its stalls piled high with corn, tomatoes, okra, squash, watermelons, and pumpkins, was doing a brisk business. Tom parked in front of his father’s office. A little brass bell on the wall next to the door announced his arrival.
Bernice Lawson was sitting behind her desk, her thick fingers pounding the keys of an electric typewriter. In her early sixties with hair dyed a light brown, Bernice peered over half-frame glasses that rested on her thick nose and chubby cheeks. Tom’s father hired Bernice when her husband was forced to retire on disability after injuring his back in a textile mill. Bernice’s rusty typing wasn’t up to professional standards, but the plump woman had one asset that couldn’t be taught—she knew everyone in Etowah County, a huge help when it came to deciding whether to accept a new client, sue an unknown defendant, or evaluate the credibility of a witness. If Bernice said someone couldn’t be trusted, John Crane knew to proceed with caution. Over the past twenty years, she’d kept the office running even when John’s interest in the practice of law waxed and waned.
“Land’s sakes,” Bernice exclaimed in a voice that made the need for an interoffice intercom unnecessary. “I didn’t expect to see you for another hour. Unless he had an early hearing, your daddy rarely came in before nine o’clock.”
“I was up early, drank a cup of coffee, and read three chapters in the Bible,” Tom replied with a smile.
“That last part was Elias’s doing, I bet.”
“Yeah, he wanted me to learn about Balaam and his donkey so I read a chapter or two in the book of Numbers.”
“Your daddy and Elias were always talking about stuff in the Old Testament. It’s all I can do to try to understand what’s written in red.” Bernice stopped and shook her head. “I still don’t have it set in my mind that your daddy is gone. Every time the bell rings I look up and expect him to walk through the door.”
“Still no computer?” Tom asked, wanting to avoid a sentimental conversation. “This has to be the last law office in Georgia that doesn’t use a word processor.”
Bernice patted the old typewriter. “It would just make me sloppy. And there really isn’t much to do. I was typing a few envelopes when you came in.”
Tom glanced around the office. There had been no noticeable change in the place since he was in high school.
“I’d better get to work,” he said.
“Let me show you where to start,” Bernice said, pushing herself up from her chair with both hands. “I put the open files in boxes in your father’s office.”
John Crane’s office was directly behind Bernice’s desk. The large walnut desk and matching credenza were scratched and scarred. Bookcases filled with aging law books lined the walls. The only volumes kept up-to-date were the black-and-gold set of the Official Code of Georgia Annotated.
“Where are the pictures?” Tom asked when he saw the empty spaces on the credenza reserved for family photos and snapshots of his father’s favorite fishing holes.
“In that box.” Bernice pointed to a smaller cardboard box in the corner of the room. “I couldn’t bear to see them every time I came in here. If you want to get them out, I know exactly how he had them positioned.”
“No, that’s okay.”
Bernice rested her right hand on several large boxes stacked on top of one another. “These contain the files for cases that haven’t been picked up. I’ve tried to contact everyone, but some clients don’t have a phone, and others may have called back when I wasn’t here.”
Tom quickly counted ten boxes. His father had been busier than he thought.
“Did you get an answering machine for the office?” he asked.
“The day after you told me to. I wasn’t sure how to set it up, but Betty Sosebee from the Sponcler firm helped me. She recorded a very professional greeting that explains why the office is closing and asks folks to leave a phone number along
Bernice Lawson was sitting behind her desk, her thick fingers pounding the keys of an electric typewriter. In her early sixties with hair dyed a light brown, Bernice peered over half-frame glasses that rested on her thick nose and chubby cheeks. Tom’s father hired Bernice when her husband was forced to retire on disability after injuring his back in a textile mill. Bernice’s rusty typing wasn’t up to professional standards, but the plump woman had one asset that couldn’t be taught—she knew everyone in Etowah County, a huge help when it came to deciding whether to accept a new client, sue an unknown defendant, or evaluate the credibility of a witness. If Bernice said someone couldn’t be trusted, John Crane knew to proceed with caution. Over the past twenty years, she’d kept the office running even when John’s interest in the practice of law waxed and waned.
“Land’s sakes,” Bernice exclaimed in a voice that made the need for an interoffice intercom unnecessary. “I didn’t expect to see you for another hour. Unless he had an early hearing, your daddy rarely came in before nine o’clock.”
“I was up early, drank a cup of coffee, and read three chapters in the Bible,” Tom replied with a smile.
“That last part was Elias’s doing, I bet.”
“Yeah, he wanted me to learn about Balaam and his donkey so I read a chapter or two in the book of Numbers.”
“Your daddy and Elias were always talking about stuff in the Old Testament. It’s all I can do to try to understand what’s written in red.” Bernice stopped and shook her head. “I still don’t have it set in my mind that your daddy is gone. Every time the bell rings I look up and expect him to walk through the door.”
“Still no computer?” Tom asked, wanting to avoid a sentimental conversation. “This has to be the last law office in Georgia that doesn’t use a word processor.”
Bernice patted the old typewriter. “It would just make me sloppy. And there really isn’t much to do. I was typing a few envelopes when you came in.”
Tom glanced around the office. There had been no noticeable change in the place since he was in high school.
“I’d better get to work,” he said.
“Let me show you where to start,” Bernice said, pushing herself up from her chair with both hands. “I put the open files in boxes in your father’s office.”
John Crane’s office was directly behind Bernice’s desk. The large walnut desk and matching credenza were scratched and scarred. Bookcases filled with aging law books lined the walls. The only volumes kept up-to-date were the black-and-gold set of the Official Code of Georgia Annotated.
“Where are the pictures?” Tom asked when he saw the empty spaces on the credenza reserved for family photos and snapshots of his father’s favorite fishing holes.
“In that box.” Bernice pointed to a smaller cardboard box in the corner of the room. “I couldn’t bear to see them every time I came in here. If you want to get them out, I know exactly how he had them positioned.”
“No, that’s okay.”
Bernice rested her right hand on several large boxes stacked on top of one another. “These contain the files for cases that haven’t been picked up. I’ve tried to contact everyone, but some clients don’t have a phone, and others may have called back when I wasn’t here.”
Tom quickly counted ten boxes. His father had been busier than he thought.
“Did you get an answering machine for the office?” he asked.
“The day after you told me to. I wasn’t sure how to set it up, but Betty Sosebee from the Sponcler firm helped me. She recorded a very professional greeting that explains why the office is closing and asks folks to leave a phone number along
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