A small vignette

by Michael C Woodward

During my second year of practice, I was conducting the first Supreme Court trial I had done on my own, the defence of a wrongful dismissal suit against a film society. Just after the morning break one day, while Plaintiff’s counsel was conducting his case, he called the executive director of the society to the stand and began questioning her. Although I suspect an application to cross-examine would readily have been granted, no such application was made.

As sometimes happens in these matters, I was learning many new things about my case, and badly wanted to speak with my client during the luncheon recess. But I had heard of the “hands off” rule for witnesses in cross-examination, and was quite unsure whether it applied here.

I asked the client to stand by, and raced to the barristers’ lounge thinking I could find one of the senior lawyers from the firm in which I practised – no luck. I called the office – no luck. I had the idea to check the Law Courts Inn, and raced up there, by now quite out of breath, nearly panic stricken. Just inside the door was David Gibbons, whose reputation I knew. He had a foot-high stack of briefs on his table and was obviously deep in trial, but appeared the picture of leisure. “Mr. Gibbons,” I panted, “I need some help.”

He immediately said, “It’s Dave, and we’ll get you all the help you need, but first, sit down, tell me your name, and let’s get you a glass of water while you get your breath back.” After this, which helped calm me considerably, he had me tell my story, thought about it a moment, and said “Of course you can talk to this witness. In fact, I think you have an obligation to do that, and if you get any flack (I seem to recall a stronger word being used) from the trial judge over it, you tell her your lawyer is in a trial up in courtroom 73, and will be down to deal with it as soon as he has a break in his own case.”

While the grace and the forcefulness of the moment were uniquely “David Gibbons, QC,” the years since then have taught me that there are a dozen similar stories in this profession, each and every day. This automatic, uncalculated giving of help to a colleague in need is, at bottom, a key part of the wealth of this profession. I think of it as the “Big Dave Trust.” We are, each and every one of us, both beneficiaries and trustees at the same time.

This article was published in the December 2004 issue of BarTalk. © 2004 The Canadian Bar Association. All rights reserved.