The Bulging Right Pocket

It was one of the worst periods of time in my life.

Recently separated, I had just lost custody of my 2 daughters and
was forced to vacate my newly-renovated home (with 3 days notice)
that contained the well-equipped recording studio I had spent 2
years building prior to selling my drycleaning business (in order to
build a long-desired music production company).

Divorce - Canadian style!

Two years before, I discovered that a *friend*, a music contact I had
worked with and even spent time with in Hollywood a decade prior,
had stolen a song that I and my music partner had written and
presented to this budding writer/producer at that time. He had since
become a major player in the music business and had lifted *so
much* our song, placing it on the album of a multi-million selling
female artist.

After much consideration and consultation with a prominent Detroit
attorney, we decided to proceed with a lawsuit against this record
producer. And, as these matters usually go, we had to retain high
profile legal representation in California and also sue the 'innocents',
in this case the recording artist, record company and publishing
company, with the hope (at least mine) that they would bring
pressure upon the sole guilty party to get a just settlement.

And of course, I was counter sued for over a million dollars and had
to begin dealing with that ugly business.

Now, living with friends during this confusing, dark period of time, a
call came from my California attorney. I was forced to confront the
inevitable - a trip to Los Angeles for a legal hearing.

I had neither the heart nor the will to follow through with this.
Neither did I have the money for the flight and hotel as all my
assets had been frozen by the divorce court at the time.

I recall, as if it were yesterday, how Doug somehow sensed my
emotional turmoil and just matter-of-factly told me to pick up the
airline ticket at the terminal and then invited me to stay with his
family. This is where the real story begins.

Immediately after meeting Doug in person for the first time at the
airport on a Friday afternoon, I felt so unusually comfortable. The
hearing was on Monday but he had no intention of discussing the
case at all on the drive to his home. Instead we talked about our
families, friends, careers and hobbies. His was mountain climbing
and he has since scaled the tallest peaks on the continent!

He told me about how much his wife and daughter were looking
forward to having me stay with them. And, that he had planned get-
togethers with some of his rather famous friends. See, we had built
a rather unique friendship over the phone during the time building up
to this hearing, but I had no idea Doug would be going all out during
our short visit.

I arrived at his beautiful home in the Hollywood Hills to the warm
hugs of Doug's wonderful wife and cuter-than-cute little daughter. If
you've ever visited someone's home for the very first time and
immediately, and truly felt right at home, well, this was one of those
rare instances. Mi casa es su casa.

All of us had a great amount of fun getting to know one another
and, as promised, we had most enjoyable Friday and Saturday
evenings with Doug’s crazy but wonderful friends in the
entertainment world. After all, I was in my element

Sunday night was sleepless however. Although I was very confident
in Doug and his abilities (I'd love to be able to tell you who he has
represented in the past but the terms of the ultimate settlement in
this action prohibit me from sharing any details that would identify
any of the parties involved), I was still very concerned about being in
court with 4 sets of high-powered attorneys against, well, just me
and Doug. Rumor had it that the defendant's father, a very high
profile attorney from a major U.S. city, was also flying in for the
showdown.

On the drive to downtown LA on Monday morning, we finally began
discussing the case. Doug had put my mind at as much ease as
possible as we headed toward the magnificent skyline. If you've
ever seen the skyscrapers of Los Angeles in person or in movies,
you will surely remember the tall, white, rounded building in the
center. Doug's office was near the top floor.

He didn't park anywhere near it however. He pulled into this pay-
per-day lot in a less than fashionable neighborhood many blocks
away. Strange. Homeless people populated the streets. We started
the long trek towards the ivory tower but suddenly Doug stopped to
speak to an old man with a wind-weathered face, crouched against
a building clutching a "mickey" of cheap “Thunderbird" wine in his
dirty, gnarled hands. He simply asked this poor soul how he was
doing and if he had anything to eat recently. The reply was
incoherent and Doug just smiled and handed him 2 one-dollar bills.
We walked onward.

As he repeated this gesture along our long route, even walking half
a block out of our way to greet and hand yet another homeless
person a couple of bucks, I noticed Doug's right pocket was bulging
with what could only be one dollar bills. I didn't ask him about this
ritual, preferring to know that Doug just did this 2-buck thing every
day.

Finally, and as if in another world altogether, we entered this
stunning building and were soon going over the infinite details of our
case in his impressive office.

Suffice it to say although this case was settled somewhat
satisfactorily in the end run, this initial hearing did not go well. After
the hearing and while Doug was in chambers with the judge and
principle lawyers trying to negotiate a fair settlement, the other
participants/all on the other side (some came with an entourage)
gathered into the hallway. I made my way to each one of them and
offered my apologies for having to have them and their clients
involved. They all accepted. Even the defendant's high-powered
father was understanding and exceptionally cordial. We started
chatting about sports and he even made some off-the-record
remarks about his arrogant offspring.

While this conversation was taking place, a loud voice angrily
bounced off the marble walls, "So dad, you switching sides now? "
My former musical friend was now in the hall, obviously witnessing
his dad and myself acting civilly. I walked over and with a simple
gesture of peace, offered my hand to him. It was readily and
violently slapped away.

I am what I feel most would say, a peace-loving, passive human
being. But having the physical sting of an assault like this brought
the instinctual animal out in me, to defend, and I began to react
accordingly . . . good thing for Dad who rushed to the scene and
ushered his son back into the courtroom.

Doug soon emerged with the bad news that anything approximating
a fair settlement was not going to happen this day. That
disappointed me,
but didn't seem to surprise my esteemed lawyer, as he assured me
that we would need to apply more pressure in due course. Not a
nice business.

After our *tough day at the office*, Doug was soon digging back into
his right pocket on our way back to the parking lot, even placing
currency into the hands of some of the same indigents. I then came
to the conclusion that they weren't all strangers.

We pulled in to get some gas just around the corner from the
parking lot and were standing at the pumps when a disheveled
fellow approached us. This time it was me who engaged him in
conversation. He was a Vietnam veteran with a severe chip on his
shoulder and he seemed to be glad just to have someone to listen.

As if by magic, penniless me turned to Doug, who, with a big smile
had his arm outstretched with 2 dollar bills just dangling for me to
take.

My thoughts immediately ran back to several months before when I
encountered a homeless man begging on the downtown Detroit
street that led to the tunnel to Canada when I was returning home
from a meeting with my Michigan attorney. I had a few U.S. dollars
in my pocket and handed them to this man, but, with the following,
loudly spoken condition: "this is for food, not booze!"

But, this was not the way Doug gave - he gave as Giving should
always be – without condition. So, into the hand of this man went
my 2 bucks along with my most sincere wish - "Good Luck!" He
hobbled away, mumbling to himself.

Doug and I have remained friends over the years. We exchange
email and he sends me a Christmas card every year as well as his
articles that have been published in the top law journals.

His giving though, went well beyond helping those souls on the
street.

In the end, and with the final decision left totally to me, we made a
settlement agreement that would not even come close to
compensating me and my music partner for having created a song
that was a vital part of such a successful, worldwide recording
project, and he, for ALL his time, effort and expertise in trying to get
justice for me and my music partner. In Doug's heart-of-hearts, he
knew it would simply end the great stress that this case
represented for me at this totally tumultuous period of time. And
that was good enough for him.

I've never made mention to Doug of our long walk to and from the
office in all this time but I fully suspect he still leaves home each
day with a pocketful of one dollar bills, parks far from his office so
that he can bring a little joy into the lives of the less fortunate, and,
takes on clients that are in the same position as I was a decade
ago.

In other words Giving - as Giving should always be.

© Rick Beneteau