Podcast - All Eyes on the Client
Trials can be stressful for attorneys, but the experience can be even more overwhelming for clients. In this episode of "The Trial Lawyer's Handbook," litigation attorney Dan Small explores how to navigate client relationships through the lens of a high‑profile corruption case he handled involving a former state governor.
Mr. Small reflects on the ups and downs of the relationship with his client. Sometimes they argued or disagreed, but they also shared meals and attended events together to preserve a sense of normalcy amid the chaos of the trial process. This episode offers an inside look at the challenges he faced, the pressures of the case and the human side of working closely with a client under immense scrutiny.
Listen to more episodes of The Trial Lawyer's Handbook here.
This podcast episode was adapted from Mr. Small's book Lessons Learned from a Life on Trial: Landmark Cases from a Veteran Litigator and What They Can Teach Trial Lawyers.
Dan Small: Welcome to another episode of "The Trial Lawyer's Handbook." In this episode, we'll continue discussing my representation of former Louisiana Gov. Edwin Edwards. These episodes are based on my latest ABA book, "Lessons Learned from a Life on Trial."
Trials are stressful for lawyers, but don't lose sight of how much more stressful they may be for your clients. In a new and strange environment, their liberty, money, family, reputation and more may be at stake. Meanwhile, while all eyes are upon them. They have to keep themselves carefully under control. They can't lash out at those who lie about them or shake their heads in anger when the judge rules against them. Instead, they have to look pleasantly and passively at the people who may be determining the rest of their lives and quietly put their fate in the hands of a stranger: you, their lawyer. They have to understand that whatever happens, the jury is always watching.
Former Louisiana Gov. Edwin Edwards was not an easy client. He'd spent much of his life in positions of power and was used to being in control. Moreover, he had been a trial lawyer at one point, a very good one, apparently, so he felt like he knew his way around the courtroom. With that background, ceding control of the courtroom and the trial to this stranger from Boston was tough. We argued, we fired each other a couple times. One time I was in my little, temporary apartment in Baton Rouge, literally packing to go home, and he sent his son Stephen to make peace. We had a case to try, and I needed him to work closely with us and remain in good spirits.
In any case, that means being aware of the client's needs and doing our best to accommodate them, including maintaining some sense of normalcy despite the chaos and the pressure. In Louisiana, that started with food. Leading up to the trial, lots of friends of the governor reached out and wanted to do something to help. We realized that one thing they could do was cook. Our great paralegal in Baton Rouge had a house, just a couple blocks from the courthouse, that became our headquarters. With multiple defendants, lawyers, family, friends and hangers-on, everywhere we went there was a crowd. Lunch posed a challenge. So we set up a schedule of volunteers to cook lunch every day at our paralegal's house. The court would break for lunch and the whole crowd would walk over to the house to eat. And what a lunch it was. Imagine being in Louisiana, where food is such an important part of their pride, life and culture, and being invited to cook for the governor. We're not talking about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches here. Every day was a surprise. Barbecue pits set up in the driveway, big pots of creole on the stove. You name it. Edwin would want us to sit down and eat with him, even if it was a working lunch, which it usually was. And then back to court, feeling stuffed and groggy by mid-afternoon.
And then there was dinner. We were fighting a long, difficult trial with the deck stacked against us. Worse still, the judge had ruled that the prosecution didn't have to tell us what witnesses they were going to call until the end of the day before. So each day at about 5 p.m., the prosecution would give us their witness list for the next day. Almost always, they would stack the list with people they had no intention of calling, just to throw us off. So each evening after a long day in court, we would begin a second day of researching and preparing for the next day's witnesses.
Who had time to eat? In most trials, if you could grab a quick bite for dinner, you were lucky. But this was Louisiana, and this was the former governor. Dinner was an important part of life, and he insisted that we sit down and join him. So we did. We made time for our client. All of these years later, I still carry around some of the weight I gained in those three months in Louisiana. Eating a big lunch and a big dinner every day and sitting in court in between.
On occasion, maintaining normalcy went beyond food. One evening the governor said, "Come on, you got to take a night off," and invited me to come with him to a charity event, a boxing match. The first problem was time.
"Governor, we've got to prepare for tomorrow."
"No, you're working too hard. Come on."
The second problem turned out to be the match itself. The teams consisted of local firefighters on one side and local police officers on the other. The event was humorously named "Guns and Hoses." I was not amused.
"Edwin," I said, "We have work to do. Plus we're in the middle of one of the biggest criminal trials in Louisiana history. I'm not sure it's such a good idea to parade in front of thousands of police officers and firefighters."
"Oh," he replied, "You don't get it. These are my people."
So we went. And he was right, of course. We entered the auditorium to great cheers and were shown to ringside seats. Throughout the matches, a steady stream of people came up to wish him well. "Give him hell, governor" was a common refrain.
At intermission, the ring announcer pointed him out to the crowd and welcomed the "greatest governor this state has ever had" to the roar of the crowd. It was quite a night, and it re-energized our client and us. We were representing a client in trial. That was our priority. But that meant we had to help the client outside the courtroom to give him the ability to survive and thrive inside the courtroom.
In the end, it didn't work. A combination of Edwin's reputation, the government's wiretaps and the judge's bulldozing overwhelmed us. The jury found Edwin guilty on enough of the counts to send him to jail. But it was a fascinating case about a fascinating character with many lessons learned.