BUT SERIOUSLY, FOLKS!

Missed opportunities
Motion to compel lunch
By Bill Haltom

A generation ago, when I was a young lawyer in a hurry, I seldom took the time to go out for lunch. Back in those good ol’ days when I had dark hair and boundless energy, I did not want to waste a billable hour in the middle of the day by doing something as foolish as leaving the office to break bread and enjoy stimulating conversation with fascinating friends. Instead, like Thomas Jefferson, I dined alone, if you call wolfing down a bologna sandwich at your desk “dining.” Actually, what I was doing was a sure-fire recipe for at best, indigestion, and at worst, a myocardial infarction.

One day back when Reagan was president, I was in a hurry to grab a not-so-nourishing lunch at a downtown sandwich shop. As I dashed from the deli with a briefcase in one hand and a paper bag in the other, so help me, I ran into the legendary Lucius Burch, founder of the firm of Burch, Porter and Johnson, and one of the giants of the Tennessee Bar. I will never forget what happened, because it will always be filed in my brain under the category “Missed Opportunities.” Mr. Burch said to me, “Son, where are you headed in such a hurry?”

“Oh, I’m just going back to the office.”

“But what about lunch?” asked the great lawyer.

“I’m just going to eat a sandwich at my desk. I have a lot of work to do,” I explained, thinking my work ethic would win Mr. Burch’s approval.

“Is a statute of limitations about to run on ya’ today?” asked Mr. Burch, who was much calmer than I and was clearly in no hurry.

“Umm … well … um, no sir,” I replied.

“Well, in that case, son,” said Mr. Burch with a smile, “let me take you to lunch at the Wolf.” He was referring to the Wolf River Society, a great non-club lunch club Mr. Burch founded in downtown Memphis back in the ’60s.

For reasons I will never be able to explain, I declined and politely asked if I could have a rain check. Mr. Burch said that would be fine, but he added, “Son, you shouldn’t eat lunch at your desk. You should always go out for lunch and enjoy good food, camaraderie, and stimulating conversation with friends.”

I am ashamed to say that I never cashed my rain check. And it’s too late now. Mr. Burch has joined Clarence Darrow, Raymond Burr and Gregory Peck at that big courtroom in the sky.

I have no idea what case I was working on that memorable day back in the 1980s, but trust me, it wasn’t Brown v. Board of Education, Bush v. Gore, or even The People v. Larry Flynt. My file could have waited until I returned from lunch with Mr. Burch at the Wolf.

I recently thought about that lunch that never was when I read about Judge Pendleton Gaines, a Superior Court Judge in Arizona, who recently granted a Motion to Compel Acceptance of Lunch Invitation. You read that right, notice-pleading-breath!

In the case of Physicians Choice of Arizona Inc. v. Mickey Miller, plaintiff’s counsel extended a lunch invitation to defense counsel “to have a discussion regarding discovery and other matters.” Plaintiff’s counsel even offered to pay for lunch, but defense counsel (who was apparently pretty busy working at his desk) failed to respond, and so the plaintiff filed a motion.

Judge Gaines considered the motion, reportedly over a fine meal at his favorite eatery in downtown Phoenix. He then went back to his office and entered an Order Granting Plaintiff’s Motion to Compel Acceptance of Lunch Invitation, providing in pertinent part as follows: “Total cost (of lunch) will be calculated by the amount of the bill, including appetizers, salads, entrees and one non-alcoholic beverage per participant. A 20 percent tip will be added to the bill, which will include tax. Each side will pay his pro rata share according to number of participants. The court may reapportion the cost on application for good cause or may treat it as a taxable cost.”

I sure wish that Judge Gaines had been around back in the days when I was too busy to have lunch. Had he or some other judge simply issued an order for me to personally appear at the Wolf River Society at high noon and break bread with Lucius Burch, my life would be immeasurably better.

But I don’t need a court order anymore. I’m hungry. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m headed to lunch.

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Bill Haltom is a partner with the Memphis firm of Thomason, Hendrix, Harvey, Johnson & Mitchell. He is past president of the Tennessee Bar Association and the Memphis Bar Association.