The air starts crackling.
My mom, Mary Fung, has come to watch opening. Her smile stretches the width of her face. She is wearing a polyester blue and white teeny striped suit that I distinctly remember from the 1970s. Over a blue pair of Nike shock sneakers that I used to run in. Hair pinned up in its forever bun. She looks fairly adorable. Everyone in the courtroom smiles back at her.
Am thinking – uh oh.
She tells me to comb my hair. Offers me a comb. Remind her the hair is not able to be combed. She starts picking at my jacket. There are strings hanging. She starts to dig out a pair of clippers from her purse. Tell her this is the style. It is meant to unravel. She wrinkles her nose up, scowls and makes a sound that sounds like this: ugh. Ron (co-counsel) comes over and says, just focus on opening. Am thinking – no way. Have to keep eye on mom.
She begins to take cosmic readings. Tells everyone that I don’t believe in her powers. That doesn’t bother or stop her.
Tells our client she will heal him. Tells the bailiff and clerk their I.Q.s aren’t bad but she can help them improve. To put this in perspective, she previously determined my brother’s dog Izzy had a higher I.Q. than George W. Bush. Mine, if you must know, was quite high at birth. Then my uncle Timmy dropped me on my head when I was two and that was that. I’m pretty sure Izzy’s is higher than mine as well.
Her favorite thing to do in court is to sketch everyone (she’s really quite a good courtroom artist). She then does their “readings.” This is good because it keeps her occupied and I don’t have to worry that she’ll break out the crystal pendulum and start twirling it around. It aids in her ability to make predictions and decisions. Actually, probably should worry but have determined it to be a useless exercise. The woman is incorrigible.
Judge Hill returns. The jury files in. She reads the preliminary instruction. The ritualistic words wash over me. Mind grows still and focused. Eyes close even though they physically are open. This is what I say to myself:
This opening is for our client. Let me speak the right words in the right way for him. Give me calmness of spirit to do what needs to be done. Give me strength for him. Let the jury see the truth. I am nothing but a conduit. Let me do a good job for this man.
Don’t repeat it like a mantra. Just let it cycle through once. Breathing slows. Can feel the air as it rests in chest. Breathe more slowly so it can rest more deeply. Down to the center of where it needs to be.
Judge H finishes and says – please turn your attention to Ms. Koehler.
Walk back out, face the jury, and let it Flow.
After openings are over, check on mom. She has made drawings of everyone. There are mathematical calculations and little notes by all of their faces. Instead of a jury consultant, we have a jury psychic. She has to leave to babysit for my little sister. She’ll share her findings with me later.
Walk her out to the hall. Kiss her goodbye. She says she is proud and gets a little tearful. Am truly touched. Watch the little polyester suit walk to the elevator. Go back in.
Drawing: Clark v. State jury by Mary Fung Koehler.
Note: This is an excerpt from my trial diary day 2 Oct. 2011.
We are rewarded in school for using sentences so complex, that the reader or listener is virtually tortured by them. As grown up lawyers this means we tend to spout legalese to normal people. How as trial lawyers do we shrug off these intellectual habits. So we can tell a good story.
