• Solomon Goldstein – Attorney at Law

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    ?Solomon Goldstein –Attorney at Law

    “What in the hell are you doing?” the enraged voice shouted over the phone. Nothing that Jacob could say would make sense at this point, so he replied, “I’m with a client Dad, I’ll call you back in a bit.” The yelling went on has he clicked down the phone.

    “Well, I knew this was coming, maybe I should have taken Jeanie’s advice and given the family prior notice,” he thought to himself. “Norene, if he calls back tell him I’m in a conference.”

    Math was the root of all this chaos, Jacob just wasn’t good in math. His dad, Ben Anderson, was an engineer and wanted Jacob to follow him into engineering or the physical sciences. His brother was a microbiologist, and his sister was just finishing a masters in aeronautical engineering. But those professions required advanced math and he barely got through high school geometry.

    His father had a very annoying habit of relating the cause of Jacob’s poor mathematical ability. He would readily tell anyone that just as Jacob was getting ready to come down from heaven, the talents to each child were given out. The Lord called out “Math Ability” and my son thought he heard “Bath Available”. Ha, ha, ha! Not at all funny to Jacob. His grades at school were below average and he graduated at the last moment by completing a general science packet with his brother’s help. His poor study habits and mediocre grades were mainly to torment his father, who would continually browbeat him. No problem here with the excessive praise of modern parenting.

    If left alone his major interest was reading – he was addicted to novels that featured geography and history, but he’d read anything, including an L. L. Bean catalog, with enthusiasm. And yes, he did like to read in the bathtub. Jacob believed in getting plenty of sleep. “The only thing better than a nap during the day is two naps.” Gangly, skinny, awkward, a creature with long legs and arms with a Lincoln-like countenance. He considered himself unremarkable, but felt he had a talent at finding the easiest solutions to most of life’s problems. His lone athletic ability was a claim to be the fourth best high jumper in his class.

    Jacob started college at Truckee Meadows Community College (The TMCC Lizards), the easiest junior college to get into in the continental US – he mainly went there to further irritate his dad. Barely scraped by on the second of two tries at college algebra. Finally got his General Ed requirements after five semesters and transferred to Stevens Henniger Business College in Provo, Utah (because his father had, begrudgingly, promised financial help). He majored in accounting with a forensic emphasis – at least there was no math other than numbers on a spread sheet – and the term itself sounded better than being just an accountant. Wasn’t really sure what forensics was about (other than material that could be used in court) but it sounded cool. Naturally, like most, he found he hated accounting, but it was too late to start another major and his dad was putting all kinds of heat on him. Once he finished school he’d be expected to get a job.

    His favorite professor took him aside one day and said, “You know, Jacob, you are one of my favorite students, as affable and gracious as any I’ve known, but your mind always operates inside the box. You are intelligent, yet you continue to under-perform and hold yourself to a standard below your potential. You need to change and make something of yourself – now is the time – you can’t keep pretending you are a late bloomer. I really do expect great things from you someday, just don’t wait too long.” Jacob knew he was smart, with plenty of drive, but like to only use either when really needed, but he thought about what his professor had said.

    He liked the central Utah area, mainly the 40,000 available girls at BYU and Utah Valley University. Found a gal he was attracted to, Jeanie, who was finishing her nurse’s degree at BYU and wanted to go on – to get a Nurse Anesthetist degree. She recognized something in him that others hadn’t and when she proposed, he readily agreed. He asked her one day what she saw in him. She said, “You’re tall, six four, and since I’m six foot, it’s tough to find a decent guy your size. Plus you are pretty funny and don’t like to argue.

    She found a nursing job before graduation, but he found that no one remotely needed a forensic accountant – fresh out of school with no experience. Jeanie was not a frail girl, but had agreeable curves, soft eyes, an attractive face. She was whip smart, and for some reason loved him dearly– plus she wore high heels almost all the time. “There really is something about a beautiful woman with long legs and high heels,” he thought.

    “So what to do, what to do?” He really didn’t want to go into regular accounting with its miserable 500 hours of required auditing before taking the dreaded CPA exam, and he wasn’t qualified for anything else.

    “How about law school?” his wife asked, “You have a devious brain, a smooth tongue, and a knack for convincing people to do what they don’t want to.” “Hmmm,” he thought, a 2.8 GPA won’t exactly get me into Stanford Law. But then he began researching the bottom barrel of the 205 US law schools looking for one that would accept him. He needed a school where they had a high acceptance rate and low LSAT qualification scores. And the school needed to be low cost with cheap housing.

    “Just find one that has a Certified Nurse Anesthetist program that I can attend,” Jeanie said. He found the spot, North Carolina Central University Law School – tuition $10,415. He slogged his way through law school with a B- average, major emphasis in Criminal Law. He found he liked the cloak-and-dagger – the other disciplines were too tedious, or repulsive like Family Law (divorces and custody battles). Of course Jeanie was a straight A at Wake Forest, just twenty-five miles down the road from his law school at Durham. They lived in Wake Forest and he was the one who commuted. That was okay with Jacob; he listened to audio books while he drove–starting with Tolstoy’s War and Peace, and Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, then on to the Durant’s “Story of Civilization.” The droning voice of the narrator made his law classes seem almost lively by comparison.

    The real question now was where to locate after graduation. Jacob didn’t care because he had decided he didn’t want to practice law anyway, just figured having a Juris Doctorate behind his name should turn into some sort of a professional future. “Just find the highest paying job, honey, that will suit me,” he told Jeanie. Well the best job turned out to be in Rock Springs, Wyoming at the Memorial Hospital of Sweetwater County. Salary, $137,500 plus a $35,000 signing bonus. Luckily the Wyoming bar exam was three months away and he could still apply – figured he better hedge his bets just in case.

    They packed up their belongs, got their Honda Civic hooked up to a U-Haul ,and headed northwest on I-74 through West Virginia, Kentucky and Missouri. Once they hit I-80 in it was straight west. They rolled through Iowa then Nebraska and entered Wyoming at the border town of Pine Springs, where they were greeted with a blast of icy wind along with an interesting sign.

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    When he wasn’t driving, Jacob began to pay attention – outside was endless prairie, bleak and unforgiving, covered with rock, dirt, sagebrush and wind-bent grass. That vista continued through Cheyenne, Laramie, Rawlings and finally Rock Springs. He read that most of the state was on a high plateau, 7,000 plus feet above sea level – the flat expanse of the Great Plains. Nothing to stop the cold wind that came roaring down from the Unitah’s in south or the Windriver’s from the north.

    Saw a few oil wells on the way, some drilling derricks, double trailer oil tankers and lots of horses and cattle – white-faced Herefords, Black Angus and even some Brahmas. Wildlife was limited to antelope, coyotes, prairie dogs – and a badger that attacked him at a rest stop, tearing his pants before Jeanie whacked the varmint. “How long is your contract, again?” said Jacob. “Three years, think you’ll make it?” Jeanie grinned. “Could be might chilly this winter,” he thought and slid down a little further in the seat.

    His only commitment was a bar prep class three times a week, so he had lots of free time, once they moved into their apartment in Reliance. “I better find out all there is to know about Rock Springs, Wyoming,” he thought. As he started to investigate, the history was both interesting and discouraging. The town population was around 20,000 with 26 lawyers already loose on the unsuspecting public. The settlement had been founded in 1850 when the US Army lead surveyor, Howard Stansbury, noticed a bituminous outcropping just off where the Union Pacific main line was headed. The mountain man Jim Bridger was his guide and showed him the large spring that eventually gave the town its name.

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    Most of the pioneer routes went further north where South Pass cut through the continental divide, but the mail companies were looking for a less mountainous trail. Finally the Overland Stage Company established a route through the Springs after getting tired of trying to outrun the Cheyenne and Sioux.

    In 1868 coal exploration exploded as the Union Pacific arrived. The little towns of Superior, Arrowhead Springs,Winton, Purple Sage, and Reliance were founded and 130 different mines employed thousands of miners. Rock Springs was known as a mixing pot because of the fifty-six different nationalities from all over the world who arrived to work in the mines. They were known, sometimes with affection, as Bohunks, Slavs, Wops Spics, Limey’s, Frogs, Boches, Mof’s, Mic’s, Krauts, Dago’s, Nigs, Pom’s, Tico’s, Guinea’s, Wog’s, Coolie’s, Chink’s, Slant’s, and other names much less complementary. The town was not for the faint of heart. Disputes were settled with fists and firearms. Double digit murders each year. The general attitude of the sheriff and his deputies was to let the residents settle their own problems.

    UP used the coal from the mines they owned to fire their own locomotives and also as a valuable export to undercut competitors in the east. To weaken the unions the company hired from all over the world and made sure the miners distrusted anyone who didn’t speak their own native language. Different immigrates were paid different wages.

    The town finally incorporated in 1888, within sight of the mines – which roared day and night bringing coal to the surface. In 1952 the railroad changed over to diesel and the industry took another of its periodic dives – all of the mines closed. Then the discovery of oil and gas brought prosperity once again, along with increased usage of coal for major power plants.

    The town had always had the reputation as wide-open – a large red light district, gambling houses and saloons abounding – and a friendly police force who instead of enforcing the regulations were good customers of these establishments. The little town sat right on the Union Pacific Main line between east and west. Next to the tracks I-80 was the main highway connecting Denver and San Francisco.. At almost 6900 feet above sea level, the evening temperatures were below freezing seven months of the year, but hit the seventies during the summer. Average snowfall – about four feet.

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    Probably the most notorious event in the city’s history was the 1930 massacre of 28 Chinese mine workers. Fifteen more were wounded and hundreds more run out of town. The other miners believed the” Chinks,” as they called them, were undercutting the labor prices.

    Rock Springs was featured on 60 Minutes in 1978, exposing corruption on the police force and city government, and then again in 1997 – when it was called one of the top ten meanest cities in America. Local grand juries were convened, but no wrongdoing was ever uncovered – many thought it was typical Wyoming justice. The locals didn’t much like outsiders poking into their business. Since federal government lands cover 48% of Wyoming, most ranchers and miners were resentful and suspicious of any federal regulations. Jacob wondered if they had made a huge mistake in coming to this windswept rough town.

    After a couple of weeks of getting himself oriented, he began to get restless. Jeanne told him to take his time; she was making more than enough to take care of their needs and she thought they could save about $3000 a month with just her income. He was glad to hear her say those words, but his self-respect was in danger, so he decided he’d better do something besides studying for the Bar Exam. He got his resume together and went the rounds of accountants, bookkeepers, insurance agents and others – best offer got was as a junior bookkeeper in the school district’s accounting office for $8.53 an hour.

    His plan to avoid working as a lawyer was defunct – there really wasn’t anything else he was suited for. He decided to interview with the law firms in Rock Springs, do volunteer defender work, and offer his services pro bono to the local battered woman shelter, all things he could do as an attorney without passing the bar. He also decided to join a service club. In a week he had done all of the above. No one was the least bit interested in his legal degree, even for free. The Lion’s club blackballed him, but he snuck into the Rotarian’s by a single vote. A couple of law firms told him that they first wanted to see if he passed the bar, but he could tell they were just being charitable, there was no job. He finally ended up substitute teaching three days a week.

    He passed the bar exam but by the thinnest of margins – “what the hell” – no one would ever ask him how he did on the exam or what his class rank was in Law School or his GPA. After a discussion with Jeanie, he decided to hang up his shingle and go it alone. But he didn’t really feel that he could handle an office without a legal aid. So Jeanie wrote an ad for the classifies. Wanted – Legal Assistant – mean as a yard dog, not afraid of anyone, and possessed of good word processing skills – gun carry permit preferred. Apply in person. When Jim asked if she was serious, Jeanie replied that this was Rock Springs, Wyoming, not Coral Gables, Florida.

    At 8:30 two days later he could hear the click-clack of stiletto heels coming down the hall. The door flew open and there stood a dark complexioned, raven-haired woman, (quite attractive, but with an edge), who immediately said, “I’m Norene, you are done interviewing. I’m perfect for the job.” “You don’t even know what the pay is,” Jacob said.

    “How about I start at four hundred a week and you can evaluate me a couple of months down the road. You’ll find I’m worth far more. Now let’s get going, boss – you’re the boss and I’m your loyal employee. How do we make some money?”

    At the next Rotary meeting, another lawyer, Jim Hawkins approached him and said, “I hear you hired Norene Yaroslava?” “Yes, that’s right.” “How much do you know about her?” “Frankly, not much, why?” “I went to school with her. She was the Mud Wrestling Champ two years in a row – and that was against the guys. Three years ago she was investigated for the murder of her husband, Dusty. They were constantly battling, he was an alcoholic who beat her – all of a sudden he disappears. She had a weak alibi but without a body or any real forensic evidence the DA never charged her. She also has been a defendant in court– last two appearances were from beating the hell out of a cowboy in a bar fight, and discharging a firearm inside a house – I think she was shooting at Dusty in their own home. Just thought you’d like to know. Last job I knew she had was at the Alibi Club just outside the city limits. She is one tough cookie.”

    Jim figured that he might as well confront Norene rather than always be wondering if she was going to sneak up behind him with a piece of barbed wire for a quick garrote. When he started to ask, she hiked up her skirt – eighteen inches above her shapely left knee and showed him a scar that resembled some letters. “The B-B is Dusty’s family’s cattle brand and he did that to me one night while he was drunk and wanted certain things from me. I hated the man, wanted him dead, but someone else who hated him worse did the favor for me, at least I think so.”

    “We were at the Alibi two years ago; Dusty got drunk and was abusive to everyone in the bar. I told him it was time to leave and we got into it – glasses thrown, cuts on both of us. Finally the bartender threw us out. I got in on the driver’s side of our Dodge Ram and he crawled into the passenger side. We argued all the way out to Superior where we lived. He started to punch me. I stopped the truck, kicked him in the gut and tossed him out. Then I drove off. When he didn’t show up after two days, I called the cops and took them to where I booted him. Could be he’s down a mineshaft, drinking a beer with a blond in Butte, Montana or out there somewhere on the prairie rolling around as the excrement of a coyote. I hope it’s the latter.“

    “Cops gave me a hassle about the blood in the truck, but he was bleeding when we left the bar. There had been bad blood from the time I married him from both my family and his. We had several physical fights; I’d say he won about half. I didn’t kill him. Any questions? Do you believe me?” “ Yes,” of course,” he said, knowing that he was dealing with an experienced liar. “Thanks for telling me Norene, I understand,” said Jacob. “Not a good idea to get on the wrong side of her,” he thought. “I do wonder why her english and grammar are so good, coming as she has from this tough environment. I’ll have to ask her.”

    A month went by, no clients; even Norene couldn’t come up with any paying customers from her wide range of friends, acquaintances and enemies. Then Jim Hawkins sent him over a case along with a $2000 retainer his firm had received. “Why are you doing this, Jim?” Jacob asked.

    “Well it looks as if you can use some help, and our firm has a conflict of interest on this one.” The conflict of interest later turned out to be a conflict in not getting paid. The case was about a dirt-crawling scumbag who had hit a teenager with a beer bottle outside a 7/11. The kid was not injured all that much, just one cut and a slight concussion, but the parents of Adam Hanes wanted the perpetrator, Kelsey Duval, prosecuted for attempted manslaughter. After he and Norene interviewed their client, they both thought he should also be charged with an EPA clean air violation. He was a compulsive liar, addicted to alcohol and drugs, smelled of beer vomit, wiped his nose continually on his sleeve, spit on the floor, and had a rap sheet three pages long – mainly for assault, drugs, and vagrancy – overall a disgusting, grimy specimen of mankind.

    Kelsey claimed self-defense and said he had proof, but that no one would listen to him – his breath near lethal as he spun out his story. Norene had a relationship with the prosecutor (whatever that meant) and thought that she could get the charge pleaded out to simple battery, but their client kept yelling about having his day in court and insisted that they go forward with a trial. He had no money for bail and the two thousand retainer had been put up by an uncle in Gillette, Wyoming, who had some affection for him.

    Jacob finally negotiated with the prosecutor to let Kelsey plead to simple assault and do a year in jail. No go, Kelsey wanted to a trial. He swore that a drinking buddy of his had captured the fight on his phone; they just had to find him. As Norene went around to different convenience stores she found a number of raggedy characters who would testify in Kelsey’s defense for as little as one hundred dollars. She was tempted but knew Jacob wouldn’t go along, so she kept searching. Eventually she found a guy in the back of a Circle K whose only possessions seemed to be the torn clothes on his back, and a new, but stained stolen cell phone. Yes, he had seen the altercation but was afraid to say anything because of some outstanding warrants. As Norene went through his phone she found he had taken a video, which clearly showed that Darsey Hanes was kicking Kelsey while he was on the ground – before the appearance of the beer bottle.

    With this evidence, Brigham was able to get the case dropped, although he now had a powerful enemy in the Hanes family. Within two weeks, Kelsey was back on the phone from jail on another assault charge – this time against the friend whose evidence had just freed him. “Could Jacob represent him again?” After reviewing what happened, there was no question that Kelsey had gotten mad and whacked his friend with a piece of rain gutter – putting him in the hospital with a concussion and abrasions. No “Get Out Of Jail Free Card” this time. A plea of assault and a six-month jail term – all pro bono.

    In four months the only other case that came in was a boundary dispute between two ranchers. The client, Bartley Osborn, beat Jacob down on his retainer to $500, and swore he had erected his fence twenty-six years ago, and had a diary to prove it. Like a fool Jacob believed him. The judge (no jury) was His Honor George W. Froggette, known far and wide as “The Frog.” His appearance hit the mark – bald, wide face, thin lips, small nose and ears, liver spots on his face and thick glasses. He greeted Norene with, “Nice to see you again, Miss Yaroslava,” he said, “especially under the current circumstances – I see you have migrated to the other side of the law.”

    Jacob’s client claimed that he acquired the 110-foot wide strip by right of prescriptive easement – that he had put his fence there over twenty years ago and no one complained or challenged him – the statute said that after 20 years the property was his. “Whose been paying the taxes on this border piece?” asked the Frog?

    The lawyer for the other party immediately produced records stating his client had paid the taxes all along. Furthermore they offered pictures in evidence of a pile of posts stacked on the south side of Bartley’s barn. These were obviously the original posts from the correct boundary line – someone (Bartley) had removed them. The rancher also had pictures from ten years ago showing the original fence posts in place.

    And the opposing party had copies of letters asking Bartley to remove his fence because he was encroaching. Jacob tried to concoct an intelligent question, but all that came out was silence. Bang, the judge ruled from the bench for the other rancher and then asked how long Jacob had been practicing at the bar? When they lost the case, Bartley refused to pay and threatened to report Jacob to the bar for malpractice and sue to get his retainer back. The $500 was returned.

    Day after Day went by. “Maybe I need to adopt some of the local dress customs, so I’d fit in better.” said Brigham to Norene after another clientless month. “Probably a good idea,” she said, barely looking up from her “Shooting Times” magazine.

    So down he went to Frostberg’s Western Store and outfitted himself. Pearl button western shirt – white with black piping, real levi’s with rivets in the corners, A bolo tie made out of braided rawhide with a two inch chunk of turquoise at the throat. A matching silver belt buckle, which held a fine-tooled black and brown belt together. All this topped by a wide brimmed black Stetson – his feet shod in antelope cowboy boots with blue lizard skin toes.

    Norene took one look and said, “Did you ever see the Howdy Doody show?” “Yes, he said, I think so.” “The only accessory you are missing is a red bandanna. Are you trying to look like a drugstore cowboy? You go out after dark in that outfit and you’ll get yourself shot.”

    “You are not a cowpoke or a rancher; you are a tough son of a gun of a lawyer with even a meaner paralegal.” Jacob wondered when she had promoted herself to paralegal, but decided to let it slide. She did look tough – dressed all in black with knee high black buckled boots with steel toes and and five-inch heels. Tight black jeans, a sweater unzipped half way to her navel, Overpowering “Come Hither” perfume – even black nail polish – all accented by ruby red lipstick. She looked like Elvira, Mistress of the Dark.

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    They came to the office each morning promptly at 9:00 AM, drank coffee, read the paper for any possible legal work and then worked the phones trying to drum up something. It was the same five days a week. After four months, two cases and out of pocket losses of $13,000, Norene came in on a Monday and told Brigham that there needed to be a change and that she had been thinking about it all weekend. “If you wanted a really nasty, aggressive attorney, whom would you go to?” “Well,” said Jacob, “I’m not really sure here in town who I would go to, I don’t know anyone well enough.” “But if you could have your choice of anyone, just knowing their attributes, what kind of lawyer would you try to find?” “Frankly I would look for the meanest Jewish lawyer available.” “Do you think other people feel that same way?” “Yes I suppose so.” “Here look in this mirror. Who do you see?” He said. “I see Jacob Anderson.” “No you don’t, you are looking at Solomon Goldstein, Attorney at Law, meanest lawyer in the state of Wyoming.” “What are you talking about Norene?” I’m not Jewish, and as you know I’m not exactly mean.”

    “All that is going to change. Let me show you what I have mapped out. That is unless you want to go down as a failure and have Jeanie carry the load forever?”

    “I changed our phone number to 307-883-3529 (307-TUFFLAW). I was going to use 307-632-6539 (307-MEANJEW), but I was afraid we might get sued for a hate crime. Our billboards will have a caricature of you with a scowl on your face, your index finger pointing out from the sign. Underneath it will say: Need A Tough Jewish Lawyer?” Call Solomon Goldstein, One Call To Sol Does It All! 307-TUFFLAW. I’m convinced it will bring in business by the busload. We’ll also do newspaper, radio and Internet for a solid month with the same theme – and of course every bus and bus bench in town.”

    “This will be your new attire, said Norene, and don’t argue, I’ve already cleared this with Jeanie. White crisp Egyptian cotton dress shirt, a dark blue pin stripped wool suit with a vest, black wing-tipped Florsheim shoes, and a Harvard Law tie. That is what people expect to see in a tough Jewish Lawyer – add a gold watch chain and some gold rimmed half glasses and we’ve got it.

    “But, but, I didn’t go to Harvard,” said Jacob. “There is no law against wearing their tie,” said Norene. “Trust me. And it won’t hurt for people to think you went to there to school. I’ve even got an old Harvard picture for you to hang on the wall and a menorah to put on your credenza. I found a decanter and crystal set to put on the side desk, supposedly filled with 100-year-old brandy, to valuable to drink. A copy of the Torah, also on the credenza, should be the finishing touch.”

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    “Are you sure that is a picture of Harvard Law?” Jacob said. “It’s actually Yale, but it’s a better picture,” said Norene. “No one around here will know the difference.”

    “And the beat up Civic has got to go. I know you have a certain fondness for that wreck, but I have another car for you. My cousin is a used car dealer down in Ogden, Utah and he has a 1987 Black Mercedes 500 SEL with only 120,000 miles on it. Palomino interior, like new – tinted windows. Should run at least another 100,000 miles. It has a salvage title, but no one will ask about that. He’ll let you have it for $4900 and give you a 90-day warranty. The car originally cost $87,000. It is perfect for what a high-class Jewish lawyer would drive. Here is a picture.”

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    “And one more thing. We have to get out of these offices – we look like pawn brokers in here. My cousin owns the old one-story bank building down on First Street. It’s right on the verge of being condemned. He’ll give us free rent for six months – I think it’s just the right place for us- just needs to be cleaned up and some repairs. I’ll get my cousin Zvomir and his crew on it right away.

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    Brigham told Norene he needed a day to think it over, sure that Jeanie really didn’t want him to do any of this nonsense. It was just the opposite; she wholeheartedly approved and encouraged him to go ahead.

    “I guess I don’t have much to lose except more of Jeanie’s income, maybe it’s worth a chance.”

    When he got to the office the next morning, he decided it was time to really act like Solomon Goldstein. He went into the office and called out, “Miss Yaroslava, could you please come in.” She sauntered in, and he told her to sit down, didn’t ask, just told.

    “Okay, I’m willing to go ahead with the Jewish attorney idea, but there also has to be a change on your part – total professionalism. No more dressing like the Bride of Frankenstein, no more low-cut hooker sweaters, no more elevation bras and knee high boots – no more black clothing, and no more flaming scarlet lips. Most important, no more addressing me by my first name or showing any familiarly or disrespect whatsoever.” To his amazement, she nodded and said, “Absolutely, Mr. Goldstein.”

    She then said, “I have the schedule of our billboards, and Internet ads ready to go, when you have had a chance to look at them, please let me know if I can proceed?” “I’ll go through them presently, Miss Yaroslava,” probably take me an hour or so.” It was then he realized that Jacob Anderson was finally ready to apply the intelligence and energy that his professor believed was within him. He felt that somehow this was an awakening – staggering through life was over – he was determined to become a person of substance. The entire package was ready to go in a week and they started rolling everything out the first of February, plastering “Solomon Goldstein, Attorney at Law” all over Rock Springs.

    All Hell Broke Loose!

    Stay tuned for next month’s second installment of Solomon Goldstein – Attorney at Law, and Norene Yaroslava, his loyal assistant.

    Joseph Ollivier
    January 2016
    Talesuntold.net

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