OCBA UPDATE: The one about Vinny ...

I learned everything I ever wanted to know about trying a case from Vincent LaGuardia Gambini. In the history of legal stories on film, in my opinion, no movie is truer to form in terms of the trial process (or more hilarious) than “My Cousin Vinny.” Written by Dale Launer and directed by Jonathan Lynn (who, perhaps not surprisingly, has a law degree from the University of Cambridge), the film is a two-hour crash course on procedure, evidence, and cross-examination.

Few trial lawyers are born, and even fewer come out of law school with any clue on how to navigate the courtroom, let alone try a case. I was fortunate to know in law school that I wanted to be a litigator, and as a result, I took five different procedure courses in law school to gain as much knowledge of procedure as I could before graduation. I took trial advocacy and evidence and was in our civil litigation clinic in my third year of law school. With all that pre-graduation preparation, at my first motion hearing (a joint motion to extend dates before Judge Steven Andrews), despite spending a few hours rehearsing my argument (my poor client), I had no idea where to go after I stepped through the doors at 1200 N. Telegraph. The experience reminds me of the exchange between Vinny and his fiancee, Mona Lisa Vito:

Lisa: Because it didn’t look like you knew what you were doin’ today in that courtroom. Why is that?

Vinny: Well, it’s a lot of procedure. That’s all. I mean, I’ll learn it as I go.

Lisa: “Learn as you go”? Didn’t they teach that in law school?

Vinny: No. That’s not what they teach you. They teach precedents, contracts, interpretations. Then the firm that hires you, they teach you procedures, or you can go to court and watch.

No truer words were spoken as it relates to law school learning. In my first week of law school, I spent 20 hours rereading and trying to understand the United States Supreme Court case Pennoyer v. Neff (the first case studied in Civil Procedure 1), only to later spend the next 12 weeks learning that practically every holding of the case has been overruled by subsequent cases.

The dynamic of learning from “the firm that hires you” is certainly individually specific, but I have a few general observations. First, there is a distinction between engaging in a civil or criminal practice. My personal experience in criminal practice is taking constitutional criminal procedure and watching a lot of “Law & Order.” However, I have observed that a criminal practice may “get you into court” faster and often, and often on more complicated and significant issues than early in a civil practice. On the civil side (which is what I know) ... I give massive kudos to the lawyers who graduate and decide to “hang their shingle” and start their own practice. The courage and confidence needed to make such a decision is immeasurable, and through necessity and gumption, those individuals tend to “figure it out” quickly. People who graduate and join smaller firms, in general, may get the best balance of mentorship, as there is an existential need for the hiring lawyers to teach and train their newest hires how to navigate the courtroom and manage files. It is in the midsize and large firms where the young lawyers can get lost in the shuffle when it comes to training. Associates in the larger firms are more often dedicated to long-term document review projects, see less court or deposition time, and are less likely to be given the reins of their own cases. Often, they matriculate through the hierarchy of the firm through mere seniority and financial productivity, as opposed to actual strategic and legal prowess and experience. More experienced attorneys are charged with the implicit obligation to “pay it forward” as often as we can in every training context possible.

Of the vast number of legal movies that have been made, almost all of them fail when it comes to the evidentiary requirements of a trial and the questioning of witnesses. “A Few Good Men,” while entertaining, is one of the greatest offenders in this regard as it is rife with lawyers giving speeches instead of asking questions and getting answers. The classic exchange from “A Few Good Men” — “I want the truth!” “You can’t handle the truth!” — would never happen in a courtroom. There are no speeches in Vinny — just questions and answers between lawyer and witness. An example of an esoteric evidentiary lesson is given to the viewers when Vinny misses the prosecution’s opening statement because he was asleep and then gives the following opening statement:

Vinny: Everything that guy just said is bullshit. Thank you.

Trotter: Objection, your honor! Counsel’s entire opening statement is argument.

Judge: Objection sustained. The entire opening statement, with the exception of “Thank you,” will be stricken from the record.

While this is one of the funniest lines of the movie and something that almost every lawyer has died to say in response to an argument by opposing counsel, casual moviegoers probably do not grasp the technical accuracy of this exchange.

In the movie, once Vinny realizes (with significant help from Lisa) that he has the right to interview the three prosecution witnesses, in his own way, Vinny puts on a master class in cross-examination. Based on the information gleaned from his interviews, he succinctly sets up the witnesses with seemingly innocuous establishing questions and then follows up with questions that surgically destroy the credibility of the witnesses’ prior testimony about the defendants. I have to admit that when I find myself scoring points on cross-examination at a deposition, arbitration, or trial, my mind goes to the following exchange:

Vinny: So Mr. Tipton, how could it take you five minutes to cook your grits when it takes the entire grit-eating world 20 minutes?

Tipton: I dunno ... I’m a fast cook, I guess.

Vinny: I’m sorry, I was all the way over here. I couldn’t hear you. Did you say you’re a fast cook? That’s it? Are we to believe that boiling water soaks into a grit faster in your kitchen than any other place on the face of the earth?

Genius.

The education from Vinny was not just procedural and evidentiary; it was sartorial. Years after I watched Vinny for the first dozen or so times, I clerked for a United States magistrate judge, and when he dressed down an assistant United States attorney for not having his tie tied up to the top button, I was reminded of the following exchange between Vinny and Judge Haller:

Judge: What’re you wearing?

Vinny: I’m ... wearing ... clothes — I don’t get the question.

Judge: When you come into my court looking like you do, you not only insult me, but you insult the integrity of this court.

Thanks to the experience of that poor assistant U.S. attorney and Vinny, I have always made sure that my tie is always pulled up to the top.

As lawyers, we draw a great deal from our experiences in law school and the years leading thereto. However, there is no substitute (in the law and in life) for solid mentorship, especially in the practice of law. I have been lucky to have learned a great deal from my partners, the judges before whom I have practiced, and my colleagues in the bar. However, I cannot ignore the influence “My Cousin Vinny” had — and continues to have — on my career, and if you look closely enough over my shoulder during a Zoom call or hearing, you will see the framed movie poster that has been on the wall of every law office I have had. Vinny is always there for a quick tip when I need him.
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Kaveh Kashef, Butzel Long PC, is the 89th president of the Oakland County Bar Association.