New Lawyer in Town
by J.D. Lee

It's Tuesday after Labor Day, 1954. The regular criminal court session in Madisonville, Tennessee and Sue K. Hicks, the presiding criminal judge, has appointed me to represent one of our local citizens charged with being publicly drunk on the streets of Madisonville (formally called Tellico). Sue Hicks has served as co-counsel with Williams Jennings Bryan in the infamous Scopes evolution trial in Dayton, Tennessee, in the hot summer of 1925. One of the things I most remember about Judge Hicks was his relating to me how William Jennings Bryan just loved fried chicken and ate a lot of it. I have often wondered to what extent that might have contributed to his dying in Dayton of an acute coronary occlusion, commonly known as a heart attack, following his being on the witness stand testifying as an expert on the Bible and going through the excruciating cross-examination of the perennial defense lawyer, Clarence Darrow. Sue, as he was affectionately known by his close friends, was the inspiration for Johnny Cash’s "A Boy Named Sue," which he wrote while in Gatlinburg following a bar meeting that had Judge Sue Hicks as one of its speakers.

My appointment to represent Jake for the non-esoteric charge of public drunkenness was what was expected of young members of the bar. That is, that they would serve pro bono, representing defendants charged with a crime, and it was usually done the morning of the trial. No investigating time, no lag time to hone your defenses. You would just be called up, be appointed and be expected to defend on the spot. It was bad for the defendant but good experience for the young lawyer, and God knows I needed the experience.

The courthouse, built in 1897, is the classic Gothic three-story building typical of the period courthouses of the time, set in the middle of the town square, county seat of a county with a population in the middle 20,000. I had just opened offices after graduating second in my class at the University of Tennessee Law School in March of that year, my friend David Haynes of Bristol being first in the class and the other two vying for honors of third and bottom of the class.

"Mr. Lee, would you help this gentleman? He indicates that he does not have a lawyer and his case is set for trial this morning." "Yes, your Honor," (You always call the judge "Your Honor.") "I’d be glad to," I said, and I promptly took Jake back to the witness room to get my briefing in how we were going to proceed to trial. Jake, charged with public drunkenness, was more than slightly inebriated at 9:00 in the morning and told me in no uncertain terms, "Mr. Lee, I wish to waive my case to the Supreme Court." I explained to him that it didn’t work that way, but he had gotten to this court unscathed by waiving his case from the General Sessions court to the criminal court, so he weaved and demanded that his case be waived to the Supreme Court. As I explained to him for the third time, "Jake, it just doesn’t work that way", his stinking breath assaulted my nostrils-a putrid amalgam of soured moonshine fumes overlaid by the stench of COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease) caused by cigarette abuse. Jake was in his late 40’s. I wondered which would get him first, liquor of cigarettes.

I had opened my office at the beginning of the month across the street in a building at the corner of College and Main above a hardware store owned by a former sheriff of the county, W.O. Brakebill. The suite of four offices had been vacant longer than anyone in the town could remember when W.O. first showed them to me. As with his left hand he opened the door which creaked like some haunted Halloween house, and with his right hand raked away the cobwebs, I immediately noticed the smutty odor of a building that had been shut up for many years. The four rooms were lit by bare bulbs that must have been Edison’s ten thousandth and first try to invent the incandescent light, and the movement of the door caused them to swing slightly from where they dangled from two exposed lines that ran along the ceiling and disappeared into the hallway ceiling above us. I reached and pulled the cord, and to my surprise, the light came on. The early morning sun was coming in the windows facing the courthouse, and in the midst of the dirt and grime, W.O., in his business-like manner, said, "J.D., I can give you a price for you to fix it up or a price that I’ll fix it up. Which one will it be?"

Knowing that he hadn’t fixed it up in what looked like a quarter of a century, my reply was, "Let me fix it up."

"I can let you have it for $15 and month payable on the first of each month in advance."

My bank account, though meager, could stand the $15 investment, so I promptly wrote him a check for my first month’s rent. In short order I bought me a good overhang wooden desk for $125 from Atlanta’s Ivan Allen branch office in Athens, along with red vinyl, looks-like-leather chairs to seat two people seeking legal advice in front of my overhang desk, and hired a part-time secretary, Jean Kirkland, and I was open for business. Open for business like representing Jake on a freebie basis. Judge Hicks, a friend of my father’s and not one to overload a young lawyer too much, appointed me to represent in that same term of court a man charged with burglary. After making the appointment he felt that he should add a little weight to the defense so he asked a long time advocate, Cyrus Harris, to assist me in the defense. Cyrus was not as eager to represent defendants charged with crimes and didn’t need the experience as I did. He came into the witness room while I was sitting there very judiciously interviewing my client, trying to figure out how in the world we could defend him. Plea bargains in those days were as popular as they are today because every case would not be tried. You would sometimes strike a deal with the Attorney General that was best for your client. I hadn’t gotten that far. I was just talking to him about his background and explaining to him the charges when Cy, the senior member of the defense team, came storming in and twisted his pants about three times-Cy would always do that when he was either a little nervous or in a hurry. This time he was in a hurry. One time I was defending a client for the heinous crime of rape and Cyrus was prosecuting and I remember so well that he stood before the jury, twisted his pants right and left, pulled them up once-he did that about three times-and said, "Of all the animals, the human being is the only one that will rape its own!" He devastated whatever defense I had and the jury promptly convicted the defendant.

"O.K., tell us, what do you want to do, J.D. and I have got better things to do than over here representing a bunch of rogues!" To this day, I don’t remember the response of the accused.

The first day of criminal court is always crowded because you not only have the first day of indictments from the previous grand jury sitting and the indictments from the indictments, you would have held over from the last term cases like my liquored-up, chronic obstructive pulmonary diseased client whose case was set for trial because it had come up through the General Sessions court and was not ready for trial. The sounds of doors slamming and everyone shuffling to their feet greeted Judge Hicks coming in after the morning recess, and Jake and I were up next. I heard the bailiff saying, "Hear ye, hear ye, this court is not in session, the honorable Sue K. Hicks presiding. Please take your seats." "Jake," I said, "we’ve got to enter a plea of guilty or not guilty. If not guilty, then try your case," and he mumbled, "I want to waive my case to the Supreme Court." So I said, "Let’s go." We walked back into the crowded courtroom and Judge Hicks asked, "Mr. Lee, how does your client plead? Guilty or not guilty?" On my client’s instructions, with Jake standing there next to me, his bleary eyes and red face lighting up the courtroom, his breath putrid with the smell of ready-rolled cigarettes and locally brewed moonshine, teetering next to me, unsteady on his feet, causing me to stand with my shoulders back, and I blurted out: "Your honor, we wish to waive our case to the Supreme Court!" The judge gaped at me in disbelief. Here was the son of his friend, a bright and shining new lawyer in town, making this outrageous statement knowing full well there’s no such thing as just waiving your case to the Supreme Court. Before the judge could hammer his gavel and hold me in contempt of court and send us both off to jail, I said, "Your honor, in all due respect to my client who wishes to waive to the Supreme Court, he is not in a condition to make such a decision because he has been partaking of the vine that has altered his sense of consciousness and I believe it would be best that his case be passed for the time being." Judge Hicks, in looking at us both, saw that I was the sober one and he saw the humor in my defense and promptly granted a continuance.

Such was the beginning of a practice that would ultimately take to trying case from Denver, Colorado to Bangor, Maine, from Chicago to Mobile, Alabama and it all started on that hot Tuesday after Labor Day in Madisonville in 1954.

J.D. Lee was born in Tellico Plains, TN in 1929. His law degree is from the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. He is a nationally known trial lawyer in tobacco litigation. In 1998, his 70th year, he hiked the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine.

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