an imposing, sun-creased product of outdoors Wyoming with an original cast of mind, outsized personality, and throwback get-up, Gerry seemed somehow monumental, like the Grand Tetons he lived near. He exerted a gravitational force.
This captivating force steeped me in his justice-for-little-people universe, with a bass-baritone Voice of God, western / Native-American vibe( like Sitting Bull played by Gladiator’ s Russell Crowe), folksiness and simple language, smile as sweet as your grandmother’ s, and, when called for, thundering one moment( at Kerr-McGee’ s recklessness) and near-whispering the next, in a closing argument demonstration.
He shook the rafters in another closing demo, railing theatrically against McDonald’ s for screwing over a small family ice cream business( he’ d won a $ 52 million verdict):“ They destroyed my client for a few extra dollars of profit, to put in their pocket! [ making a fist ] In their Pocket!”
Shaquille O’ Neal said after his first time on a( basketball) court with Michael Jordan,“ I don’ t know what God looks like, but it was like seeing God.” It was a little like that with Gerry.
It was no surprise when client Michael Durell— who drove 1,400 miles from Minnesota to get Gerry to take his case— said,“ When Mr. Spence walks into a courtroom, he’ s going to win. That’ s all there is to it.”
“ When he entered the room, things changed,” said client Teri Rabun.
A colleague said Gerry’ s hold on juries was so strong he could hypnotize them. At least one opponent complained that he did hypnotize them. I didn’ t feel hypnotized, or if I was I haven’ t snapped out of it. For a few months after the workshop, I drove around in the country on weekends listening to a cassette tape of it, until I wore it out( maybe I was hypnotized).
Even after watching several great trial lawyers, seeing Gerry do voir dire, opening statement, and closing argument demonstrations that day was like seeing daylight after darkness. Ditto his crossexamination( went something like this).
Gerry said he might have gone into opera had he known there was such a thing growing up. He wanted opera to be part of a trial lawyers’ school he was planning in the workshop,( he started one in 1994). Opera packed the same level of emotional power that Gerry’ s trial performances did.
PUTTY IN HIS HANDS
He knew jurors were apt to buy what he was selling because he mostly was selling himself. He wrote in Gunning for Justice,“ The jury accepts or rejects me, not my case,” and,“ It is I, always, not the client on trial.”
His pitch essentially was,“ My client isn’ t guilty because I say he’ s not.”
As a( self-appointed) juror I found myself not just wanting to go along with him but feeling like I wanted his approval.
STICKING IT TO YOU
Gerry’ s power was part physical and elemental. The outfit and his demeanor screamed physicality. He was big and got in your face— and other parts of you— if you were his adversary.
Gerry crowded you when you were arguing together before the judge, wanting you to feel what you were up against. He demonstrated, sticking an elbow into an imaginary opponent’ s ribs and whispering sweet nothings such as“ Shut up, motherf----.”
Sometimes while examining a witness he’ d drift by opposing counsel’ s table and taunt,“ Object, motherf----.”
Most attorneys he ran into were“ pansies,” he said, explicitly including in that group all of us at the workshop. We were“ little debutantes of the legal profession who think that lawyers ought to do the minuet with each other,” as he said elsewhere.
NOT FAMILIAR
The way courtroom Gerry rolled differed radically from every other trial lawyer I’ ve seen, heard of, or imagined. As one great golfer said of a greater one, Jack
Nicklaus,“ He plays a game with which I am not familiar.”
Having seen Clarence Darrow( Gerry’ s hero; on video), F. Lee Bailey, Mark Lanier, David Boies( I was on the trial team against him in Bush v. Gore), and other best of the best, they’ re great and all, but Gerry they’ re not. He connected with juries on emotional wavelengths that no other trial lawyer has had access to.
And the other greats lost cases. You probably know Gerry never lost a criminal jury trial and never lost a civil jury trial after 1969( except once in a John Grisham novel). In Marvel Universe parlance, Gerry was inevitable. He pulled off more near-miracles than you can shake a stick at— Randy Weaver, Ed Cantrell, Imelda Marcos, Sandy Jones, others.
The other greats are impressive, but they can’ t compete with grand opera.
RIGHT MAKES MIGHT
“ We are defined by how we use our power,” Gerry said. He spent 80 percent of his time representing“ the poor, the injured, the forgotten, the voiceless, the defenseless and the damned.”
He represented“ little people trying to get big justice.”
This magnified his power.“ Right makes might,” Lincoln said.
His workshop was about representation of such people, exclusively.
IT AIN’ T BRAGGIN’
The key to Gerry’ s greatest-ever career was his unsurpassed ability to tell stories that pulled strong emotions out of the jury. It’ s worth trying to emulate.
Gerry could credibly say that opponents“ ha [ ve ] no way to really survive against the likes of me.” As a selfappointed juror that day, I saw it, felt it. It was self-evident.
That’ s all there is to it.
The Trial Lawyer 19