If it’s possible for any living trial (and appellate) lawyer to qualify as a rock star, David Boies unquestionably deserves that title. In the Review section of the Wall Street Journal last weekend, Boies said this about the need to improvise during cross-examination:

“This is jazz; it is not a symphony . . . This is Miles Davis; it’s not Beethoven”

This echoes something I discussed in an earlier post, calling on the writings of Malcolm Gladwell, on the topic of successful spontaneity in the courtroom. In a nutshell, Gladwell writes about similarities between improvisational theatre and armies entering battle and the need for both to meticulously prepare in advance, which frees them to be spontaneous in the moment. Because there’s probably no greater example of a writer’s narcissism than self-quoting, I’m going to quote myself discussing Gladwell. Here goes:

“Gladwell likened the actors’ level of pre- and post-performance effort to the preparation an army or navy undergoes in advance of an actual battle. Soldiers train, practice and even participate in highly elaborate war games to prepare for what they might encounter on the battlefield. Gladwell refers to this preparation as ‘creating the conditions [necessary] for successful spontaneity.’

It occurred to me that creating the conditions necessary for successful spontaneity in the courtroom can be viewed the same way. In other words, while the improvisational actors do not work off of a script, and soldiers cannot anticipate exactly what they will encounter on the battlefield, it is through meticulous preparation in advance of the performance or battle that both the actors and the soldiers are able to successfully respond spontaneously to whatever is thrown their way.

That same level of preparation is necessary in advance of trial in order for the lawyer to successfully respond spontaneously to whatever is thrown his or her way at trial. While most of us will craft an outline for direct or cross-examination, it is only by being thoroughly prepared that we can effectively deal with surprises, such as an unexpected evidentiary ruling, a witness who forgets or gets confused, or a judge who cuts our examination short.”

While the focus of that post was on advance preparation as the key ingredient to successful spontaneity, Boies is advancing a slightly different message. While he echoes several successful trial lawyers I’ve written about on this blog on the need to work hard to prepare for trial (“‘It’s a question of how much they want to win,’ he says of his opponents. ‘Do they want to win more than going to the opera?'”), the main message is the need for rest to maintain the ability to be spontaneous over the course of a lengthy trial. The WSJ article says:

“During a trial, Mr. Boies keeps a disciplined schedule. Though his staff may work through the night, he makes sure he sleeps for eight hours since he’ll be the one in the spotlight. ‘If I don’t do that, over a long period of time I’m not going to be able to do what I need to do in court.’ He says that it’s especially important to be able to improvise during cross-examination, coming up with new questions.”

I want to argue that, for most of us, who are not leading a giant trial “team” for clients with endless budgets, advance preparation is still the answer. This is because you have a choice: you can make it a goal to complete most of your trial preparation before trial begins, or prepare at the last minute, every night. If you’ve sufficiently prepared in advance, it’s more likely you can make it to bed by midnight than if you’ve waited until the night before to prepare your cross. I’m just sayin’.

On Wednesday, a 12-member New York jury returned a verdict against Michael Steinberg, a senior portfolio manager with hedge fund SAC Capital Advisors LP, finding him guilty of trading using inside information that allegedly passed through four people before it reached him. An article in today’s Wall Street Journal about the deliberations of the jury forewoman, Demethress Gordon, provides a glimpse into how jurors bring their own experiences to the deliberation process, sometimes filling gaps left open by the trial attorneys.

Ms. Gordon entered the deliberations convinced Steinberg was innocent. The evidence against Steinberg included tips passed to him from his subordinate, an SAC analyst named Jon Horvath, about Dell and Nvidia. Steinberg allegedly placed trades within minutes after receiving the information from Horvath, who was a cooperating witness in the government’s prosecution. Ms. Gordon was initially not convinced by the evidence that Steinberg knew the tips were the fruits of confidential, “inside” information. She rationalized, as the story points out, “he [Steinberg] was the boss and relied on his staff to supply him with information they knew to be proper.”

Following the first day of deliberations, however, Ms. Gordon attended a screenwriting class “that happened to focus on the subtext of characters’ actions.” This made her receptive to an analogy offered, during the second day of deliberations, by another juror “who told her to imagine walking through the door. ‘He told me to go through the door,’ she said. ‘I understood what he meant, without him having to say, ‘Walk to the door. Turn the knob. Step through it.'” It “suddenly clicked. People can understand more than they are told . . . Mr. Steinberg must have known the information he received was based on nonpublic information . . . even if it wasn’t explicitly made clear.” After Ms. Gordon changed her mind and explained her reasoning to the sole remaining hold-out, who agreed, the jury returned a unanimous guilty verdict.

This perfectly illustrates how jurors will sometimes draw from their own outside experiences or intuitions to fill a problematic chasm in the elements of a case (or a defense). While I don’t know more about the evidence either side presented, this suggests to me (1) that the prosecutor did not have or put forth sufficient evidence that Steinberg would have understood, explicitly or implicitly, that the analyst’s tip was inside information (though it is telling that 10 of 12 jurors were apparently ready to convict at the end of the first day of deliberations), and/or (2) Steinberg’s defense attorney did not sufficiently anticipate and exploit this gap in the evidence. Either way, it’s interesting to be a fly on the wall.

I’ve been reading Malcolm Gladwell’s Blink. Actually, I’ve been listening to the book on CD during my long commutes between Santa Barbara, where I live, and Los Angeles, where I mostly work.

I really like Gladwell, because he seems to dwell in the world of irony. In Blink, he capitalizes on how we often make more accurate decisions quickly, based on less information, than we do if we take more time and are weighed down with more information.

In one part of the book, Gladwell focuses on spontaneity. He discusses the improvisational comedy group, “Mother,” which performed at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre in New York city. He points out that, while the actors acted spontaneously on stage, reacting to what other actors said without any prearranged script, they were only able to perform so seamlessly because they spent a great deal of time both practicing and conducting post-performance analysis of each show.

Gladwell likened the actors’ level of pre- and post-performance effort to the preparation an army or navy undergoes in advance of an actual battle. Soldiers train, practice and even participate in highly elaborate war games to prepare for what they might encounter on the battlefield. Gladwell refers to this preparation as “creating the conditions [necessary] for successful spontaneity.”

It occurred to me that creating the conditions necessary for successful spontaneity in the courtroom can be viewed the same way. In other words, while the improvisational actors do not work off of a script, and soldiers cannot anticipate exactly what they will encounter on the battlefield, it is through meticulous preparation in advance of the performance or battle that both the actors and the soldiers are able to successfully respond spontaneously to whatever is thrown their way.

That same level of preparation is necessary in advance of trial in order for the lawyer to successfully respond spontaneously to whatever is thrown his or her way at trial. While most of us will craft an outline for direct or cross-examination, it is only by being thoroughly prepared that we can effectively deal with surprises, such as an unexpected evidentiary ruling, a witness who forgets or gets confused, or a judge who cuts our examination short.

Legendary trial lawyer Edward Bennett Williams took this level of preparation a step further. His preparation included “devil’s advocate research” which prepared him for surprises his opponent might hurl at him during trial. In an interview published in the Winter, 1986 issue of Litigation, he said:

“I believe that a lawyer should always have the devil’s advocate. In my office, the devil’s advocate researches each of our cases as we prepare it, persistently finding the holes and forcing us to prepare specifically against each of them. Whenever I go into court, I have completely prepared both sides of the case.

Some trial lawyers do not want to do this. They say, ‘My opponent is skillful. He will find all the law on his side. I am going to prepare only my side.’ But I don’t like it that way, and I don’t think it can be done that way.

I believe a lawyer must prepare both sides so that he will not be surprised by whatever may be hurled at him. After he is prepared in this way, even if his opponent does come up with some detail that may have escaped him, it cannot be so far from the facts already known that it will completely surprise him or put him at a total disadvantage.” (Litigation, Vol. 12, No. 2 (Winter 1986), p. 37.)

So prepare for trial like you’re taking the stage or walking onto the battlefield.

Few of us aspire to be a briefcase carrier when we start law school, but that’s what many of us find ourselves doing when we first pass the bar. At least if we’re lucky. I know everyone might not share this view, but it can be pretty nice to get paid to finish the education you started in law school by carrying the briefcase for a lawyer who’s been trying cases for a while. Not everyone is a good role model just because they’ve got experience but, as I’ve said before, you can learn at least one thing from every lawyer you meet.

One of the first things I learned during my bag carrying apprenticeship was not to forget when you were in trial, or about to start a trial, that jurors, or potential jurors, are literally everywhere around the courthouse.

I learned this the hard way, of course, when I made the mistake of talking loudly about the our motions in limine with the partner as we were walking out of the courtroom. “Shhhh,” he said. I didn’t know at first what he was talking about; it seemed like we were all alone in the hallway, or alone enough, so that I could speak freely. “The walls have ears,” he said. I still didn’t understand until, a few steps later, I noticed the familiar face of one of our prospective jurors, leaning against the wall, reading a dog-eared paperback.

When we got outside, and we were very clearly alone, he said, “Remember when you’re in trial that jurors are literally everywhere. And they hear and see everything.”

I was reminded of this point last week when working with Juryology blogger Rich Matthews on drafting a post about working with jury consultants. Rich pointed out that jurors pay attention to how parties and their lawyers act outside the courtroom. Are you or your client rude or impatient in getting through the security screening process coming into the courthouse? What about in the courthouse cafeteria during lunch? It is all information and they take it into the deliberation room.

I knew about one prominent LA trial lawyer who had done well, and owned a couple of exotic cars, but would only drive his Jeep Grand Cherokee when he was in trial. He felt it was important for jurors who saw him arrive at the courthouse (or leave at the end of the day) to see him driving a sensible, American-made car.

When someone at my firm is in trial, associates are encouraged to come down to watch at least a portion of the proceedings. But they are admonished in advance to (1) dress well, (2) behave with extreme decorum in the courtroom, and (3) do nothing to create the impression they are affiliated with the firm or the client, lest the impression they create is a poor one.

Many litigators, even those who do trial work, have only a hazy idea about how much value a good jury consultant can bring to trial preparation and presentation. I’m here, with my friend, colleague and Juryology blogger Rich Matthews, to change that. In this post I’m going to identify five ways a good jury consultant can improve your chance of winning at trial.

First, though, I want to acknowledge a challenging hurdle in getting a jury consultant involved in any case. Often, our clients hold the view that lawyers have the education, training and experience needed to do quality jury research, in addition to our day job of mastering and presenting the legal issues, so hiring a jury consultant is needlessly duplicative. Rich dispels this view right away. He says:

“Clients make the mistake of thinking lawyers should be experts in jury research, and it’s often true that the lawyer who would like to hire a trial consultant doesn’t know what to say to the client about that. I would say that it’s like hiring any other expert for the case– lawyers are skilled at the law, jury consultants are skilled at social research. They are two different disciplines entirely.”

How can you effectively use a jury consultant on your case? Here are five ways:

1. In The Courtroom During Voir Dire.

I’ve either heard it said, or said it myself, either way it’s true: selecting a jury is the least understood process of a trial. This is because most schools don’t teach it and the only way to learn is by doing it and not only are trials precious commodities these days, but judges frequently take over the function of voir dire. As a consequence, many of us are ill-prepared to do voir dire well.

Jury consultants can help in formulating the right types of questions to sound out potential reasons why your client could benefit from challenging particular jurors. “Lawyers,” Rich says, “tend to have the wrong priorities in voir dire. They prioritize arguing their case over the most important thing in voir dire which is to get jurors talking and responding to each other.”

Even if the process is spread over multiple days, such as selecting a jury for a long cause trial, everything moves pretty fast in voir dire. A good jury consultant can help slow the process, or at least help your trial team sort through the mass of data being generated in this tight time-frame, so that intelligent decisions can be made about the need for specific juror challenges.  As Rich points out, jury consultants are skilled at “tracking all the hundreds of bits of data flying in the courtroom all the time and coalescing that into judgment.”

2. In Developing A Jury Profile Before Trial.

Before anyone enters the courtroom, a jury consultant can help the trial team develop a plan for what kinds of jurors (1) they are likely to encounter in a given venue, and (2) of these, which may come into the case with particular biases that will impede their ability to receive and process evidence fairly (by “fairly” here I naturally mean in a way that is favorable to my client). As Rich says:

“While attorneys are keeping up with developments in the law and managing your cases, the best trial consultants are monitoring all kinds of public opinion data and trends. So trial consultants start out in a much better position to develop a profile for the jury for counsel to follow during jury selection.”

Thus, even if your client is resistant to the cost of having a jury consultant present in the courtroom during voir dire or other crucial parts of the trial, there may still be value in the lesser investment of involving a consultant before trial starts.

3. Working With Focus Groups.

You know those parts of the case which you’re most worried about? When the trier of fact is a panel of jurors, those parts of the case are often not legal issues, but “juror issues.” Rich notes that “easily the best way to assess your case’s juror issues, as distinct from the legal issues,” is to work with a jury consultant and one or more focus groups. “Lawyers,” Rich says, “think like lawyers and focus very closely on the precise laws, whereas jurors are more ‘gestalt’ kind of thinkers and are more interested in a broad kind of justice and morality. This difference in focus will lead lawyers to overestimate the impact of a statute/rule/jury instruction on laypeople. The only way to get on the same plane as laypeople is with a focus group.” Anyone who has done focus group research knows it’s going to yield the most valuable information–useful conclusions–if the research is directed and interpreted by someone with the proper training.

4. Case Evaluation.

Most of us, myself included, tend not to think about involving a jury consultant until after the decision to take a case to trial has been made. Rich feels this is a mistake, since we tend to develop a kind of tunnel vision about the quality of our case or defense, and pass that on to influence our clients. Instead, “it’s imperative  to consider the ‘social zeitgeist,’ or what is happening in the collective social consciousness — as well as understand the predictable places where laypeople will deviate from how lawyers think —  when valuing a case or deciding whether to take it to trial.” Good jury consultants should be able to channel into this and inform your case evaluation.

A bonus to involving the consultant earlier than later is that he or she can help you shape your discovery to fit a theme that is likely to resonate with jurors, as opposed to the more common approach of trying to pigeonhole evidence gathered at random into a theme that is developed for the first time on the eve of trial.

5. Witness Preparation.

A consultant can help prepare a witness for testimony in deposition or a trial in a way that most lawyers cannot. I’m afraid I have to agree with Rich when he says:

“Lawyers have proven woefully inadequate at witness preparation. Most lawyers think that reviewing the facts and saying ‘Just remember to tell the truth’ constitutes good witness preparation. It doesn’t. Imagine a witness who actually has skills at testifying– not just what to say, but how to say it; how not to bait the bear; how to tell his or her story to jurors. It’s so much more than just ‘Here, re-read your deposition transcript and make sure you follow it precisely or else we’re going to be in trouble.’”

Ok, I’m not that bad at witness preparation, since it’s something I’ve long recognized to be crucially important. But yes, Rich, we get the message!

One last word on hiring a jury consultant, devote the time and effort to finding a good one. As Rich says, there are “lots of mediocre consultants flooding the marketplace.”

I’ve previously written about how young lawyers enjoy an undeserved reputation for honesty. It’s a gift. Don’t squander it.

Similarly, when jurors encounter a trial lawyer for the first time, the lawyer’s mere presence in the courtroom says many things before the lawyer opens her mouth. This observation comes from the trusted Professor McElhaney. In a chapter from Litigation (ABA 1995) entitled “The Most Important Witness,” he suggests that a trial lawyer’s presence in the courtroom implicitly says to the jury:

• “I have studied the facts and understand what this dispute is all about. You can trust me to steer you straight.
• I have carefully screened the witnesses. I will only call those who will tell you the truth.
• I know the law that governs this case. Justice is on our side.
• If I introduce evidence, it is because it is important.
• If I leave something out, it is because it is not important.
• And If I attack a witness, it is because he is not telling the truth.” (Id. at 9.)

Of course, just as with a young lawyer’s unearned reputation for honesty, each of the above assumptions can be quickly proven wrong. Witness choice is a perfect example. While you sometimes have no choice but to present a dodgy witness, this should not be undertaken lightly. As Professor McElhaney points out:

“[T]he very act of putting the witness on the stand implies that you are vouching for his credibility. . . . Whom do the jurors blame for a bad witness? Listen closely to the comments clerks and bailiffs hear every day. ‘I wonder where she got that guy?’ ‘Where did he dig him up?’ ‘Can’t he find someone better than that?'” (Id. at 11.)

Another opportunity to prove the jury wrong in their initial positive impression arises from how you organize your evidence presentation, including direct examination of your witnesses. How you conduct the examination, what you leave in and what you leave out can affirm or undermine the assumption that “If I introduce evidence, it is because it is important.” As McElhaney says it:

“A confused, rambling examination suggests a disorganized understanding of the facts. Not only does it fail to tell the story effectively, a poor direct examination is the living picture of a guide who cannot be trusted to lead a jury through the thicket of facts in the case.

Dwelling at length on small points is a little different. At first it suggests that the seemingly insignificant detail will become important later on.

Why? Just putting it in the case says it is worth the jury’s while.

So the first time the fact that took so long to explain turns out to be meaningless, the jury feels cheated. When it happens again, they wonder whether the lawyer is trying to kick sand in their faces or is just inept.” (Id.)

The jurors are your friends, your students and your wards. Don’t kick sand in their faces.

I found a fantastic interview of trial legend Edward Bennett Williams from the Winter, 1986 issue of Litigation which I intend to read and re-read like the Bible.

Among the myriad of topics he discusses was the kind of “team” he works with at trial, which led to a discussion of trying “big document” cases. Many lawyers, even seasoned trial lawyers, tend to make the assumption that the bigger the issues to be decided by the jury, the more witnesses and paper–documents–are needed to prove a party’s case or defense. If an outsider was to simply look at the kind of discovery conducted in any big case, he or she would easily assume that, if the documents were worth seeking in costly discovery, they must have been germane and, ultimately, indispensable to winning.

Williams takes issue with this kind of thinking. He suggests that, in all but the most complex cases, lawyers tend to “multiply documents” unnecessarily. In the end, being unnecessarily document intensive does not further their clients’ interests or bring them closer to victory. Responding to interviewer Priscilla Anne Schwab, Williams says:

“Mr. Williams: I was brought up in a school of practice in which one person tried a case and tried it in toto. Even with some help, in the courtroom there was only one voice. And I like that.

Ms. Schwab: What about a complex case, say, an antitrust action with thousands of pages of documents, hundreds of witnesses. How can you handle that in a courtroom singlehandedly? With total control?

Mr. Williams: My impression of that so-called ‘big document’ case is that 95 percent of the documents are worthless. Just piles of paper to impress the jury. One of the great tragedies of litigation today is these paper wars. The whole profession gains nothing but disrepute when one of these big firms puts 21 lawyers on a case, and they start multiplying documents, paper times paper.

Now obviously in a few cases, the issues are so complex that there are, maybe, thousands of documents. But my experience has been that law firms multiply paper unnecessarily. They make litigation more prolific than necessary. They don’t have an instinct for the jugular. They don’t isolate the major issues of the case and simplify them into comprehensibility. And they engage in massive overkill in discovery.

Ms. Schwab: But there always seems to be a need for more discovery. You say yourself you must uncover every fact, however remotely relevant.

Mr. Williams: True, but discovery today is not used primarily to uncover facts. It’s used to delay, to obfuscate, and, too often, to replace real investigation.” Litigation, Vol. 12, No. 2, Winter 1986, p.30.

As an armchair expert on the topic of laziness, I wonder if the tendency to use excessive discovery rather than going “for the jugular,” as Williams puts it, stems from the fact that isolating “the major issues of the case and simplify[ing] them into comprehensibility” takes really hard work and focused thought. I suspect this is part of it. I suspect the other part is related to the fact that there is big money in putting armies of lawyers on cases and multiplying paper. Cynical me!

Whatever the cause, the end result brings clients no closer to victory. So, even if you feel the need to burn everything to the ground in discovery, remember when it comes time to try the case to isolate the major issues and “simplify them into comprehensibility.”

Living through trial. The only thing most of us think about is winning. (Unless, like me, you get that 11 pm craving for carne asada burritos con guacamole, then you think about that, too.) After the verdict, win or lose, the last thing everybody wants is to go back through it and take stock of what happened, what went well or went poor and how we can do better next time.

But there is real wisdom, once the dust truly settles, in going back over everything to ponder, “What did we learn from this?” For institutional clients of every size, trials are a huge investment of time, money and resources. It makes a lot of sense for them, ideally in conjunction with their counsel, to do a trial postmortem. This not only helps prevent future “situations” requiring litigation but, if cases do arise in the future, it enhances the chances of success. Astute lawyers recognize the value and opportunities of this process and collaborate with their clients to do a comprehensive postmortem, possibly for free! Even if the client shows no interest, much can still be gained if only the members of the trial team come together for a postmortem session.

A generous article on this topic, “Trial ‘After Action Reviews,'” appeared in the August, 2013 issue of For the Defense. The authors, Milwaukee lawyers Ric Gass and Michael B. Brennan, point out that “Army generals as far back as Caesar in his ‘Commentaries on the Gallic War’ have learned strategic and tactical lessons through after action reports.” (Id. at 29) The article is sweeping in its scope. Among the valuable points made by the authors was the following:

“Crucial to the success of an after action review is, to use the military jargon, ‘leaving your rank at the door.’ If you are the lead counsel, you need to be willing to listen and to learn from the observations of others on your team. You were probably too busy while doing that crucial cross-examination to take in everything else in the courtroom, such as reactions of jurors, or of the judge or opposing counsel. But your co-counsel, your paralegal, or your jury consultant did watch for those reactions, and you need to hear what they saw.” (Id.)

The authors suggest some topics for review during the postmortem, including:

• Jury Research: “Did the jury research accurately predict the attitudes and reactions of the jurors and the ultimate result on liability and damages?” (Id.)
• Opening: “What worked well for us? What worked well for opposing counsel?” (Id.)
• Direct Examinations: “Did a certain witness’s testimony connect with the jury, and if so, why?” (Id.)
• Cross-Examinations: “Was the tone of the questions too harsh or too lenient? . . . How many of the admissions made on cross-examination made it into the closing argument?” (Id. at 30.)
• Expert Witnesses: “Would we use this expert again, and more importantly, why?” (Id.)
• Closings: “What worked well for each party, and why?” (Id.)

Finally, the authors point out that:

“Being a trial lawyer is a lifelong learning experience. . . . If you have had any kind of trial, but especially a major trial, you need to appreciate it for all the experience it brings and to wring every last piece of learning that you can from the experience. . . . [Y]ou need to figure out how to carry that understanding and the techniques that went right to your next trial.” (Id.)

I know first-hand how much clients appreciate it if, after the trial, you offer to travel to their offices and help your in-house counterpart prepare and present a postmortem, with the specific goal of avoiding similar situations in the future. They really, really appreciate it when you don’t charge them for the experience. If your trial counsel won’t do this for you, ask them why not. Then remember to call me.

I’ve written before about the wisdom, in the context of a jury trial, of obtaining pretrial orders by the judge excluding or significantly limiting certain items of evidence you anticipate will be offered by your opponent. The typical vehicle for obtaining this relief in American courts is by filing a motion in limine. This term is derived from Latin, and means “at the threshold.”

Why do courts entertain such motions? If one party attempts to introduce objectionable evidence, whether by an examination question or offering an exhibit, in front of the jury, it may be impossible to “unring the bell,” or make the event 100% harmless, for two reasons.

First, if the question or exhibit is damaging enough that the jury gets the gist of its import before the judge  sustains your objection, the practical effect is little different than if the evidence had come in without objection. (Worse, in some ways, if you recognize that the objection itself may “wake up” jurors and alert them that what they’re about to hear–or not hear–is important.)

The second, more subtle reason, which I’ve previously described, is the assumption on the part of jurors whenever they hear you object, particularly if it is sustained, that you are trying to hide something from them–probably the truth. As I’ve said, this can garner juror resentment.

Motions in limine are great fun to write if you are an associate. I say this only partly in jest because they actually can be both interesting and game-changing, if done well. Plus they help young lawyers learn to use and argue the rules of evidence in a way you never learn them in law school or when studying for the bar.

Now, if we take this kind of pretrial strategic thinking to a higher level, there are even more subtle considerations to consider and decisions to decide. One involves comparing a motion in limine with a different kind of document called a trial brief. A trial brief is often a concise memorandum of points and authorities that delineate an important narrow issue and identify and apply authorities to persuade (under the guise of education) the court to adopt your favored position. It is also common for parties to file a single trial brief, which provides the court with a roadmap of all of the issues, the expected evidence, and how they should be decided. I’m referring in this post to the kind of brief that addresses only a discrete issue or cluster of issues.

In general, motions in limine focus on evidentiary issues and trial briefs on issues of law, such as how the jury should ultimately be instructed. But the difference isn’t always clear. For example, if you expect a massive argument over a specific jury instruction, it might be appropriate to separately file a trial brief to persuade the judge that only your instruction is appropriate. But this debate can also give rise to evidentiary issues. If certain areas of inquiry would be irrelevant or inappropriate if the judge ultimately sides with the position in your trial brief, it may be wise to also file a motion in limine to urge the court to limit potential unwanted or damaging evidence.

Finally, the timing of trial briefs is another consideration. They can be filed before trial, along with any motions in limine, or you can prepare and hold–do not file–a “pocket” brief  until the issue is “ripe” for adjudication. When, in the context of an argument, the judge asks, “Counsel, do you have any authority on that?” “As a matter of fact,” you say, “we do!”

Three additional points about motions in limine. First, lawyers have greatly overused them; some judges consider such motions to be an irritant. Be wary of this and save them for issues that really merit advance consideration by the judge. Then brief these issues well–don’t just assume because you raise an issue and cite an evidence code section that you’ll prevail. It’s vastly better to select a very few key evidence issues and brief each thoroughly, than to file a motion on every anticipated shard of evidence. If the issue doesn’t merit serious briefing, it probably doesn’t merit a motion.

Second, it is an absolute waste of everybody’s time to file “obvious” motions, which simply repeat well-established evidence rules. For example, most trial judges and lawyers know about the prohibition of evidence of insurance coverage. Why waste paper and time making a motion on such an obvious point.

Third, most jurisdictions require parties to “meet and confer” before filing motions in limine to see if the issue can be resolved among the lawyers. Even if you are in a jurisdiction that does not have such a rule, there is no reason not to meet and confer and try to resolve the issue before you spend your client’s money needlessly.

Both motions in limine and trial briefs can significantly impact the outcome of a trial. By resolving evidentiary issues that the jury never needs to know about, or educating the judge about how she should rule on important legal issues, these documents can effectively shape how a case is tried. Don’t be afraid to use these tools, but use them wisely and strategically.

It is no accident that Thomas Mauet’s Fundamentals of Trial Techniques is the best regarded textbook for trial advocacy, at least among professors and adjunct professors who use a text at all. I kept a fair number of my law school textbooks, but the only one I’ve consulted more than once in 20 years of practice is Mauet’s Fundamentals.

In his chapter on trial strategy, Professor Mauet introduces us to some basic psychological principles which come into play when presenting evidence and argument to jurors. I’ll highlight five good ones here.

1.  Jurors are primarily affective, not cognitive, thinkers. This is probably a huge generalization, but a useful one. Mauet writes: “People have two significantly different decision-making styles. Most people are primarily affective, not cognitive, thinkers. Affective persons are emotional, creative, impulsive, symbol oriented, selective perceivers of information and base decisions largely on previously held attitudes about people and events.” (Id. at 376.)†

2.  Jurors use attitudes to filter information and reach decisions they believe are sensible and fair. We rely on attitudes, values and believes “to filter conflicting information. Our attitudes subconsciously filter information by accepting and remembering consistent information, by ignoring, minimizing, or rejecting inconsistent information, and by distorting inconsistent information to make it consistent with our attitudes.” (Id. at 377.)

3.  Jurors reach decisions quickly, base them on relatively little information, and then resist changing their minds. Just when you thought a jury trial was the perfect forum to resolve a technically complex dispute, such as a patent fight or generally accepted principles of accounting, it turns out that “[j]urors cannot absorb, understand, and retain most of the information they receive during a trial, particularly if most of that information comes through oral testimony. Sensory overload occurs quickly. To relieve the internal stress this problem causes, jurors reach decisions quickly by basing them on relatively little information that their attitudes have subconsciously filtered and received.” (Id. at 377.)

The key for a trial lawyer, then, is to identify the jurors’ “psychological anchors” and “state them in a short, attractive, memorable way that is consistent with jurors’ attitudes and beliefs, and incorporate them into each stage of the trial.” (Id. at 377-78.) For more on this, see my discussions of the Rules of the Road here. This is also consistent with the underpinnings of the Reptile strategy, discussed here.

Why do jurors resist changing their minds? Just as the rush to judgment is fueled by the desire to reduce internal stress caused by sensory overload, the steadfast adherence to their initial decision also helps reduce internal stress. “[I]nconsistent information causes cognitive dissonance–internal conflict and stress. Jurors subconsciously solve this problem by rejecting new information.” (Id. at 378.)

4.  Jury decision-making is influenced by the personality characteristics of individual jurors and how they will interact as a group. Mauet describes three types of jurors: leaders, followers and loners. Recognizing the leaders is key. “Opinion leaders usually have a higher education level and have positions of authority or expertise in their work. Leaders may be authoritarian personalities and often dominate jury discussions; the three most vocal jurors typically control more than 50 percent of the deliberation discussion. Particularly in longer trials, jurors form subgroups around opinion leaders.” (Id.)

Followers  . . . well, they follow the leaders. But loners are worth worrying about. “Loners . . . have no particular interest in either interacting or agreeing with other jurors. Loners who seem withdrawn because of recent traumatic experiences frequently become punitive jurors.” (Id.) Yikes!

5.  Jurors are influenced by medium variables. The message here is that jurors absorb what they see exponentially better than what they simply hear. Mauet writes, “When the medium is oral testimony, clear, simple common English with a smooth, confident delivery and reinforcing kinesic and paralinguistic cues significantly affect how jurors receive, accept, and retain the communication. . . Since communication is approximately 60 percent kinetic (appearance, gestures, body movement), 30 percent paralinguistic (voice inflection), and only 10 percent word content, trial lawyers must learn to read the kinesic and paralinguistic cues that jurors send during voir dire, witnesses send while testifying, and lawyers send throughout a trial.” (Id. at 380.)

Visual exhibits are hugely important. “Visual exhibits also have extraordinary retention properties. People retain about 85 percent of what they learn visually; retention of aural information is only about 10 percent. Hence, exhibits that pass the ‘billboard test’ — clear, immediate, and attractive — have an extraordinary impact on jurors.” (Id.)

With these psychological principles in mind, we can see why voir dire is so important, as is the packaging of messages, particularly anything that is complex or likely to trigger jurors’ long and closely held attitudes and beliefs. Good luck.

†All citations are to the Third Edition.

It’s probably my mind playing tricks on me, but I have a foggy memory, from younger days, of removing my belt and shoes in order to forge through the security screening apparatus and into the United States District Courthouse for the Central District of California, for the sole purpose of witnessing a senior lawyer from my law firm trying an insurance bad faith case against Mike Piuze, who was something of a legend around Southern California courts at that time.

Once I got past the screening and the nonsense and made my way up to the courtroom, I entered just as my colleague was finishing a cross-examination of one of Piuze’s witnesses. It wasn’t this examination that captivated me–I actually have no memory of it–but rather seeing Piuze sitting at counsel table, alone, with nothing in front or around him but a single yellow legal pad.

As I say, my memory might be fooling with me, but the picture I carried away from that visit to the courthouse was of Piuze in trial against some behemoth insurance company armed only with his brain, a notepad, and his ego.

Well, whether I’m accurate in my recollection about what Michael Piuze takes with him to trial, most of the rest of us mere mortals generally bring along something called a trial notebook. I know that I’ve assembled several over the years, many for senior partners and a few for myself. It seems everyone includes a little something different in their trial notebook. For this post, however, I thought I’d consult that sage don of all things trial-related, Professor James McElhaney.

Ironically enough, the first chapter of McElhaney’s Trial Notebook is devoted entirely to the topic of assembling and using a, well . . . trial notebook. Clearly addressing us at what he presumes to be the brisk and hazy dawn of our careers, McElhaney writes:

“There are many rewards to using the trial notebook system. First, and probably most important, is that it helps you find things during trial, from particular passages in a deposition to the right response to your opponent’s objections. . . . Second, if you are a junior in a firm, the trial notebook can help you in two ways: it can let a senior review your work in advance of trial, and it will impress your senior that you know what you are doing.
Third, if you prepare a good trial notebook, it is much easier for a colleague to take over if anything should keep you from trying the case.” (Id. at 4-5.)

Fair enough. But what should you include in your trial notebook? Here’s what McElhaney suggests:

1. A Table of Contents and Index.

2. Analysis of the Case. “Here is the place for all sorts of notes, whether formal or informal, that go to make up your battle plan–from ideas about preliminary motions and jury selection to thoughts about final argument and requests for instructions.” (Id. at 6.)

3. Analysis of the Opponent’s Case.

4. Proof Checklist for the Case.

5. Jury Selection. “What you do during voir dire is a subject all to itself. But whether you get to ask the veniremen questions or it is all done by the judge, you cannot tell the players without a scorecard. For this you need a chart, a group of squares assembled like a map of the way the panel of prospective jurors is arranged, in which to write their names and make some notes.” (Id. at 7.)

6. Opening Statement.

7. Stipulations and Pretrial Order.

8. Witnesses. This should not only include the witnesses’ names, addresses, multiple telephone numbers and an indication whether they have been subpoenaed, but also “a short paragraph (just one or two sentences) explaining why this witness is being called to testify: just what it is you expect to prove with this person.” (Id. at 9.)

9. Examination Outline(s) for Witnesses.

10. Proof Checklist for Witnesses.

11. Deposition Index.

12. Documents and Exhibits. Here, McElhaney envisions both a list of documents and the documents themselves. Unless your case concerns a fender-bender or a simple breach of contract or debt owed, chances are you will want to break down the witness examination outlines, deposition index(s) and document and exhibits into their own separate notebooks. Experiment until you find what works right for you. One thing I’ve found really useful, though, is to include a page for every important exhibit on which you anticipate your opponent will make evidentiary objections; here you write an argument or two, or case or code citations to answer each objection. Much easier than thinking on your feet, though you have to do that, too.

13. Evidence and Procedure Memoranda. (See the last sentence of the last paragraph–unlike McElhaney, I don’t give this its own place in the notebook, but try to tie the anticipated objections and responses to particular exhibits or even witnesses. Again, find what works for you.)

14. Final Argument.

15. Motions and Requests for Instructions.

Again, you will want to experiment with what kind of trial notebook fits your style. Big cases, tried by teams of big firm litigators, spawn multitudes of notebooks, each individually devoted to a particular motion, or witness. But even in these circumstances, I think it is helpful to have a single, core trial notebook–a space where you bring it all together, and develop (and modify) themes and strategies. If you don’t want to call it a trial notebook, call it a playbook. But, unless you’re Michael Piuze, you’ll probably do better at counsel table armed with something more than a legal pad.

I’ve previously written here about the Reptile litigation strategy, and here about how to prepare a witness for a Reptile deposition. In this post, I want to explore how to challenge the Reptile strategy using legal principles. Credit for explaining these strategies goes to Columbia, South Carolina lawyer David Marshall, who wrote about the Reptile strategy in the April, 2013 issue of For the Defense.

According to Marshall, “Every jurisdiction recognizes some version of the golden rule, which disallows any argument asking jurors to put themselves in the shoes of a party.” Id. at 68. The prohibition is premised on a view that such arguments are designed to destroy juror impartiality and encourage jurors to decide a case based on personal interest and bias.

Marshall refers to Reptile as a “veiled” golden rule argument “because it seeks to have jurors decide a case not on the actual damages sustained by the plaintiff but rather on the potential harms and losses that could have occurred within the community, which includes each juror and his or her family members.” Id. 

Marshall also points out that an outsized punitive damage verdict that results from jurors punishing a defendant for potential infliction of hypothetical damages, beyond what the plaintiff actually suffered, is vulnerable on due process grounds. The Reptile strategy attempts to appeal to survival instincts and a juror’s innate urge to protect her community. Marshall writes that “the Due Process Clause specifically prohibits punitive damage awards based on potential injuries that could have been inflicted on other members of the community.” Id. (emphasis in original).

Another avenue Marshall discusses involves the prohibition, in most jurisdictions, of “other similar incidents” evidence. Again, the Reptile is concerned, not only with what did occur in the case at hand, but what hypothetically could have occurred based on the defendant’s blameworthy safety practices. There is little difference, in terms of evidentiary value and risk of prejudice, between an “other similar incident” and a hypothetical similar incident that could have occurred (but fortuitously didn’t).

Marshall points also to an argument available in certain jurisdictions barring a lawyer in closing argument from urging the jury to “send a message” to the defendant, or to “act as the conscience of the community.” Id. at 74. Since this is exactly what the Reptile strategy is based on, there may be  a basis for exclusion/preclusion of Reptile tactics on this basis, as well.

Finally, Marshall suggests that, if efforts to exclude or limit Reptilian trial tactics are unsuccessful, it may be possible to dilute the effectiveness of the Reptile strategy by explaining it to the jury. Marshall suggests it may even be appropriate to “compliment the plaintiff’s attorney in . . . closing and praise his or her ability and zeal” (Id.), using this as an opportunity to explain the psychology of the Reptile strategy and why they should not get too carried away by it.

See, there’s more than one way to skin a . . . er . . . lizard.