Blog

In February, the California Supreme Court issued an important decision applying the mixed-motive defense to employment discrimination cases brought under California’s Fair Employment and Housing Act (FEHA). First, a brief bit of background: according to the mixed-motive defense, available in federal employment discrimination claims brought under Title VII, if an employer had both discriminatory and nondiscriminatory reasons for firing an employee, the employer should not be liable if the nondiscriminatory reason alone was sufficient to warrant termination of the employee.

In Harris v. City of Santa Monica, a bus driver was terminated for performance-related reasons shortly after she notified her supervisor that she was pregnant. She sued the City alleging the termination was an instance of pregnancy discrimination. At trial, the City asked the court to instruct the jury that, if the City proves it would have reached the same decision to terminate the driver even without a discriminatory motive, then it could not be held liable. The court refused this instruction and instead instructed the jury that if the bus driver proved her pregnancy was “a motivating factor/reason for the discharge” then the City was liable. The jury found the plaintiff’s pregnancy was a motivating factor and awarded her $177,905 in damages and $401,187 in attorney’s fees.

The City appealed and the Court of Appeal determined that the proposed mixed-motive instruction should have been given. It reversed and remanded. Harris sought, and the California Supreme Court granted, review of the Court of Appeal decision.

The Supreme Court held that the instruction should have required the plaintiff to establish, not just that discrimination was a motivating factor or reason, but that it was “a substantial motivating factor/reason” for the termination.* If the plaintiff makes this showing, the employer then has the opportunity to limit its exposure by proving by a preponderance of the evidence that it would have made the same decision for nondiscriminatory reasons, such as job performance. If the jury finds in favor of the employer on this issue, the plaintiff may not recover compensatory damages, back pay or reinstatement, though she may still seek and recover injunctive and declaratory relief. Additionally, she may stll be entitled to recover her attorney’s fees in prosecuting the lawsuit under FEHA.

At first blush, Harris would seem to be a positive development for California employers–and it is. The problem is that employment discrimination suits tend to be attorney-fee driven, with the result that lawyers will file and aggressively pursue marginal liability cases with the hope of striking it big with an attorney fee award. Consider the trial result in Harris, in which the attorney fees sought were over twice the damages award. The practical impact is that the employer is punished (though an attorney fee award) even when it otherwise succeeds in its mixed-motive defense.

*Emphasis added.

One of the earliest motions I learned to write while working as a law clerk was a motion in limine. Perhaps because of the brevity and intentionally narrow scope of these motions, the job of preparing and opposing them seems to regularly fall on young associates.

(For the benefit of readers who are unfamiliar, a motion in limine is a document which asks the court to rule on the admissibility of an item of evidence in advance of, trial and outside the presence of, the jury. One example might be a motion in limine asking the judge in an automotive product liability case to issue an order evidence that a driver was intoxicated on the grounds that the driver’s intoxication is not relevant to whether there was a defect in the vehicle that caused injury.)

The relegation of these motions to clerks or younger lawyers suggests to me that lead trial lawyers believe such motions are simple, should be straightforward or have only a minor impact on the trial. I want to argue this thinking is as mistaken as the assumption that a novelist’s craft is more complex than that of a short story writer.

Even if trial lawyers don’t see it this way (at least at first), I’ve heard many judges confirm the notion that prevailing in most trials comes down to one or two issues, or facts, or items of evidence. We’re often stuck with our good or bad facts. But to the extent one side can identify those one or two issues or facts, and devote resources to capitalizing or eliminating them from the jury’s “universe,” this can strongly impact the outcome.

Consider a couple of examples, starting with the intoxicated driver above. The defendant will want to apportion fault to a driver for causing a crash to occur in the first place. That one of the drivers was drunk makes this much easier (even if the forensic evidence suggests the driver did not cause the crash, the jury will automatically assume he did regardless of the evidence). The plaintiff, then, might want to move to exclude this evidence on relevance grounds (and potentially because it could distract the jury from the product manufacturer’s alleged fault). Success on this motion could be a game-changer for the outcome of the trial.

Another example. What if the defendant in a sexual harassment case had a history of prior complaints against him with the same employer by other women. The plaintiff will obviously view such evidence as crucial to winning her case. However, if the defendant employer, through a well-crafted motion in limine was able to keep the prior complaints out of evidence because they were factually dissimilar from the plaintiff’s complaint, this could literally “gut” the plaintiff’s case against both the alleged harasser and the employer (who could be held liable for continuing to employ the harasser following the prior complaints).

I hold the view that many lawyers do not effectively use motions in limine. They are often superficial, or thrown together and filed as an after-thought. They often file too many, diluting the importance of any individual motion in the eyes of the court. So I offer the following thoughts on how to more effectively seek (or oppose) pretrial evidentiary rulings.

Think of A Motion in Limine As A Knight, Not A Pawn. My biggest beef with the way most lawyers–on both sides of the table–use pretrial motions is the sheer volume of motions they file. In a not especially complex wrongful death case, I once had to oppose 29 separate motions in limine. And these came from the plaintiff’s firm. A really good plaintiff’s firm.

What’s wrong with too many in limine motions? The biggest problem is the burden on the court, the judge and her clerks. We all know the lawyers have to work day, night and weekends preparing for trial, but do you really want to be the one unnecessarily causing the judge and court staff to be pulling all-nighters? I don’t.

A subtly related reason not to over-file pretrial motions is that the judge and her clerks will quickly realize you’re unfocused and may (correctly?) conclude you don’t know what you’re doing. At the very least, after reading 3 or 4 frivolous in limine motions, there’s a good chance the court will give your arguments in all of the remaining motions short shrift.

Avoid the trap of viewing motions in limine as Pawns on the chess board of trial; see them instead as the Knights. This piece is the surgical bad-ass who silently eviscerates your opponent’s key pieces. In other words, leave out the true no-brainer motions, like excluding  reference to insurance or settlement discussions. Look instead for opportunities to creatively shape the evidence that gets in front of the jury.

Don’t Just Crank Them Out. A major upside of being selective about pretrial motions and leaving out the kitchen sink is that it frees you, your associate and/or clerk up to prepare a real motion. You know, with citations to authorities, and even excerpts of deposition transcripts that support your position. It also frees up the judge and her staff to read and take seriously just a few well-written, properly supported arguments. They won’t be so pissed off with having to read 14 separate motions (just from one party) that they deny or put off considering the issues until they come up during the trial (which is exactly what they will do–trust me).

Meet and Confer. Regardless whether the rules of court or standing order require it, you should meet and confer, preferably in writing, before filing any motions. And be sincere in this effort, even if you believe it will be fruitless. As recently as three weeks ago my opposing counsel, in a case in which we were electronically filing documents, sent me an email inviting me to meet and confer on his anticipated pretrial motions. The problem was he sent this email quite literally 8 minutes before his office began the process of electronically filing 17 different motions in limine. It’s like a waitress who sets down a plate of bacon and eggs and asks what you’d like to order for breakfast. Don’t think I didn’t highlight this to the court. (I mean the weak meet and confer effort, not the bacon and eggs analogy.)

It Shouldn’t Be A Last Minute Exercise. I think about evidence exclusion from day one, and particularly during depositions. If I hear something in a deposition that I know I’m ultimately not going to want the jury to hear, I’ll make a note of it and go back and consult these notes when it comes time to think about pretrial evidence exclusion. While I had been, up until recently, an enemy of the dreaded deposition summary, I’ve come around and believe that preliminary thoughts about how to exclude a problem witness or keep out harmful testimony should be included in my new-and-improved deposition summary.

Again, well-planned and well-crafted motions in limine can be game-changing if they win. Hopefully, these suggestions will improve your chances of success.

This originally appeared in the Los Angeles Daily Journal.

At the risk of ridiculous understatement, all is not well in the California state court system. Last week it was reported that, over the last five years, about $1.2 billion has been taken away from our state judiciary, leading to the closure of 164 courtrooms and roughly 2,000 layoffs. In Los Angeles courts, the situation is just going to get worse. Another round of cuts are slated for June, meaning 25 percent fewer courtrooms, and the 16,000 pending personal injury cases will be divided among just three judges.

For those of us who cannot just “pack it in,” but must continue to ply our trade in this challenging environment, the question becomes how to effectively cope with these developments. The most natural response would be to choose a different forum. But federal district court is only an option when it is an option. And, while binding arbitration gives clients the chance to have their disputes heard where, when and by whom they chose, I argue this is rarely a reasonable alternative for at least two reasons. First, arbitration costs an arm and a leg, and these costs are frequently borne at the outset by just one party — usually the defendant. Second, putting one’s fate in the hands of a single decision-maker, with no possibility for review, is a bold step not to be taken lightly.

So, assuming federal court and arbitration are not viable alternatives, what can litigators do? Here are some suggestions:

Take control. The days of state court judges with the time or inclination to micromanage a case are behind us. This creates both a burden and an opportunity. If it furthers your client’s interests to take the helm and control the course of the litigation (and it usually does) and you package your plan in a way that is easy for the judge to adopt, it is possible to gain a tactical advantage.

Consider the Case Management Conference, which is often the first chance to meet the judge. Increasingly, it may be your only time with the judge before trial. Make the most of it. I’m not suggesting judges will begin to show interest in those vanilla Case Management Statement forms. But that doesn’t mean you can’t come to the conference prepared to get something done. Have an agenda and be specific. Want staggered expert disclosure deadlines? Raise it at the conference. Already having problems getting the other side to agree to deposition dates? Ask the judge to schedule them, making the dates part of the minute order. Many judges will appreciate having at least one attorney in the case who is awake at the wheel and ready to advance the ball. You will both curry favor with your judge and advance your client’s interests.

Look for early exit opportunities. This isn’t new or revolutionary. But fewer available courtrooms means it will take longer for your client’s case to reach trial. There was a period when judges aimed to push cases through within a year. This just isn’t going to be viable going forward. If an early exit by summary judgment or settlement is a possibility, pursue it earlier and save your clients the inevitable costs of languishing. Perhaps formulate a reasonable estimate of how early a summary judgment motion could be heard and reserve the hearing date right away. If you don’t, you may learn (as I did) that the court can’t hear your motion until about a week before your trial date (if then), which pretty much defeats the purpose of seeking summary judgment.

Be proactive in simplifying the case. Historically, it was not uncommon for a plaintiff to pursue every theory and keep every party initially sued in the case until the bitter end. This is not an indictment, but an observation. While ancillary theories are ultimately abandoned and unnecessary parties inevitably dismissed, the truth is they probably didn’t belong in the case to begin with and should have been omitted or “cut loose” much sooner. Simplifying the case sooner is not only the right thing to do; it will help reduce the judicial logjam.

Learn to meet and confer. We know the rules of civil procedure require us to demonstrate a good faith effort to meet and confer with opponents before filing discovery motions. Regardless whether we took that obligation seriously in the past, there is no question we must be sincere in our efforts to informally resolve discovery disputes now, since we’re unlikely to get rapid, if any, relief through judicial intervention. Meeting and conferring means earnestly trying to solve a problem, not just posturing.

Manage client expectations. Clients may have wildly different expectations about how a case will progress toward trial. To the extent these expectations may be unreasonable, based on another venue or a different era, take steps to ensure they are in line with the current environment. It is our court system, and not your practice, that is in crisis. Make sure your clients understand this.

Keep abreast. One major complaint cited in a recent Law360 article was the situation of showing up for a firm trial date only to learn it has been continued for weeks or months. We all know how disruptive trial preparation can be, not only for businesses, but also for individual clients. Contacting the clerk as a trial date approaches can often (though not always) yield information that helps reduce the surprise and attendant costs when the trial has been continued.

Is a court action really necessary? Pre-suit settlement has always been an option, but not always one taken seriously by lawyers or their clients. The current judicial budget crisis should change that. Not only will it take longer to get a case to trial, but the costs of getting there — from rising routine filing fees to optional, party-funded court reporters — are rapidly increasing. Where parties might have historically elected to proceed straight to litigation solely to enhance bargaining power or demonstrate resolve, it makes much more sense in the current environment for every party to thoroughly explore settlement before filing a complaint or refusing to further negotiate.

It is not inconceivable that more state general fund money will be allocated to the judiciary to alleviate the courtroom closures and staff layoffs. Until then, however, it falls on practitioners to do what we can to protect our clients during this challenging time. Hopefully these suggestions will help.

It’s amazing how I rushed into law school with no real idea what I would be doing every day of my working life. I had an inkling I would be on the litigation side of things (though I’m not even sure I knew what the word “litigation” meant). Like anyone whose imagination was nourished on a steady diet of television, I thought being a lawyer meant my days would be spent emasculating evil, dishonest witnesses in a packed, captivated courtroom. That is, when I wasn’t driving my Porsche . . . or playing golf . . . or having a power lunch at the Club . . . or whatever.

Imagine my surprise when I graduated, passed the bar and reality set in! In truth, I figured out long before graduation that most days I would be the one getting emasculated, chained to a desk, eating my power lunch at the downtown YMCA. (Don’t laugh. . . the YMCA is a Club, isn’t it?)

What’s interesting, though, is not that those golden trial-lawyer-as-cross-exam-Ninja moments are so few and far between, but rather how varied my job description can actually be from day-to-day. While I do spend the majority of my working hours litigating (i.e., complaining, pleading, advising, calendaring, moving, appearing, arguing, deposing, drafting, researching, responding, conferencing, serving, trying, introducing, direct examining, cross-examining, re-direct examining, re-cross examining, filing, noticing, negotiating, appealing, taxing, counseling, averring, answering, BILLING, reviewing, revising, disclosing, amending, second-amending, designating, counter-designating, etc.), it is surprising how much of my working day I actually spend doing none of these things.

What else do I do? It depends on the client. But in some ways I’ve come to think of it as a service as important (if less lucrative) as any of the -ing activities I listed above: I act as a Resource to my clients. More specifically, as a lawyer I gain unparalleled backstage access into my client’s “kitchen” (not just restaurant clients, either). And it turns out that what they often need is not a hired gun to fight legal battles, but rather an objective sounding board or a referral source. This part of the job is particularly rewarding with new or emerging companies because I’m bringing value by my involvement that a “hired gun” litigator just can’t bring. The more intimately I get to know a client’s business, the more interesting all aspects of my job become.

I take great care when I refer clients or contacts to other professionals. Every referral reflects ultimately on me, and I feel I have a stake in the outcome. So, while I might explore and involve myself in a variety of networks for the specific purpose of making contacts and business referral sources, I take pride that any decision I make to connect a client or contact with a professional is informed by the kind of cold, objective judgment I would use in selecting a doctor to treat me or my family.

When we take our role as a resource to our clients as seriously as we take the role of practicing lawyer we create the possibility of going past a mere attorney-client relationship. We partner. We jointly venture. We approach the most coveted role any lawyer can ever hope for: the Trusted Advisor.

In his chapter on Jury Selection, Thomas Mauet suggests we put ourselves in the shoes of the prospective jurors in order to identify with them and maximize the opportunities that come from voir dire. This is what he says:

“Put yourself in the shoes of a prospective juror. You recently received your notice to appear for jury duty. This morning you arrived at the courthouse, waited in the jury room most of the morning, read a pamphlet about jury service, and were finally called, with about 30 other persons, and brought to a courtroom. You just entered the courtroom and sat down. You can see the judge on the bench, and various other persons in the front of the courtroom. And then you wait some more.”(Fundamentals of Trial Techniques, (3d. ed.) p.23.)

Sadly, during all of the years I have reported for jury duty, I’ve never even made it into a courtroom as a prospective juror. So for now I have to try to imagine what goes through the minds of prospective jurors as they get seated and are questioned by the judge and the attorneys. Mauet helps us along:

“Most jurors have little or no experience in the courtroom. They are in the midst of strangers. They are apprehensive and intimidated. They are worried that their ignorance about the jury trial system will show. They are concerned about their life’s secrets being exposed.” (Id.)

It would never have occurred to me that prospective jurors worry about secrets being exposed. If I reflect on it, though, some people are very uncomfortable revealing, even to one other person, the most basic information, such as their occupation, education level, etc. Of course, voir dire questions often get more personal, including your past experience with the civil or criminal justice system, whether you’ve been a victim or sued. Knowing most of the jurors are uncomfortable, and some even petrified, what’s a trial lawyer to do? Mauet suggests we “turn it around.”

“Change from being a stranger to being the jurors’ friend. If they feel intimidated, reassure them. If they are among strangers, make them feel comfortable. If they are worried about their ignorance, help them become informed. If they are concerned that secrets in their past will be exposed, reassure them. In short, the jury selection process is an opportunity for a trial lawyer to become the jurors’ friend and guide by helping them understand the trial system, by reassuring that they do belong here, and by letting hem know that their participation is important to you and  your party.” (Id.)

Making strangers feel comfortable, reassuring them that publicly sharing their personal and family history is necessary and appropriate, is a pretty tall order. Is it possible? In some cases probably not. But Mauet’s point is well-taken. Recognizing the feelings and emotions of potential jurors, and attempting to connect with them in a way that is both human and humane, is surely the first step toward gaining their trust.

Law360 reported Wednesday that budget cuts are crippling the California state court system. Not that this is really news. Between court closures, job cuts, “no-host” court reporters, furloughs, getting regular, reasonable and reliable access to justice has become very difficult in California state court. And, it’s only anticipated to get worse. The article suggests that, in June, the Los Angeles Superior Court will experience a reduction to 25% fewer courtrooms. Apparently “all of the 16,000 personal injury cases are going to be divided among three judges.”

Really? How can any judge manage a docket of over 5,000 cases?

“Experts,” the article says, believe that plaintiffs will increasingly resort (gasp!) to filing their cases in federal district court. I know this is possible with employment actions where there are both state and federal remedies. But will this become a more appealing alternative to filing in state court and waiting as the case winds through that crumbling court system? I’m not so sure.

I’ve encountered a lot of practitioners on the plaintiff side who will do almost anything to stay out of federal court. I’m not suggesting that this is because these lawyers can’t, by putting in the effort, get up to speed and comply with the stringent federal procedural requirements. It’s more circular. Lawyers who have historically shied away from a federal practice seem less comfortable with the Federal Rules of Evidence or Civil Procedure, which leads them to choose state court, which perpetuates their discomfort with the federal rules and procedures, and on and on, ad infinitum. Could the clogged California state system get so bad that these lawyers overcome this bias against federal court?

There are at least two other reasons I don’t expect plaintiffs to rush into the federal courthouse. First, unanimous agreement among the jurors is required for a verdict in federal court. (FRCP 48) In California state court, only 9 of 12, or three-quarters of the jury, must agree to reach a verdict for the plaintiff. (CCP §613) This means a lot of wiggle room in the state system and absolutely no wiggle room in the federal system.

As I’ve noted, there’s also the question of where jurors are drawn from. In the Los Angeles Superior Court, the jurors will come from Los Angeles county, and typically a smaller judicial district closer to the courthouse. Thus, a case in the Santa Monica courthouse will get jurors with different socioeconomic, ethnic and educational backgrounds from a case pending in the downtown LA courthouse. The federal district courts, however, draw from the entire Northern, Southern, Eastern or Central districts, each of which is a broader conglomeration of separate communities. On the defense side, we often believe this tends to dull the anti-corporate bias which might be prevalent in any one community.

Finally, I cannot attest to the accuracy of this premise–but it has been my experience with federal district court judges that they at least seem more conservative and less pro-plaintiff. At the very least, they pay closer attention to the procedural rules and have less tolerance for blatantly sloppy lawyering. While I can’t control much once a case or issue is in the hands of a judge or jury, I can ABSOLUTELY control whether the lawyering is sloppy. Not everyone is so eager to please.

So, while I’m confident the crisis in the California state court system will have repercussions and practice-changing consequences (such as reserving a date for summary judgment when you answer the complaint!), I’m not inclined to think there will be any kind of stampede to the federal courthouse. Just a hunch.

It is no exaggeration to say that I learn something (or many things) from every mediation or settlement conference I attend. I recently traveled to Fresno to attend a settlement conference before a talented and hard-working USDC magistrate judge. During the conference he made a point that had escaped me before, but hopefully never will again.

First some background. This was an employment discrimination case in which the plaintiff alleged harassment, retaliation and constructive discharge, which would require her to prove that her working conditions were so intolerable that a reasonable person in the plaintiff’s position would literally have had no choice but to quit.

Early in the settlement conference, the judge met briefly with the lawyers and parties altogether. He employed an interesting, but effective approach. He spent a bit of time talking about the parties’ respective cases, focusing on each side’s weaknesses. After a few minutes of this, he said “here’s where I see the range,” and proceeded to give us a bracket.* The bottom of the bracket was well above where my client, the defendant, was prepared to negotiate so early in the settlement conference. However, the top of the bracket was well below where we knew (from prior discussions with her counsel) plaintiff was interested in beginning negotiations. Thus, both sides were equally unhappy. The judge concluded this introductory session by excusing us to meet separately with our clients. If both parties were interested in negotiating within the judge’s bracket, we should return after lunch and continue the settlement conference. If either party was not willing to begin in the bracket, we were instructed to so advise the judge’s clerk and we would be excused for the day.

What I liked about this approach was how it cut through a lot of preliminary posturing. While I would not recommend it for a paid mediator, it was effective coming from a USDC magistrate judge. Both parties reluctantly agreed to negotiate within the bracket and, several hours later, we settled the case.

One of the things the judge pointed out when he was apprising plaintiff and her lawyer of weaknesses he perceived in her case related to where the jury venire would be drawn from if we did not settle. Had the case been pending in state court, jurors would have been drawn solely from Fresno county, which apparently enjoys a healthy mixture of middle and lower middle class jurors owing to a university and, if not thriving, at least sustaining local agriculture-based economy.

But, because we were in the Eastern District federal court, our jurors would be drawn, not only from Fresno county, but also from several surrounding counties. The judge pointed out that jurors from many of these surrounding counties will have been struggling financially since before the recession. Jobs are scarce. Many of these jurors, the judge said, will not be particularly sympathetic to the notion that any person who was lucky enough to have a job would voluntarily chose to leave, regardless how bad the conditions were.

Whether this hit home for plaintiff or her lawyer I don’t know. But I thought it was a pretty powerful point. Forum shopping is nothing new and our opponent had unsuccessfully fought pretty hard against our removal of the case from state to federal court. But, if you find you’re in a venue in which the jurors are not going to easily receive your client’s theory or conduct, it’s important to factor this into your strategy and presentation.

How do you figure out if you’re up against this kind of “region bias” on any particular issue? I had spent some time looking at census statistics for Fresno, thinking I was gaining some understanding about our potential jurors, completely overlooking the fact that a district court draws from outside the county. There’s your answer, though. Find out definitively where jurors for your courthouse will be drawn from and analyze that entire region. A better approach, though, might be to retain local counsel (always a good idea, in my view, if the case warrants the cost and you can find reliable local counsel).

Whatever you do, it’s critical to find out where your jurors will hail from, and be perceptive to possible “region bias” issues that could impact your client’s success at trial.

*Of his “throw out a bracket” approach the judge said he would normally never “just put a number out there,” but he was pressed for time that day, as he had meetings and a hearing he had to fit in around our settlement conference. Ironically, throwing out the bracket was probably the most intelligent thing the judge did all day.

I was really impressed by a recent post at Philly Law Blog, in which Jordan Rushie discusses a humbling experience he had early in his law practice. What was so great about the post (and I highly recommend it, as well as the blog generally) was Rushie’s brave willingness to expose the kind of judgmentally-impoverished immaturity most of us have when we first start out. I bet many of us who have graduated into our second, third or fourth decade of practice could, if we were brave enough and our memory was up to it, recall an instance where we used similarly poor judgment.

I can’t speak for doctors or other professionals, but I know the first couple of years practicing law can be a challenging time. I think it stems largely from the following: when we start out (1) we’ve invested 3 years and a pile of money to get a degree which suggests we know what we were doing; (2) our employers and/or clients hire and (hopefully) pay us because we’re supposed to know what we’re doing; (3) the professional and ethical obligations imposed on us are premised on the assumption that we know what we’re doing, BUT (4) we don’t really know what we’re doing. When we get into a situation we’re unprepared to handle, we want so badly not to admit or show that we don’t know what to do, we often punt. While it works sometimes, other times punting can get us into a predicament that’s embarrassing, or worse.

This is compounded by opposing counsel who, if they have any experience at all, will figure out pretty quick that we are brand new and don’t really know what we’re doing. Some will exploit this.

My first deposition was a classic example. I was a first year lawyer, working at an insurance defense firm. While not nearly as prestigious (or well-paying) as BigLaw firms, starting your career representing insured clients in a variety of cases has tremendous value as a training exercise. While you’re not litigating Apple vs. Samsung, you generally get the chance to take depositions, argue motions, handle arbitrations, mediations and settlement conferences–in short, lawyering–from your very first day.

I had sat through a couple of depositions taken by partners in the firm–because God knows you’re not taught deposition skills in law school–and then let loose to take my first deposition of a third-party witness in a fender-bender case. It was so hokey, I think we took the depo at the witness’s home. In any event, I got there first and waited on the doorstep for my opponent to arrive. She did, and seemed friendly enough at first. She had a harried appearance, in her mid-late 40s. I must have looked really green, because pretty early in the conversation she asked “Is this your first deposition?” What was I going to do? Lie? Get offended? Tell her it was none of her business?

The court reporter arrived and swore in the witness. I did fine through the admonitions. But once I started getting to the meat of the testimony my opponent quickly adopted this habit of interjecting, either when she thought my question wasn’t clear or good enough, or to “clear something up” after the witness responded. She never objected to my questions, just went through and “fixed” them as we went along. Of course she fixed them in a way that rendered useless any testimony that might have been useful to my client. I remember thinking at the time that this didn’t seem right, that it wasn’t how the depositions I’d watched had gone, but I didn’t have the balls (at the time) to shut her up.

In the end the transcript of the deposition was pretty useless for purposes of my client’s defense. But it wasn’t the end of the world. If the carrier paid $8,900 to settle the case instead of $8,500 because we didn’t have a great third-party witness deposition to use at trial, it didn’t seem to bother the partner who’d sent me on the depo. He just laughed when I talked to him about it. He said, “Next time, tell her it’s your dime and she’ll get her turn.”

It’s interesting that our law school evidence classes teach us the mechanics of the rules of evidence, however, (if my memory serves) we’re not given much guidance on how to decide whether, assuming a question is objectionable, it is a good idea to object during trial. It is true that the rules of evidence have application outside the context of a jury trial, and in fact it can be years before a lawyer actually has to make the decision whether to raise an objection at trial. But the question whether it makes strategic sense to object in the presence of the jury merits some analysis.

I consulted Professor McElhaney and, as expected, he had wisdom to impart. In Litigation, he articulates rules for when to object. I’ll list the first five here.

Rule One: Wait for a Reason

Only object when you have a good reason to object, and this means that “it advances your theory of the case.” Id. at 211. McElhaney reminds us that jurors resent objections. Why? Because they understand the point of an objection is to keep information from them, keep them in the dark. Assuming your objection is sustained, the jury will most likely understand that you have succeeded in an attempt to keep a piece of information from them. It must have been important information, or else why would you have made the effort to object–at least that’s how the jurors will think.

Rule Two; Don’t Object When It Will Help Your Opponent

I’ll confess that applying this second rule, obvious as it seems, may be challenging. This is because I’m not sure it will always be clear how my objection will help my opponent. Professor McElhaney gives two examples. In the first example, your opponent is leading a witness because so much time has passed that her memory has become fuzzy. You could object to the leading questions, but McElhaney points out that leading questions send a message that the witness cannot be trusted to remember properly, so your opponent’s leading questions may not be helping his cause, and the objection, sustained or not, will likely lead your opponent to improve the witness’s credibility by asking fewer leading questions.

In his second example, your opponent is fumbling through trying to lay a foundation for a business record. If you object, it “may help educate him so he will do a better job with other business records that are much more damaging.” Id. at 212. Let him fumble.

Rule Three: Only Object When Your Objection Deserves to be Sustained

The subtle message sent to the jury if you make objections that are overruled is that you are not especially fit to guide them out of the “swamp” of trial. McElhaney is careful, however, not to suggest you limit objections to only those circumstances in which they will be sustained, but rather only those instances in which they deserve to be sustained. “There are times when you simply must make your record, knowing the trial judge will overrule your objection.” Id.

Rule Four: Object Outside The Jury’s Presence If Possible

McElhaney is careful to distinguish outside the jury’s presence, from outside the jury’s hearing. Jurors hate sidebar conferences.

Rule Five: Object Promptly

This also makes sense. But he also gives an example of where an opponent exaggerates or fabrics a fact during his closing argument. He suggests it could make sense to wait, not object, and instead comment upon the fabricated or exaggerated fact during your rebuttal.

One point McElhaney makes really rings true for me on the subject of objecting during trial: “you have a limited good-will account with the judge and jury at the start of the trial. Everything you do in the trial affects that account. You are always making deposits and withdrawals. . . . [A]n objection looks like you are trying to keep something from the judge and jury, so it usually counts as a withdrawal.” Id. at 211.

Every once in a while I get a glimpse into the way another lawyer or firm practices their craft and I have something like an epiphany. I realize there’s a vastly better way to do something, and it makes me want to kick myself because I didn’t realize it sooner. I was privy this week to some work product from a lawyer representing a co-defendant and I had one of these moments.

By way of background, I have long despised the practice of summarizing depositions. When I finish taking a deposition, the last thing I want to immediately do is revisit the details. I’m not sure why, but I usually just want to get on with my life. Then, the next day–which is the very latest possible time that you should try to summarize a deposition from notes and memory–I’m even less interested in summarizing a depo. Not only do I just hate doing it, I’ve actually given the issue a bit of thought and concluded that, in most instances, it does not bring a lot of value to have someone bill several hundred dollars an hour to “summarize” anything, deposition testimony included. That’s why when I am engaged by a client that does not require a summary, I usually keep the reporting of the event to two sentences or less. Later, as we near trial, I find a sensibly written* page/line index is useful if there is a 5% or greater chance the witness will be called to testify. But a summary of what I just heard has always seemed like a painful waste of time.

Well, like I said, I’ve had an epiphany and changed my mind. The summaries I learned to write as a young associate were these kind of narratives: what kind of witness did they make and what did they say. The summary that made me change my tune had 3 distinguishing characteristics.

First, the “summary” part was in bullet, not narrative, form. It wasn’t a long, time-consuming rumination about what kind of witness the deponent will likely make at trial because she has excessive facial hair, or tends to drool, or whatever. Instead, it was punchy and to-the-point. Something like: “Retired nurse. Late 60s. Smart. Detail-oriented.” The information conveyed by the deponent was described this way, too. It probably took the lawyer 10-15 minutes to lay out these details, maybe less if he dictated it.

The second component was how to deal with the witness if she testifies at trial. In this instance, it was a witness of whom we are theoretically afraid. So the lawyer laid out 2-3 points that distinguishes what she said from the facts of our case, and an additional point about how some of what she said is subject to exclusion as hearsay. The real genius of this approach is that it might trigger follow-up that could be missed otherwise. For example, if the witness went out on a limb about something that could easily be proven wrong by a photograph or a subpoenaed record, you should note this and go ahead and assign the follow-up (at least in a perfect world).

Finally, the third component of the summary was a short opinion about the impact of the testimony. It could be as brief as “Problematic for our defense because . . . .” Or something more detailed, if time and inclination permits. The point is that it’s something that could be dictated or written in a half hour or less at the end of the day before you tuck yourself into that first 12 oz. vodka martini.

Because this format is shorter, tighter and more user-friendly, the recipient of the summary will probably be grateful, too. I can tell you my best writing never found its way into a deposition summary–I save that for you, my loyal readers.

And while we’re on the topic of what to do when you’ve completed the deposition, another is to immediately draft written follow-up discovery, or at least make a to-do list of the additional work that needs doing. Most of the time a witness–at least an important one–will open a door that you hadn’t really considered before. Follow up here is critical and, like the details of a dream, easily forgotten if not at least noted right away.

*A sensibly written page/line deposition index is something I might cover in another post, if I run out of marginally interesting things to write about. I know I’m pushing the envelope with this post about deposition summaries, which is why I included the racy picture.