Gaslight

As a trial lawyer in Idaho, I have to keep close tabs on my calendar. Conflicts arise constantly, and I often find myself asking judges to move trial dates or hearing dates to accommodate other activities.

About 15 years ago, I had the lead in the play Gaslight in Idaho Falls. We practiced and rehearsed for about three months, and then the play ran two or three nights a week for about a month.

At that same time, I was representing a man who was wrongfully terminated from a car dealership. Under the law, he was entitled to one year of back wages if the jury found he had been wrongfully terminated.

The judge set our trial on the same day as opening night for Gaslight. When he did so, I asked him to set the trial for a different date because I was the lead in this play. It was community theater, and if I did not show up on opening night, the play would be shut down. It was very important that all actors be present for every performance.

The judge acknowledged my situation and said he would make sure I did not miss any performances due to our trial schedule.

Trial by flashlight

Our trial took place, and the day the play was supposed to begin was the last day of trial. Generally, trials end at 5:00, and the play was to begin at 8:00 p.m., so I was hoping this day would be no different.

However, as we were wrapping up our third day of trial, there was a bad storm and the power went out in the courthouse. We were all sitting in dark shadows, and no one could record the proceedings, so we waited in the dark for an hour trying to figure out how to end the trial.

To move things along, the judge kind of put duct tape on the trial by having a battery-operated tape recorder memorialize the proceedings, and he had witnesses read documents by flashlight.

The presentation of evidence ended about 6:00 p.m., so I figured I could still make it to opening night at the play. But the judge wanted to plow through and finish the trial that night. He announced that he was going to let the jury take a dinner break, and then we would come back after dinner for closing arguments.

I looked up at the clock and realized there was no way I could be on time for the play with a dinner break. The judge's plan risked not being able to start the play at all.

When the judge announced the dinner break, I stopped him and said, "Please, Judge, you committed that I would not miss the performance tonight if we scheduled the trial for these days this week."

When I said that, the judge remembered and said, "Yes, you're right, Mr. Browning."

So he thought for a moment and said, "Here's what we'll do. I'll order pizza delivered here for the jurors. The jurors can have their dinner while closing arguments are being made."

So there we were. Jurors were shoving pizza down their throats and washing it down with pop while I argued our damages, trying to keep their attention.

Closing arguments ended at about 8:05 p.m. The judge announced that the jurors would pack up for the night and come back in the morning to deliberate.

Once the jury was excused, my daughter Gabrielle, as my paralegal, brought out a big box, and we shoved all of our documents and files into it. Then we ran down the courthouse hallway, exited the rear of the courthouse in a heavy lightning storm, and drove half a mile to the theater.

As I entered the rear of the theater, my castmates informed me that I was late, as though I did not know. Instead of going into makeup or the dressing room, they just removed my suit coat. I stretched my arms out as they put my coat and hat on me, and I walked onto the stage without stopping.

It was a cold opening with no prep or makeup at 8:15.

To everybody's relief, the play went off without a hitch.

And the next day, the jury awarded my client $120,000.