EARTHEN SINS

By Richard Malmed

Digby Bradenton, the senior partner of our law firm is, had a small matter to refer to me involving an impoverished and alcoholic former debutante, Taffy Tarlington. Her brother –in –law was making her an offer to buy her out of the family corporation owning coal strip mines. I was to evaluate the offer and advise Taffy. Since the an

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Jul 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733133111

Richard Malmed

Richard Malmed, retired after fifty years of practicing law, pursues his first love as a writer since he was an Honors English Major at Yale. Author of eight books, he writes historical fiction and lawyer’s adventure novels. To learn more, please visit richardmalmed.com

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Earthen

S i n s

Richard Malmed

Copyright © 2019 by Richard Malmed.

Paperback:    978-1-7331331-0-4

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Digby Bradenton was a pillar of the White Anglo Saxon Protestant community. He was the best of the WASP tradition that traces its roots to the colonies. An eminent lawyer, he was knowledgeable and had practices in a wide range of the specialties of law. In his early days he had done criminal and domestic relations work, but now he was mostly doing real estate and business work, and on the way to doing trust and estates work. As such, he followed the path of most in the legal profession in those days when a good lawyer by experience in all areas of the law during his career became a consummate generalist who could see a legal problem from many different practice angles and truly represent his client. As a result, his clients came from many walks of life.

Digby was a confidant of the Bishop of the Anglican Church of Pennsylvania, the chief of the Philadelphia Republican Party, and numerous executives of all the WASP companies in the area. He was a member of the Tastevin Society, an organization of wine connoisseurs, the Union League, and virtually every conservative nonprofit in the city. But he was old school. He never gave the knee jerk Republican answers, but always considered all the facts in the way of any Harvard Law School graduate, which he was.

As he sat behind his desk, he looked Dickensian. His sartorial style included a three-piece suit about 10 years out of fashion in dark brown tweed, a yellow and brown striped button down shirt, a brown bowtie (hand tied at a jaunty angle) and bifocals hanging on his chest with a strap holding them in place around his neck. He had an ample paunch, a red nose, and heavy eyebrows. If you did not know him, he could be intimidating as he stared over his bifocals with a scowl. But he was a reasonable, worldly man who was willing to listen to any argument. That essentially is the essence of the ultimate lawyer, well read, well connected, but always open to listening to any side. Knowledge and truth came from many places.

As I walked in, he was bustling with energy while dismissing Ms. James, his secretary for many years. Ms. James was the soul of a legal secretary. In addition to old-school shorthand and typing which she upgraded to the highest level of computer skills, she first and most importantly knew how to keep her mouth shut. But she was not short of opinions when speaking in private with her long-time boss. Her street smarts and she-wolf mentality in protecting her boss and his clients was legendary. Ms. James winked at me as she walked out. This’ll be a good one. Have fun.

Digby’s clients could be anyone – from society people, to maids and chauffeurs, from CEOs to whistleblowers. His ability to listen and absorb their view of the facts was what made him sought after.

I sat in the chair in front of his desk as he pushed a still new, still narrow file across his authentic antique Chesterfield, burl-walnut desk. Yes, you’ll like this, but it’s not easy, he said.

As the head of the litigation department, I reviewed all new litigation matters and parceled them out. The really interesting ones I kept for myself. Digby knew I’d like this one.

"Taffy Tarlington is the daughter of one of our old clients. She is the great granddaughter of Governor Farnsworth, and the distant heir to the Powell Estate – the family that created many of the railroads in the East. Her real name is Martha Dauberville Tarlington but since she was two, she has been known as Taffy. Unfortunately her grandfather, unbeknownst to many, lost lots of money in the Depression and several recessions after that. Fortunately, most of the money had been in trust and is not reachable by his creditors or, thankfully himself. Taffy has no trust but somehow owns a 25 percent interest in a family business from which she gets dribs and drabs each month. She has two children – one by Enright Randolph her ex-husband, and one from Enright’s first marriage. For a few years early in the marriage Enright had tried working as a sales rep for the family business. But his sales approach consisted mainly of expensive whiskey and cheap women. He was retired prematurely from the family business at 27. Since then he had devoted himself to questionable women and serious drinking and hunting. In short, he had assumed the life of the medieval knight – his ancestors from over 500 years earlier.

Our firm had been able to attach a few of his trusts to provide her with about $500 per week in child support. His family, the Randolphs – a wealthy old line family who held a major interest in a local manufacturing plant – did not see fit to contribute to their grandchildren’s support, even the one that was not Taffy’s. So after a few explosive battles, Enright Drexel Randolph (also known as Drecky") was divorced from Taffy and their alcoholic co-dependency moved on to another phase.

She lives very modestly in a farm caretaker’s cottage in Chester County which a relative of hers owns and to whom she pays no rent. She does mow vast areas of grass for them and exercises their horses. She was a debutante at the Society Ball in Philadelphia, and is still a bit entitled. When Ms. James said Good luck" she meant it. She is spoiled and alcoholic. So good luck.

"Anyway, she has no money and cannot afford to pay us. So I’ve arranged with her and her family to take this matter on a contingency basis. We get one third of whatever benefit we can get for her. We’ll cover your expenses as you go. She is well connected and capable of screaming blue murder if you can’t help her, but will sing your praises to every maiden and matron in the Social Register in the area if you do well. So do well.

What the issue is concerns her family’s business. She owns 25 percent and her uncle and aunt own 75 percent. She gets about $5,000 a year in income. Her uncle has just offered to buy her out by paying $25,000 a year for three years. This would be in pre-tax dollars and he could deduct this from his company. She doesn’t trust her uncle and thinks something is up. She wants us to investigate. I picked you so she is anxious to meet you. I’ve arranged for you to take her to dinner at the Union League. (Lower floor of course. Women are not allowed in the upper floor!) In the file, you’ll see everything she’s gotten from the company over the last five years including tax returns and mining reports. If you can see her tonight or tomorrow she’d be ecstatic. Just charge everything to the firm’s account.

I should explain a few terms. The Union League is a gentlemen’s exclusive Republican club, prominently located on Broad Street and occupying a very valuable half block between Chestnut and Walnut. It not only does not admit women or Democrats, it does not admit Jews, Poles, Irish or Italians even if very Republican. Each applicant must swear that he has never voted Democratic. It has some hotel rooms where businessmen from out of town can stay or for men whose wives have thrown them out of the house. The food is always exceptional and the bar is even better. They are famous for their pepper pot soup and fried oysters. The men frequently are assigned to a club table where they can connect to the old boy network. Not only is it a place where it is forbidden to discuss business, but it is also considered bad form not to do business with your table mates. Needless to say, every Republican lawyer tries to join and hopes that the miscalculated marriages in their family tree do not show up in the background investigation.

The Social Register Is a small black book which lists everyone deemed to be Philadelphia society along with their respective families.

The Debutante Ball is held in June of every year for the private school senior females who meet strict criterion and make a very substantial charitable donation. There they are introduced into Society and hopefully will meet a suitable Society husband. Although the debutantes and mostly their families are subjected to close scrutiny, the men are not so closely examined; I was invited for several years. That of course makes me suspicious because as Groucho Marx famously said, I would not join a club that would accept me as a member. But I went. It was a big hall at the Bellevue Stratford Hotel on Broad Street – also near the Union League. An orchestra – strikingly with a Jewish bandleader – played tunes that were at least 40 years old and the couples danced while the parents sat at the tables off the dance floor or in the balcony above the dance floor. Typical of WASP parties, there were multiple open bars and few tables of meagre tired hors d’oeuvers. But it was fun. It felt like you were back a hundred years in time.

So Taffy was my client and I was to do due diligence on the family business to evaluate the offer made to her. I called Taffy and arranged to meet her at the train station and walk her to the Union League. I suggested seven o’clock, but I had a premonition when she said she wanted to meet at five o’clock – cocktail hour – and she wanted a room so she wouldn’t have to drive home from the railroad station after drinking. Uh-oh. I’d have to watch this one: She liked to drink.

Trial lawyers have several costumes for appearances. In front of a jury or before the judges in the suburban counties, we wear the JC Penney look – standard suit with a little polyester to look crisp and sharp, blue broad cloth button down – a little polyester to look fresh, and lace-up well shined black shoes. To impress business CEOs, we wear Brooks Brother or J. Press all the way. Not too stylish, never in anything but black, navy blue or charcoal. Authentic Brooks Brothers roll in the button-down collar and authentic black tassel loafers. They like pure expensive conservative. For women, or sophisticated people, lawyers go with a European cut, spread collar and bright colorful tie and European loafers. As St. Paul said, I am all things to all people. I went with the European look for Taffy. Of course, in the office, I stood out because everyone was office casual. Times had changed. Suits were no longer suited in suites, at least not on casual Friday.

Taffy got off the Main Line local train. She knew who I was because I was dressed in a suit. Digby had described her adequately. She was a reasonably attractive woman in her mid-thirties, she looked fit and had a firm stride like one used to working on a farm. She was deeply tanned with no makeup but her outfit set her off. Lime green linen pants, low heels and a forest green blazer. She wore a flowered blouse mostly pink with some greens and yellows. In the evening commuter crowd, she was an easy mark as a society girl with no fashion sense.

Hello, Ms. Tarlington. Over here. I waived.

Hi there, Mr. Stern. Call me Taffy. I don’t know my last name since I’m divorced. We walked over to the Union League, mostly chatting about her horseback riding. She was caring for several horses from the local hunt club members at the farm where she was a tenant. Because hunt club riding was a grueling and dangerous sport for the horses, and, by the way, riders as well. Most of the horses she tended were rehabbing from injuries in one sort or another and out of commission. She exercised them each gently and followed the prescriptions of the vets, and tried to nurse each one back to hunt status. The hunt is a grueling cross-country race after a fox or a fake fox, who is chased by trained hunting dogs – mostly beagles – who bark like crazy. Chester County had the best local hunt scene. Ms. Harriman, an heir to part of the Harriman money had contributed vast portions of Chester County near Unionville to an Open Space Conservation for use as hunt grounds. The hunt people dressed in full hunt regalia assembled regularly to chase the quarry and the hunting