Wednesday, November 13, 2013

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He collapse dright in the middle of a packed courtroom. He was one of this country's most distinguished trial lawyers. He was also a man who was as well known for the three-thousand-dollar Italian suits which drap ed his well-fed frameas for his remarkable string of legal victories. I simply stood there, paralyzed by the shock of what I had just witnessed. The great Julian Mantle had been reduced to a victim and was now squirming on the ground like a help less infant, shaking and shivering and sweating likea maniac.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion from that point on. "MyGod, Julian's introuble!" his paralegal screamed,emotionally offering us a blinding glimpse of the obvious.The judge looked panic-stricken and quickly muttered something into the private phone she had had installed in the event of an emergency. As for me ,I could only stand there, dazed and confused. Please don't die, you old fool.Its too early for youtocheckout.You don't deserve to die like this.

The bailiff, who earlier had looked as if he had been embalmed in his standing position, leapt into action and started to perform CPR on the fallen legal hero. The paralegal was at his side, her long blond curls dangling over Julian's ruby-red face, offering him soft words of comfort, words which he obviously couldn't hear.

I had known Julian for seventeen years. we had first met when I was a young law student hired by one of his partners as a summer research intern. Back then, he'd had it all. He was a brilliant, hand-some and fearless trial attorney with dreams of greatness. Julian was the firms young star, the rain-maker in waiting. I can still remember walking by his regal corner office while I was working late one night and stealing a glimpse of the framed quotation perched on his massive oak desk. It was by Winston Churchill and it spoke volumes about the man that Julian was:

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