A War Story

I have done so little lately, it is hard to have anything worthwhile to say. I did not leave the house yesterday. I have to think hard to even remember what I did, other than some garden maintenance.  Meyer arrived here in Inverness yesterday. He is staying with us for a while. Good to have him here. We barbecued some salmon last night.

Beth and I meditated this morning. While meditating, I thought about what I could write about. It occurred to me that I should write about some interesting cases that I handled. Really, some interesting clients that I had. Some war stories. I'll start out with one of my favorites and see where it leads.

This client, we'll call him "Carlo". Carlo was a garbageman. The old fashioned kind, who carried a big silver barrel on his shoulder from house to house. 

From the internet - this shows the can they used to carry on their shoulder

Italian. Big guy. Built like Arnold Schwarzenegger. He had a scary voice. It was kind of high pitched. Just like somebody from the Sopranos. Very likable guy but you needed to be very straight with him. He could be a bit intimidating. One doctor, who examined him (for the insurance company), claimed that he threatened his life. Carlo denied it, when I asked him about it. That doctor would not see him again. 

Carlo had worn out his body working as a garbageman. He had injuries to many body parts, including his back. One day, the insurance companies lawyer took Carlo's deposition. The lawyer asked him, "Carlo, before you got hurt, how much could you lift?". Carlo hesitated for a long time before responding. He looked the lawyer up and down. Finally, he responded, "I could have thrown you right out that window."


At the same deposition, the lawyer asked him about his psychological injury (compensable consequences). I had sent him to a doctor who reported that Carlo was depressed as a result of his injuries and inability to work. Carlo denied all psychological symptoms under questioning. On redirect, I asked him about it. I asked, "Carlo, if you had any of those psychological symptoms the doctor said you have, would you be comfortable talking about it in this setting?". He replied something to the effect of, "hell no, what do you think I am a pussy?"

Another time, in Carlo's case, the insurance company lawyers hired an investigator to follow Carlo and videotape his activities. They got nothing useful (as usual). He was genuinely injured. They taped him visiting his father's grave. I never told Carlo about the tape; they should thank me.

When I settled Carlo's case; after he got his check, a case of my favorite liquor showed up at my office from him.

the bear






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