Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program Big Valley are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the authors. The ideas expressed in this story are copywrited by the author.

 

 

Lessons from My Father-by nicole g esq

 

As Jarrod walked into the lecture hall with his fellow classmates, the black robes flapping with every step, the resounding thuds echoed as the heavy leather bound volumes dropped onto the desks.  Papers rustled as the students sought the jotted notes from their first readings of the assigned cases, most of the first year law students completely uncertain of what they should have learned.  The room was just beginning to reach an anxious quiet when the professor marched in and the room exploded in movement as first one, then a second, then all the students rose to their feet, the white haired man striding to the podium, his robes billowing behind him, his own copy of the assigned text, obviously far better used than those of his students, laid lightly atop the desk.

 

“Be seated, gentlemen.”  Glancing down at his roll, he began to pace the front of the classroom, the dimensions of the rostrum memorized in his mind, then looked up carefully scrutinizing the faces of the students assembled before him, noting which ones looked like frightened rabbits, which ones were completely self-confident, certain that the latter group were the greater fools.  Scanning the class, he called out, “Mr. Abrams.”

 

“Yes, Sir?”

 

The professor turned, one brow arching, in the direction of the voice.  “When you are addressed in my classroom, you will rise, sir.”  Young Mr. Abrams hurried to his feet.  Ah, one of my self confident fools.  “Mr. Abrams, assuming that you graduate from this institution, when you are in a courtroom and you address the court, you are to do so on your feet.  As you are here to learn the intricacies of the practice of law, when you are in my class, and you are called upon, you will stand.  Now, Mr. Abrams, Pendleton versus Montgomery, tell us, if you would, the facts of this case.”

 

“Well, sir, in 1829, the Supreme Court decided – ”

 

“Mr. Abrams, you understand the English language, do you not?”

 

Mr. Abrams glanced quickly at the students to either side of him.  “Yes, Sir.”

 

“Sit down, Mr. Abrams.  Mr. Franklin, can you tell us the facts.”  All eyes scanned the room as Mr. Abrams dropped into his chair and Mr. Franklin rose.  Hmmmmm, a rabbit. 

 

“It seems that Mr. Montgomery sued – ”

 

“Mr. Franklin, when you are in court, you will need to be heard over the whispers in the back row, the sheriff cracking nuts with his teeth, and the occasional snoring of a judge.  Speak sufficiently loudly to be heard.  From the beginning.”

 

Mr. Franklin took a deep breath.  “It seems that Mr. – ”

 

“Mr. Franklin, I asked you for the facts, not what things seem to be.”

 

Mr. Franklin swallowed hard.  “Yes, Sir.  Mr. Montgomery sued Mr. Pendleton over the cost of a bull.”

 

“Indeed.  The cost of a bull.  How exciting.  Isn’t that why you all came to law school, gentlemen?  Because you aspire to appear at the United States Supreme Court to argue the merits of who should pay whom how much for a bull.”  Laughter broke the tension in the air, the heartiest laughs coming from men who Jarrod could believe would be unable to tell a bull from a cow.  He noticed that there were a few others who merely smiled politely, knowing the price of a bull would be no laughing matter to the folks back home.  “And the holding, Mr. Franklin?”

 

“The holding?”

 

“Do we need to return to Mr. Abrams?”

 

“No, Sir.”

 

“What did the court decide?”

 

“The court really didn’t decide.”

 

The professor’s eyebrows shot up.  “Oh, really, Mr. Franklin?  I’m sure that would come as some surprise to Mr. Chief Justice Marshall who wrote the decision.  Mr. Scott?” the professor asked, calling on a new student.

 

“The court declined to decide on the merits of the case based on its decision that it lacked jurisdiction.”

 

Mr. Franklin’s eyes closed as he wilted into his chair amid scattered snickers, all other eyes turning to the next victim.  Jarrod sat, furiously writing notes, his stomach in knots as he watched the professor playing games of cat and mouse, his fellow students seeming to sprout small round ears and hairless tails, their squeaks quickly replaced by booming voices in response to the reproach of “Courtroom voices, please.”  As the hour passed, with half an hour remaining, he began to wonder why he ever thought law school was a good idea.  The challenges of his father to do his best and the torrents of taunting from Nick were nothing compared to the challenges and taunting coming from the professor on the raised platform at the bottom of the auditorium.  As he watched the professor play with his fellow mice, tempting them to follow a bit of cheese, urging them to choose a path to follow, although always seeming to give a choice, he noticed that as soon as they committed, he released the traps and Jarrod prayed that time would fly as never before, allowing him to escape that first class intact.  But the seconds dragged along and he was captive, feeling as he did years before watching a stampede in a canyon beneath him, the cattle rushing by, a disaster in the making, and he stood far off on the sidelines, powerless to do anything to stop it.

 

“Mr. Barkley.” 

 

Jarrod’s throat constricted as he realized that, suddenly, the lead steer had turned and was bearing down on him.  Flashing back, his mind recalled his father’s words of caution when he was old enough to truly ride herd.  When you’ve got a stampede on your hands, you have to act fast.  Get out in front of it if you can, but give yourself plenty of distance, you’ve got to know where you are.  Sit tall in the saddle, use your most confident voice with your men and trust your gut.  Use your hat, your rope, your horse, everything in your control.  But keep in mind the most important thing, stay in your seat.  You fall off your horse and you’re in more danger than you ever though possible.  His mind becoming a blur, Jarrod reached for his saddle horn to swing into his saddle.  His hand finding  his desk, he quickly rose to his feet, standing tall, and using his most confident voice, he called out “Here, Professor McKnight.”  His voice rang out in the auditorium, his years of practice calling out over the din of roundup, calling across the corral and pasture to get Nick’s attention so he’d come in for dinner suddenly coming in handy. 

 

The professor challenged Jarrod with a stare but made a mental note of the name.  Barkley.  Normally, by the last half hour, every voice was shaky, not so with this one.  And the inflection was not lost on him either.  Not the typical “Yes?”, no question to his reply, just an answer to the call, “Here.”  And as McKnight memorized the face, he saw that he was not facing rabbit nor self impressed fool.  No, this one was self-confident but sufficiently wary that he was ready for the challenge.

 

“Mr. Barkley, do you agree with Mr. Thompson’s assessment of the hypothetical?”

 

“No, Sir, I do not.”  Every head had already turned to watch Jarrod and now began watching the imaginary ball tossed from teacher to student and back.

 

“Mr. Barkley, were you listening to Mr. Thompson’s careful logic?  Our discussion of the holding?”

 

“I was listening,” Jarrod said, trying to stay tall in the saddle.

 

“Yet you don’t agree?”

 

“No Sir, if the question is minimum contacts, it would seem Mr. Montgomery’s pattern of continuing to conduct business in the state subjects him to the decision of the court, at least as described in the hypothetical.”

 

Even though the lead steer was unrelenting in his effort to draw the herd father away, Jarrod continued to fight, adjusting his stance when needed, continuing to do what he could to contain the rampage, trusting his gut, staying firm in his seat.  Suddenly, the herd seemed to quiet.

 

“Mr. Wilkinson.”  Jarrod watched as the professor’s attention turned to another, noticing the stares he continued to receive, some looking on in awe, some shaking their heads at him as if to suggest that he was foolish to stand his ground.  “Mr. Wilkinson, you heard Mr. Barkley.  On this notion of minimum contacts, do you agree with him?”  Jarrod listened as his classmate answered carefully, not committing himself either way, waiting for an indication from the professor before with the professor’s help, he proceeded to take apart Jarrod’s carefully, albeit hastily, constructed argument, dismantling every support, until there was little left.  As he listened to Professor McKnight, he realized the stampede had not stopped, and he felt the rush of air leave his body as he was knocked off his horse.  Wilkinson proceeded to give a lengthy recitation, presenting his own case, giving reasons which directly opposed Jarrod’s, the professor encouraging him as he went, nodding his head openly.  Jarrod felt his face reddening at the praise for the contrary argument, thinking of the extra time he’d have to put into his own studies.  He’d been so sure, trusted his gut.  As he sat back in his chair, watching Wilkinson’s ego inflate, he consoled himself with the fact that he was new to all this and he still had a lot to learn.

 

“So on the question of whether you agree with Mr. Barkley?”

 

“No, Sir, I do not,” came the ready reply.

 

“Excellent argument, Mr. Wilkinson, excellent.  Well reasoned, articulate.  However, a better, more complete, more correct answer would have been yes.”

 

Jarrod’s head jerked up from the notes he’d been taking, astonished at the implication of the professor’s last statement.  Could it possibly be that he’d been correct after all?  Hearing the groan from the student next to him, he looked down as his seatmate proceeded to take up his pen and make large X’s across his notes of Wilkinson’s argument, the nib scratching across the careful script.  As Jarrod looked up from his neighbor’s paper, he caught the eye of the young man seated in front of him who silently mouthed “Well done.”  Jarrod smiled and nodded his thanks, his blue eyes twinkling.

 

“Gentlemen, I see our time is done.  I hope you have copied the assignment for Wednesday.  I will expect those of you who choose to continue beyond today to be better prepared.  And that includes you, Mr. Barkley.  The term is early yet.”  Jarrod looked up, smiling.  Standing, he picked up his books and answered in his best courtroom voice, “Of course, Professor.”  As Jarrod walked out of the classroom, he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder and heard a voice drawl, “Barkley, a few of us are forming a study group and we’d like you in it.”  Turning, he saw the fellow who had mouthed words of congratulations.  “In Texas, we’d say we want you riding point.  Now, don’t worry what that means, I can explain later, just think about joining us, all right.”

 

Jarrod chuckled and spilled out into the quad with the rest of his class, falling into easy conversations.  Later that day, his head swimming from reading, he pulled out a sheet of paper and dashed off a quick note.

 

Dear Nick,

 

Remember when you said I’d be missing the ranch before I knew it?  I’ve only finished my first morning and I’ve already stopped a stampede and been invited to ride point.  I’ll explain more later but it’s time to get back in the saddle for my afternoon class.  Love to Mother and Father.

 

Jarrod