This story is about my friend and a mentor Jim Rolfe who died Feb. 26, 2021.
Jim was larger than life and one of the best trial lawyers ever produced in Texas. He had the deepest blue eyes, taut white skin over a rectangular face that seemed to be smiling or at least preparing to smile most of the time.
I met Jim when I was a law clerk to Judge Robert Porter of the Northern District of Texas. Jim had just joined the U.S. Attorney’s office from a long stint at the Dallas DA’s office where he was a star and had tried some 400 cases he told me. Later he would become the U.S. Attorney. Jim and Judge Porter became fast friends (more about that later), and I frequently played handball and paddleball with Jim who was a bit of an awkward athlete because of a back injury. That said, he almost always won our matches which lead to an evening of beer and war stories.
Jim Rolfe and wife, Susan
My story is about one such trial in Judge Porter’s court. While clerking, Judge Porter had his law clerks in charge of the case on trial sit at the front of the court in a raised desk just below the judge and above the court reporter and witness. From there we could survey the entire courtroom. That courtroom is now my wife’s courtroom. She is the chief judge of the Northern District of Texas.
I distinctly remember when Jim Rolfe squared off against one of Dallas’ legendary lawyers, Don Case of the law firm Jackson Walker. While Jim was movie star handsome, Don was shaped more like a fireplug and a fireplug who constantly was puffing on a cigar, then allowed in the courtroom.
Jim opened his voir dire (pronounced “vor dire”) to the mostly white male panel poor-boying his position in the case.
“My name is Jim Rolfe and I represent the United States of America in this case, and I am against one of the best lawyers in Dallas, a man who is a legend in Dallas and Texas for that matter, a man who offices in one of the tallest buildings in Dallas. Will you hold it against me that I am a government lawyer?”
The poor-boying did not end there. The “vor dire” went on for an hour with references to Jim’s roots in Texas and his less than fancy education, etc., etc. All the while, Jim, partly because of his back pain, would stretch himself up to his full height and smooth his suit with his flat palms to stretch without detracting from his routine. Looking back on it, the “vor dire” was boring by today’s standards and not elegant but it met the moment.
Then it was Mr. Cases’ turn. Still puffing his cigar, which stuck out of the side of his mouth about 4 inches, the poor boy act was turned on its head. Mr. Case began by saying he had not tried a criminal case in years, that he was appointed and that he and his firm were up against the entire federal government, including the U.S. Attorneys’ office but also the FBI and who knows who else. Mr. Case concluded he had no chance.
And yes, he officed in a building downtown, but Mr. Rolfe officed at the courthouse, the very center of power in Dallas, and had his hands on all the power he needed simply to run over Mr. Cases’ client if he chose. Mr. Case wanted to know if anyone would hold it against him that he did not know as much about criminal law as Jim Rolfe and did not have the resources Jim had at his disposal.
I was watching this duel from my law clerk vantage and madly took notes as I did all the other trials I watched for the two years I clerked. I was enthralled with the little country tales both men used to illustrate their position and even outlined the poor boy routines wondering if I could deliver then as effectively when I was not really a poor boy. This was the greatest show I had ever seen. Two masters of the game throwing real fastballs it seemed to me at the time.
After the “vor dire,” the case began. Jim called his first witness, an FBI agent to summarize evidence that was to come. After introducing the agent, Jim began blatantly leading the witness. No objection from Mr. Case. Jim stepped up the leading, practically testifying while turning his incredibly blue eyes toward the jury and sometimes winking at the jury as he spoke.
Finally, Mr. Case objected; Judge Porter slammed his gavel down and ruled “sustained” in a gruff no-nonsense tone.
Jim continued to lead. Again dipping and turning his blue eyes to the jury when he “testified” to a point. Again Mr. Case objected and Judge Porter nearly yelling at Jim said “sustained.” This went on for another 10 minutes with Judge Porter becoming visibly angry at Jim. Finally, Judge Porter slammed the gavel down and ordered the jury out of the room.
Judge Porter, never one to beat around the bush, yelled “God Dammit Jim, what the hell are you doing? Stop leading the witness.” Judge Porter’s longtime court reporter knew how to take this down to avoid the curse words.
Jim sheepishly rose to his full height and smiled at Judge Porter saying: “Well Judge, I had to prove to the jury that Mr. Case knew what he was doing, so I had to draw objections you would sustain.”
He was ordered not to lead again or he would spend the night in jail.
And he didn’t lead again while I was taking notes.
Much later, Judge Porter had retired and was very sick with asbestosis, Jim would make it a point to pickup the Judge and drive him to Jim’s small lake cabin in East Texas where I am told they drank, played cards and told war stories – maybe even this one.