Plays by Robert Bowie, Jr…

As our country has become more and more divided over the last 10 years, I go back to this little story from a long time ago.

Back when I was practicing law, I was hired to represent a brokerage firm that sold huge airplanes. The firm believed it had been deprived of a commission by the Christian Broadcast Network (CBN), in particular Pat Robertson, who had just run for president.

I arranged a deposition of Mr. Robertson at CBN’s corporate offices in Virginia. The offices were opulent. When I entered, several TVs in the waiting room all showed the same image: Pat Robertson, raising money.

I was kept waiting for over half an hour, and I realized that I would know when the deposition would start when Robertson was no longer on TV and had let somebody else continue the fundraising.

Eventually, I was ushered into a large conference room where the court reporter had already set up. The lawyer representing Robertson and CBN was about ten years out of law school and a sole practitioner. He stood and warmly greeted me as I entered the room.

When Robertson entered, everything changed. My first impression of Reverend Robertson was his extremely elegant bejeweled cowboy boots. All of a sudden, I was in a war room with everyone but me standing at attention.

My impression was confirmed when I asked the court reporter to swear in the witness. The court reporter immediately turned to Robertson and said, “do you prefer to ‘swear’ or ‘affirm?”

I’m still not sure what the difference is, but I insisted he be sworn in and, of course, his lawyer came over the table at me. I fully expected this to be a contentious proceeding, but this seemed a little ridiculous nonetheless. He was in battle mode.

I started out asking whether the airplane that had been purchased had been used for political trafficking, which would, if Robertson admitted it, have put the tax exempt status of his religious organization at risk. Robertson refused to answer the question and of course his lawyer again came across the table at me.

This is not unusual behavior for a young lawyer, particularly if he happens to be representing an instrument of God in southern Virginia. We could not have been more different, but somehow I liked his youthful, pugnacious representation.

I was pretty happy with the deposition. I got everything except that question about the political use of the airplane. (My prior research had revealed that, in fact, my assertion was true.) Robertson had been forthright with his other answers and over the next two hours his lawyer demonstrated nonstop hostility toward me, showing off to Robertson.

At the end, I told them I would be scheduling a conference call with our federal judge to see if my question should be answered. It was a close call whether it was even relevant but the stakes were high for them, and I respected the young man for his tenacity.

When it was over and I was headed back to the parking lot, I was surprised to feel a tap on my shoulder. It was the young lawyer who had been representing Robertson. He was a different person now, returning to the person who warmly welcomed me before Robertson arrived. He invited me to have a drink with him and join him for dinner not far away in Virginia Beach, to go see his favorite zydeco-band, The Subdudes.

Over the rest of the evening he couldn’t have been friendlier. He had gone to a local Christian law school and was looking for work for several months before so he went to a Christian retreat, where he claimed he got this client because he was extremely good at “speaking in tongues.” As we talked, I was convinced that his Christianity was real, even though his marketing strategies were suspect. Anyway, The Subdudes were great and the beer was cold. I bought their CD. He refused my offer to buy him dinner because he said it was a conflict of interest, which I guess meant he thought I was Satan.

Although we were from different worlds, he introduced me to his music as an act of kindness, and perhaps because of the beers we drank, we laughed, asked each other lots of questions about our entirely different lives, avoided conflict, and opened up to each other.

About a month later, the federal judge’s video conference call was scheduled and the case was diplomatically settled.

I never saw him again, but we shared our lives for a short time and the supreme polarization and differences disappeared.

In the end, I think it was because we shared what we both liked: the music and, eventually, each other’s company. We could not have been more politically different. Maybe it was the beer, but I thanked him for a fun evening and actually commented on how different he appeared from when we first met. He smiled and shook my hand and said, “We’re not that different. We’re Americans having fun.”

If we all really want to fix this country’s polarization we should ask each other real questions and not preach to our chosen choir. You might find common ground and make a friend.

You might even get a good CD out of it.