I have known some interesting lawyers over the years. There have been many to learn from and many lessons to learn. I used to drive to Daytona Beach from Jacksonville, about 100 miles, to defend workers' compensation cases.
That community was full of interesting characters. There was a blusterer whose every case was worth a fortune. I have never figured out whether he was crafty or clueless. Another was statutorily creative; I almost always had to pull out a book to understand the novelty they were injecting into a case. Those lawyers' names escape me these many years later.
But I never struggle to remember the guy with confidence and conviction. I first ran into him in a case that went surprisingly well at almost every turn. The facts kept coming up on my side, the opinions were trending in my direction, and yet the confident lawyer on the other side didn't falter or detour.
We were set for final hearing, and a new judge had recently taken the bench. Gone was the irascible Hon. Rand Hoch, who was known for being demanding, exacting, and sometimes irritable. The new judge was Hon. Tom Portuallo, the epitome of calm, patience, and persistence. His arrival in Daytona had signaled a new day in Florida workers' compensation.
Back to my case, our negotiations had stalled, though a significant amount of "risk" money was on the table. My client was anything but eager for trial; the probabilities for a defense decision in those days were rare in many venues. About a month before trial, I happened upon a rather arcane Florida Supreme Court decision that seemed to say, simply, "Dave wins." I showed it to my opposition; he was not deterred.
Finding such an authority seemed fortuitous, but I was litigating against a dean of the practice. He had been practicing for over twenty years at that point, and I was fresh to the practice. He was known for prevailing, and he was simply not going to settle.
I spent hours studying that precedent and trying to understand his angle, argument, or attack. I prepared, prepared again, and then prepared some more. He had me completely convinced that I had missed something, misread something, or that some other authority out there was going to contradict my predicted outcome.
After I won at trial, I asked him why it had reached that point. He explained that his time and money were long invested in the case by the time he saw the probable outcome.
His client did not want to settle at all and was less eager to take "nuisance" or "risk" money. And, he patiently explained, he would likely gain multiple new clients because that client would always feel like they had been taken seriously and their lawyer fought for them. Besides, he reminded, "you never know that might not win anyway."
It was a long way to Daytona, and as the defense market shifted, I was there less frequently as that decade progressed. But I frequently looked back on that trial and the confidence it had instilled.
It was only after his explanation that I realized my client's worldview was not that different. They wanted to be aptly represented, and had I not prevailed, they would have likely been as inspired by effort and respect. I would have gained more work from them win or lose.
I had no further trials with that lawyer but did some mediations. I remember later learning that he had spent some time in garage bands during the 1960s, including the "Nightcrawlers." He related wisdom about people that he had gained from those experiences and once even admitted to his involvement in a "top 100 single, Little Black Egg."
As I recall the story, he and his friends wrote that song minutes before a show, on a lark, and it was their only hit. While it is an arcane reference, the song was later covered by The Lemonheads and The Cars.
I ran across Sylvan Wells again years later when he joined our Statewide Nominating Commission for a few years. He had long retired from practicing law and was striving to remain engaged and to give back to the community a bit. Somehow, his name came up again a few weeks ago, and it caused me to hit Google.
I was surprised to find a lengthy article about his current exploits. It describes how he made a hobby of building guitars. He related being discouraged by an instrument repair person in Orlando years ago, who told him he could not build guitars without training and an apprenticeship. Sylvan reacted as he had when practicing; he studied, invested, and built a guitar anyway.
The story notes that the adventure began with a $20.00 bet with that repairman. Sylvan was proud that he built the guitar despite that discouragement, and I can hear him say, "That $2,000 investment got me my $20.00 back." The willingness to invest in the face of long odds reminded me of that case we tried so long ago.
Sylvan has since bought the rights to an old brand that was produced from 1865 to 1911, and is making and marketing Bay State Guitars. He has built about 300 instruments, one "from a 2-by-10 from Home Depot." Some might see a parallel there also, patient investment in one case after another, amounting in time to an admirable collection.
I have not spoken to Sylvan in several years, and he has to be close to 80. Nonetheless, he is engaged in something he enjoys and has undertaken it with zeal, despite doubters and challenges. There is some suggestion that he is also teaching people to build their own guitars, a hobby gone commercial.
There are several key messages here for young lawyers. First, there is life after legal practice, and there is room all along for outside interests. Second, there is merit in investing with your heart even when the odds seem stacked in the other side's favor. Third, figuring out what drives your opponent may be frustrating and even fruitless. Finally, there is merit in rationality and advice, but success may come instead from personal confidence and commitment.
If you are reading this, Sylvan, good for you.
