In an old Yazoo County courtroom, I somehow managed to defeat a professional wrestler. I represented K&B, a New Orleans based pharmacy with drug store chains across Mississippi. My connection to that company ran deep, as my hometown of McComb had a K&B on the main drag, Delaware Avenue. I bought my first girlfriend a bronze plated eagle necklace at K&B, and for a seventh grader, twelve bucks amounted to a full piggy bank. My friend’s dad worked as a pharmacist there, and one year, my family made me a birthday hat using the store’s iconic purple paper bags. Years later as an attorney, I jumped at the opportunity to defend K&B across Mississippi, and gave it my all before they sold out to Rite Aid.
The Yazoo County lawsuit presented a tough case to defend. The person suing the store claimed a severe eye injury, corneal trauma, caused by a falling aisle sign. He had entered the store to pick up a prescription, and I’m sure this imposing guy with a spray tan turned a few heads. He regularly traveled in a minor league pro wrestling circuit and clearly lifted weights for hours every day. According to him, the plastic sign slipped from its eye hook on one end, swung down, and caught his eyeball in stride, tearing the cornea as he walked to the cash register. This story seemed fishy to me. He was no Dusty Rhodes or Ric Flair, but I suspected he had been schooled in the art of athletic theater. So, I devised a plan of defense. At his sworn deposition, I asked Mr. Muscles his height, then afterwards went to the store and measured the lowest distance to the floor of a partially unhooked aisle sign. This gladiator probably scratched his eye in a piledriver stunt, a clothesline move, or an illegal eye poke in the ring. Sure enough, his first documentation of an eye injury occurred the Monday following a weekend cage match in Louisiana. In the 1990s, companies were less afraid to go to trial, and despite the suspicious circumstances, this lawsuit had risk. The up and coming young wrestler alleged that the K&B mishap likely ruined his supposed potentially lucrative wrestling career. Truth is, a wrestler does need both eyes to see the sleeper hold technique coming at him.
The day of trial arrived and twelve jurors were seated in the box. The wrestler told his tragic story with earnest and almost shed a tear when he spoke of his lost dream of WWF fame. I waited for my turn and slowly walked to the podium for dramatic effect. I first asked him to tell me his height. He looked at me quizzically and said, “six feet, two inches.” Then, with more pizazz, I pulled out an enlarged photo of the scene with a measuring tape in the picture demonstrating that the distance from the corner of the sign to the floor measured six feet, four inches. In that moment, the wrestler actually looked liked he had been caught stealing cookies from a cookie jar. He tried to compose himself and muttered that he had worn cowboy boots that day. I then tried to channel my best Clarence Darrow. (Google him if you’re under 50). Eyebrows raised, peering at the jury, these words with sarcastic emphasis were spoken. “Are you telling this jury that you were jacked up on cowboy boots?!” Three or four jurors tried to contain their laughter and one accidentally spit through her closed mouth, more likely giggling at me not him. The judge even lowered her head for a moment, and so I knew for sure this questioning hit the mark. The wrestler wanted to suplex me, and I did not blame him.
The jury unanimously ruled in favor of K&B at the trial’s end, and I hurriedly grabbed my briefcase and drove home to Hattiesburg. Trial experiences are slowly becoming a relic today. Civil jury trials are in significant decline in Mississippi and the nation, a skill of a bygone era, due to the push for out of court settlements. Corporations believe the delay and expense of lawsuits no longer merit trials except in the rarest of cases. For me, I love persuasion and performance, like my wrestling opponent. One day years ago in a Yazoo County courtroom, I luckily scored a takedown of a pro wrestler and for icing on the cake, I did so without even wearing spandex.
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Clark Hicks is a lawyer who lives in Hattiesburg. His email is clark@hicksattorneys.com.
