Me and My “Balls”: The Inspiration for Filthy Rich Lawyers

It was supposed to be my biggest payday ever as a young, ambitious lawyer from The City of Brotherly Love. I was involved in a major class action against Halliburton, a huge military contractor, and its former CEO, Dick Cheney, who was Vice President of the United States at the time. The federal courthouse in Dallas, Texas was packed with lawyers and buzzing with media covering the hearing. The first judge assigned to the case had recused himself, claiming he owned stock in the company. News about Cheney and his former company had been all over the front pages of every newspaper in America.

Unfortunately, I showed up late to the courtroom because of traffic and the metal heels of my expensive shoes, which set off a security alarm. I missed my normal morning coffee and was warned by a local attorney to “not say a word unless the Judge calls on you.” Of course, I was a bit over-excited and didn’t listen to his sage advice.

In fact, it didn’t take long for me to make what most seasoned attorneys would consider a rookie mistake. The hearing had barely begun when I stood up without being asked and told the Judge my fee was to be paid from the award she was about to grant to the lead counsel. Naturally, I was amped up and anxious to secure my share of what was going to be an enormous windfall for everyone. I figured if the Judge believed my fee was being paid by the lead attorneys, it would not be an additional charge to the class members, resulting in the class getting more money from the settlement.

That was my first mistake. I did not anticipate that the Judge would realize I was attempting to B.S. her, which is a technical legal term for you-know-what. She didn’t let it go as she badgered me with questions. It felt like she was thoroughly enjoying herself, as if tormenting young lawyers was her favorite blood sport.

My second mistake was trying to sweet talk the Judge, who refused to accept my apology. She could not understand why the legal brief I filed before the hearing described my fee being paid from the money that was to be given to the class, but that now I was claiming something different on the day of the hearing.

I was sweating as she kept grilling me. I was more than ready for the hearing to end so I could get out of town and back home to Philadelphia, where a healthy dose of B.S. is to be expected. At one point during the Judge’s attack, she asked me a three-part question, which I was in no shape to answer. When I said, “That is a compound question, Your Honor,” she replied, “You cannot object to my questions. Mr. Felgoise.”

I wasn’t sure if all the laughter behind me came from people laughing at me or with me, but it only added to a very stressful situation.

At least she pronounced my last name correctly. That was a running family joke from the time I played Pee Wee football and the announcers at away games butchered my last name. But just like when I was a precocious kid on the field, I also had a set of balls in the courtroom that day, and this scene became an inspiration for writing Filthy Rich Lawyers.

I kept the transcript of the hearing just to prove it really happened. My co-author, David, Tabatsky, and I, decided that Ryan Coleman, the main character very loosely based on me, would be deemed by the high-powered lawyer Robert Smalley to have “a real set of balls” to stand-up to the Judge and invent new terms of the Settlement. In our novel, Ryan’s “balls” lead him to be taken under the wing of Smalley and eventually a billionaire, named Randy Hollis, who introduces young Ryan to a world he never imagined.

I suppose the apple does not fall far from other apples. I was always the kid to say, “The emperor is wearing no clothes.” My parents used to tell me I had “chutzpah,” a Yiddish word for “balls” and thank God my behavior in that Dallas courtroom did not cost me my first big payday. A couple of anxious weeks after the hearing, the Judge approved my fee after making sure I had the terms of the settlement correct. Yahoo!

I learned an important lesson back then: you cannot attempt to B.S. a person sitting above you, wearing a black robe. But you can write a novel about it because truth can be stranger than fiction, unless we’re talking about Filthy Rich Lawyers, which is not a novel. It’s a lifestyle.