetimes you have," replied Albert.

  T. J. smiled and turned to Riba. "How about the media, out on the picket lines, or the judicial system, any better hope?"

  "Hope springs eternal, Reverend. We are fighting the battle on all fronts and we take our victories where we can get them. Our media attacks on abortion clinics and doctors are having some impact. Sadly, most of the media are liberal and usually pro-choice. They look for opportunities to paint us with a big black brush. As to the judicial system, even with our conservative Supreme Court, I don't see Roe v. Wade being overturned any time soon. We have had some success in backing a few medical malpractice cases around the country. I must tell you, though, they're difficult to win. The bottom line is that the abortion debate has been around for twenty-five hundred years or more and I don't see it going away."

  That piqued T. J.'s attention. "What do you mean, twenty-five hundred years? I thought that Roe v. Wade was only about thirty years old."

  "You're right," Riba continued, "at least partially. The Supreme Court announced the Roe decision in 1973. Only that didn't start the debate. It's at least as old as the Hippocratic oath. Hippocrates wrote his oath over four hundred years before Christ. Physicians have been taking some form of that oath ever since then. Some have modified it or taken it out. I promise you though, Reverend that you aren't onto something new. Just the opposite, as a matter of fact."

  "Well, I'll be damned," T. J. exclaimed. "Pardon my language. Doesn't look like the issue is going to go away any time soon then, is it?"

  "No sir, it's not," Albert answered.

  "What about funding? Do those of u
s on the pro-life side have sufficient funds?" T. J. asked.

  "The answer to that would be a very strong yes," Riba said. "Both sides are well-funded. It's the single most divisive social issue of our time, and the true believers, no matter which side they're on, are willing to dig deep when the occasion calls for it. There are at least a dozen strong national groups on both sides, with hundreds of local chapters. 'Passionate' is not a strong enough word for the people who have taken this as their cause, no matter which side they choose."

  "Well, now," T. J. pondered, "it looks to me that if we were to get out in front on this issue, we might just take over the leadership of the religious right. The Right Side could become the biggest and most well funded political organization in the country."

  "I don't think that's unreasonable, Reverend Luther, if you could find a way to galvanize public opinion." Riba smiled at the thought of working for the organization that would be leading the way on the single most important issue in her life.

  "If I needed a million dollars up front for the right reason and, additionally, the backing of these so-called, well-funded pro-life organizations, you figure I could get it?"

  "For the right cause, Reverend, in a heartbeat."

  "Then, I reckon I better get me a lawyer and a damn good one at that," T. J. mused. He excused his consultants and contemplated the plan that had been simmering in his brain. Fortunately, he knew of a damn good one.

  CHAPTER 26

  Judge Arbuckle hollered down the hall, "Tank, you in there?"

  "Yes, sir, Judge. Be right there," Johnny Bob yelled as he left his office and appeared at the judge's door.

  "Sit down, son. I have a little case here that you might be interested in. It's a plaintiff case. The bank's lawyer downstairs signed it up. He doesn't do trial work and referred it up here. Gonna be a tough case on liability but the damages are respectable. Our client had a stop sign out on the north edge of town at Highway 79. It was night. He saw lights way down the road and figured he had plenty of time. Turned out he was wrong. The lights were on the front of an eighteen-wheeler that clipped the tail end of his pickup before he got out of the intersection. The collision spun him around and he ended up in a ditch against a telephone pole. He suffered a compound fracture of the left leg and a bad concussion along with some cuts and bruises. Eighteen-wheeler left a lot of skid marks. You might be able to put speed on their driver. There's one other thing. Our man had just left the roadhouse at that intersection. He might have had a little too much to drink. It's a long shot, but I suspect you don't have much else to do. We have it on a forty- percent contingent fee and have to pay a quarter of that to the referring lawyer. If we collect anything, you'll be in for half of our piece."

  Johnny Bob leaped at the chance. According to the police report, the truck left over three hundred feet of skids. The medical bills totaled $15,340 and the client, one Danny Potts, had been off work as a switchman at the rail yard for six months while his leg healed. That added another $8,000 in damages. Johnny Bob called the client and told him he was on the way to visit. He was not surprised to find that the house was a two-bedroom frame with rocking chairs on the small front porch. However, he didn't like finding his new client sitting on the porch, drinking a beer at ten in the morning.

  As he climbed the steps, he introduced himself, "Danny, I'm J. Robert Tisdale. I'm going to try your case for you."

  Potts set his beer on the porch rail and got to his feet. "Glad to see you, Mr. Tisdale. I don't know how you are as a lawyer," he said as he looked the big man up and down, "but I sure would want you on my side in a fight. Pull up a chair. Can I get you a beer?"

  "No thanks to the beer, and as to fighting, I expect to do that in the courtroom, but I don't want to lie to you. This is going to be my first trial."

  "Hell, everybody's got to start somewhere. I expect you'll just work harder than anyone else. What do you need to know?"

  Johnny Bob thought a minute as he sized up the little man in front of him, a beer bottle in hand and the start of a beer belly on an otherwise slender frame. "Let's start with what is in your hand. How much did you have to drink that night?"

  "Let me tell you something, Mr. Tisdale. What do I call you anyway?"

  "You might as well call me Johnny Bob. That's what most folks around here do."

  "I was in that roadhouse playing shuffleboard for three hours and only had three beers the whole time. You can check with Jake, the bartender. He'll tell you the truth."

  Johnny Bob looked his new client right in the eye and said, "Now, Danny, don't lie to me. I'm your lawyer. I can deal with whatever the facts are. Only, I don't want any surprises at the courthouse."

  "God's truth, Counselor. I'll swear on a stack of Bibles."

  "Forget the stack of Bibles. I'll check it out with the bartender," Johnny Bob responded as he changed the subject. "How come you didn't make it across the intersection?"

  "Listen, Johnny Bob, that trucker had to be flying like a bat outta hell. Lot of those truckers don't notice that the speed limit changes just about there, drops down to forty-five as you're coming into town. Either that or they don't give a damn. If he'd been driving the speed limit, I would have been two blocks away before he got to that intersection." Danny's voice rose as he relived the incident, "I could've been killed!"

  "All right, Danny. You just take it easy. We're going to trial at the end of next month. And, watch your beer drinking, particularly in public. This is a small town. No telling who may end up on the jury."

  When Johnny Bob reported to the judge, the older man stroked his chin and looked out the window before speaking. "Tank, we have a shot here. Our client's local and the trucking company and its driver are from the East Coast. You and I both know that folks around here don't care much for Yankees, particularly Yankee trucking companies. Let's do one more thing, and we'll have to hurry. Let's get the driver's log and see what that old boy had been doing a few days before the wreck."

  They sent a formal demand for the log. The defendant then had thirty days to respond. That was cutting it short so the judge had Mable get the necessary paperwork done and in the mail that very day. Johnny Bob returned to his office and called the lawyer for the trucking company. His name was Kermit Gautreaux, a Cajun from Louisiana who migrated across the border when he graduated from Tulane Law School. A few years older than Johnny Bob, he had tried auto and trucking personal injury cases for five years. Unknown to Johnny Bob, he was actually dreading this call.

  "Kermit, this is J. Robert Tisdale from over at Palestine. I'm officing with Judge Arbuckle, and he's given me this Potts case to try at the end of next month."

  "Nice to talk to you, J. Robert. Is that what I call you?"

  "Well, I grew up here in Palestine, and outside of the courtroom most folks call me Johnny Bob."

  "Fine, Johnny Bob. I saw that Judge Arbuckle had substituted for that bank lawyer. I was actually looking forward to being on the opposite side of a case from him. I appeared in his court a number of times when he was on the bench. A fine judge. You tell him I said that. I figured I might learn a few tricks from him. Anything we need to do before we go to trial next month?"

  "Well, there's just one thing. The judge said that we should request your driver's log and we'll have that request in the mail today. I was just calling to introduce myself and give you a head's up that the request was coming so you could get it from your client if you didn't already have it. I damn sure don't want to do anything to delay the trial."

  Lawyers have to be poker players. Even though their hand doesn't even hold two-of-a-kind, the good ones will never let you know it. In this case, Kermit knew what was in that log. It was in his file. Truck drivers are required to maintain such logs, showing where they started their trip, where and when they stopped and, most importantly, that they did not drive an excessive number of hours in any twenty-four hour period. The obvious intent of the law was to make sure that long haul drivers got ample sleep. In this case, Kermit's clien
t was in gross violation of the regulations. It was a common practice. Trucking companies pushed their drivers hard, and the drivers were paid by the mile. There were strong economic reasons for both companies and drivers to break the rules.

  The log documented that in the previous forty-eight hours the truck driver had wound his way from the East Coast, stopping four times to drop and pick up loads. During that time he had slept seven hours and that had been more than twenty hours before the collision with Danny Potts. At the time of the accident he was on his way to Laredo, down on the Mexican border. He had to be there at five a.m. to transfer his load to a Mexican trucker who was to take it on to Monterrey. The travel time from Palestine to Laredo was no less than six hours, not including stops for coffee and fuel. The driver had to be living on coffee and uppers, both readily available at most truck stops. As he was driving into Palestine, he was speeding and, on top of that, his sense of perception and reaction time were way below normal.

  Kermit said in his best matter-of-fact voice, "No problem in you having those records, Johnny Bob. I'll have to request them from my client's dispatcher."

  Little white lies and occasional whoppers were common among the trial bar, expected and understood by both sides. Knowing, though, that if this evidence ever saw the light of day, the risk of trial as well as the settlement value of the case was going to double or triple, Kermit continued. "While I'm getting those records, we're pretty close to trial. I suspect your client's made a good recovery and is about ready to go back to work. At least, that's what it looked like the last time I saw his medical records. Maybe we ought to be talking a little settlement. I might get the insurance company to pay his medical bills and time off from work and throw in a little extra for you and the judge to make a decent fee. What do you figure it'll take to wrap this case up and save both of us having to take the time to get it ready for trial?"