Chapter 1
"The arc of the moral universe
May bend towards justice, but it
Does not bend on its own"
Barack Obama
"Yes, m'Lord".
These three words out of my mouth ricocheted off the walls of a London courtroom, their vibrations slapping me sharply across the face, as if to remind me that the theatre-type drama that was about to begin was not a dream. After years of delays, my time on the witness stand was here.
I sat in what the British called the dock, a witness stand that positioned me at eye-level with the three distinguished arbitrators: Lord Patrick Devlin, Sir David Cairns, and Sir Henry Fisher. They seemed relaxed, comfortable at home in their work in one of the four courts of historic Gray's Inn, where British law clerks and apprentices have been trained since the 14th century.
Mine was the only American accent heard during the courtroom proceedings, and with a wry smile I silently offered kudos to George Bernard Shaw for his profound description of America and Great Britain as two nations separated by a common language. Despite the precariousness of the moment, another breeze of humor blew through my mind, as I realized that the fate of my business career and-indeed-the course of my life would be determined by three English arbitrators who were more suitably adorned in white wigs and black robes than in business suits. More sobering thoughts chased my smiles away, as I pondered my situation, as I watched the three arbitrators huddled in animated discussion before I began my first of twelve days of intense interrogation.
I studied the three men and, for a moment, felt hopeful, knowing that the arbitration was in the hands of three of England's most respected legal minds. Lord Devlin, who was the youngest High Court judge to be appointed in the 20th century, was the chief/independent arbitrator. Known for his compassion, one of Devlin's most famous quotes is: "Trial by jury is the lamp that shows that freedom lives." Another former High Court judge said, "Patrick Devlin could have been the greatest among us," an opinion which was widely shared in the British legal profession.
Cairns, a English judge selected by Zambia, (the nation that I had taken to this English Court) was knighted in 1955. A Liberal Party politician, Cairns served as Chairman of the Monopolies and Restrictive Practices Commission and was Lord Justice of Appeal (1970-77). He presided over several notable cases, including the Exxon Corp v Exxon Insurance Consultants International Ltd.
Fisher, lauded for his quick apprehension and ability to analyze and organize voluminous material in the shortest possible time, was the arbitrator selected by my firm, TAW, which are my initials. He was a president of Wolfson College, and the eldest son of Geoffrey Fisher, the former Archbishop of Canterbury. Fisher became TAW's arbitrator, after Arthur Goldberg, a former U.S. Supreme Court Justice, stepped aside, at TAW's request.
The arbitrators' off-the-record platform chat heightened my anxiety and sent my mind whirling toward the hypothetical. Would this be the end of the line for me career-wise? What forces, I wondered, had guided this Harlem-bred black man to a higher level of the international business world in the 1970s and then sent him on a perilous spiral that now had him orbiting precariously above an abyss? I, the president and founder of TAW, an international leasing company that operated in fourteen African countries, wondered what it was all about. How had I become the central character in a U.S. $25 plus million lawsuit against the government of Zambia, a copper-rich landlocked country in southern Africa? How could I win this David vs. Goliath battle that pitted my seven-man legal team against Zambia's team, which was two dozen-strong?
I reflected on the many close calls and cliff-hanger entanglements that I had survived in my business life over the years. None, however, was as scary as this scenario, which developed when TAW's $80 million deal to transport tons of copper from Zambia to export in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, fell apart. I wondered if years from now I would forever remember this sparsely decorated London courtroom as the site of my Waterloo. I wondered, too, might I have another odds-defying escape tucked deep within me?
Then I surveyed the room, focusing first on barrister Conrad Dehn, the leader of Government of Zambia's team of lawyers. Dehn was a member of one of Great Britain's preeminent law firms. A 1952 Holt Scholar of Gray's Inn, he was widely regarded as one of the leading advocates of his generation. People called him "a well-dressed bloodhound with manners." Dehn moved about the room deliberately and with an air of confidence attained, no doubt, from the reputation he built while breaking down witnesses on the stand with withering cross-examinations.
Lawyers in the British court system have different names and different functions than those in the American system. TAW was represented by lawyers from three countries, including three British lawyers (one barrister and two solicitors). In Great Britain, the barrister is the only lawyer allowed to function as an attorney in this courtroom. Barristers, most of whom are self-employed, are the advocates. They represent clients in criminal and civil cases, draft legal pleas, give expert legal opinions, and are usually hired by solicitors directly.
Solicitors, hired by firms or organizations, have direct contact with clients and may do transactional-type legal work. In the British court system, foreign lawyers can't participate in court procedures. Once the arbitration court convened, Alan Dynner, TAW's U.S. attorney, and I weren't allowed to discuss the case with each other because Alan, too, was to be called as a witness.
When I ended my scrutiny of Dehn from afar, I moved across the aisle and sought eye contact with members of my seven-man legal team, beginning with Alan, my attorney, who became a longtime friend and confidante. Alan came to TAW as an assistant to Norman Vander Clute, a partner in the company's first outside attorney. Their firm almost exclusively handled international projects. Intrigued by Africa, Alan urged Vander Clute to replace him as TAW's attorney. Vander Clute gave Alan the job, and he quickly proved to be an effective legal representative. The longer we worked together the more I realized that Alan, a Yale law graduate, not only was a brilliant lawyer, but he possessed the instincts of a seasoned businessman. We were often on the same wavelength, compatible from the start. We were so in tune with each other's thoughts that at times, we finished each other's sentences. When their law firm split, Vander Clute stayed with the founding firm; Alan went with the new firm. I chose to keep Alan as TAW's attorney.
During my business career I've always believed that the person doing the job was usually more important than the name on the door. Besides, Alan was genuinely interested in Africa and its people. Because of our fifteen-year age difference, Alan often called me his "big brother." In many of TAW's previous legal fights and negotiations, Alan's legal skills, managerial sensitivity, and tenacity helped us obtain the results we sought. His presence on TAW's team gave me a high level of confidence, as I prepared for a courtroom battle that could end with TAW in bankruptcy and my life in shambles.
Then I targeted Frank Presnell, my assistant solicitor. I was saddened when I discovered that he was a turncoat at heart, if not in deed. Presnell's admiration for Dehn's courtroom skills prompted him to commit what I considered to be a serious ethical faux pas. Though he was paid to represent TAW and me, he bet Alan that Dehn would break me down on the witness stand and we would lose the case. Frank Presnell never knew that I had learned of the Presnell/Dynner wager weeks earlier. From that moment, I watched Presnell, my assistant solicitor, with suspect eyes.
Then I locked on to Bruce Brodie, my chief solicitor and a South African native. Alan recommended Brodie for the job, with some reservations, only because he thought Brodie's South African roots might give me pause. Actually, Brodie and I became good friends, not only professionally, but socially.During the Arbitration, we broke bread together regularly. Once during lunch, he casually mentioned that his firm, Frere Cholmeley, was older than my country. The British firm was founded in 1750.
Brodie, described as cool, confident, and calm under pressure, came to us with high praise for his work in prior arbitrations, particularly international commercial arbitration. He was the recipient of a Blue, an award earned by British sportsmen and women attending universities and other schools for competing in athletic events at the university level. Of course, that earned him high marks from this hardworking former student/athlete. He was also John Lennon's solicitor. But Brodie wasn't without flaw. He had, after all, hired Presnell as his assistant solicitor.
A smile returned to my face as I gazed at David Hirst, my fearless, conscientious, and ebullient barrister. Some considered David, who had served as a Lord Justice on the Court of Appeal, somewhat of a showman. He spoke rapidly but always clearly, waved his arms dramatically during cross-examinations and waddled about the courtroom with penguin-like motions. He was a stickler for...
