Airport (58 page)

He had made an error earlier, Mel realized, in speaking to the small delegation and not to this main group. His objectives had been to achieve understanding, yet avoid disruption in the terminal. Both objectives had failed.

But at least he would aim for understanding now.

“Let me outline this airport’s policy on noise suppression.”

For the second time tonight Mel described the operating limitations on pilots and their employer airlines. He added, “At normal times these restrictions are enforced. But in difficult weather, such as tonight’s storm, pilots must be given leeway, and aircraft safety must come first.”

As to runways: “Wherever possible we avoid takeoffs over Meadowood from runway two five.” Yet, he explained, there was occasional need to use that runway when runway three zero was out of commission, as at present.

“We do our best for you,” Mel insisted, “and we are not indifferent, as has been alleged. But we are in business as an airport and we cannot escape our basic responsibilities, plus our concern for aviation safety.”

The hostility among his audience was still apparent, but now there was interest as well.

Elliott Freemantle–glaring at Mel and fuming–was aware of the interest too.

“From what I’ve heard,” Mel said, “Mr. Freemantle chose not to pass on some observations I offered to your delegation on the general subject of airport noise. My remarks were made”–he consulted his notes again, not in ‘uncaring cynicism,’ as has been suggested, but in an attempt at honest frankness. I intend to share that frankness with you here.”

Now, as earlier, Mel admitted there was little more in the area of noise reduction which could be done; glum expressions appeared when he described the expected greater noise from new aircraft soon to be in use. But he sensed there was appreciation for objective honesty. Beyond a few scattered remarks, there were no interruptions, his words remaining audible above the background noises of the terminal.

“There are two other things which I did not mention to your delegation, but now I intend to.” Mel’s voice hardened. “I doubt if you will like them.”

The first point, he informed them, concerned Meadowood community.

“Twelve years ago your community didn’t exist. It was a parcel of empty land–of low value until the airport’s growth and closeness sent surrounding values soaring. To that extent your Meadowood is like thousands of communities which have mushroomed around airports everywhere in the world.”

A woman shouted, “When we came to live here, we didn’t know about jet noise.”

“But
we
did!” Mel pointed a finger at the woman. “Airport managements knew that jet airplanes were coming, and knew what jet noise would be like, and we warned people, and local zoning commissions, and pleaded with them in countless Meadowoods
not to build homes
. I wasn’t at this airport then, but there are records and pictures in our files. This airport put up signs where Meadowood is now:
AIRPLANES WILL TAKE OFF AND LAND OVER THIS ROUTE.
Other airports did the same. And everywhere the signs appeared, real estate developers and salesmen tore them down. Then they sold land and houses to people like you, keeping quiet about the noise to come, and airport expansion plans–which usually they knew of–and I guess in the end the real estate people outwitted us all.”

This time there was no rejoinder, only a sea of thoughtful faces, and Mel guessed that what he had said had struck home. He had a sense of keen regret. These were not antagonists whom he wanted to defeat. They were decent people with a real and pressing problem; neighbors for whom he wished he could do more.

He caught sight of Elliott Freemantle’s sneering features. “Bakersfeld, I suppose you think that’s pretty clever.” The lawyer turned away, shouting over nearer heads without benefit of amplifier. “Don’t believe all that! You’re being softened up! If you stick with me, we’ll take these airport people, and we’ll take them good!”

“In case any of you didn’t hear,” Mel said into the microphone, “that was Mr. Freemantle advising you to stick with him. I have something to say about that, too.”

He told the now attentive crowd, “Many people–people like you–have had advantage taken of them by being sold land or homes in areas which should not have been developed, or should have been developed for industrial use where airport noise doesn’t matter. You haven’t lost out entirely, because you have your land and homes; but chances are, their values have decreased.”

A man said gloomily, “Damn right!”

“Now there’s another scheme afoot to part you from your money. Lawyers all over North America are hot-footing it to airport dormitory communities because ‘thar’s gold in that thar noise.’ “

Lawyer Freemantle, his face flushed and distorted, shrilled, “You say one more word–I’ll sue you!”

“For what” Mel shot back. “Or have you guessed already what I’m going to say?” Well, he thought, maybe Freemantle would launch a libel action later, though he doubted it. Either way, Mel felt some of his old recklessness–a decision for plain speaking, and never mind the consequences–take command. It was a feeling which, in the past year or two, he had experienced rarely.

“Residents in the communities I spoke of,” Mel argued, “are being assured that airports can be sued–successfully. Homeowners near airports are being promised there’s a pot of dollars at every runway’s end. Well, I’m not saying airports can’t be sued, nor am I saying there aren’t some fine, sound lawyers engaged in anti-airport litigation. What I’m warning you is that there are a good many of the other kind, too.”

The same woman who had called out before asked–more mildly this time–“How are we supposed to know which is which?”

“It’s difficult without a program; in other words, unless you happen to know some airport law. If you don’t, you can be bamboozled by a one-sided list of legal precedents.” Mel hesitated only briefly before adding, “I’ve heard a few specific law decisions mentioned tonight. If you wish, I’ll tell you another side to them.”

A man at the front said, “Let’s hear your version, mister.”

Several people were looking curiously at Elliott Freemantle.

Mel had hesitated, realizing that this had already gone on longer than he intended. He supposed, though, that a few minutes more would make no difference.

On the fringes of the crowd he caught sight of Tanya Livingston.

“The legal cases which you and I have both heard referred to glibly,” Mel said, “are old hat to people who ran airports. The first, I think, was
U.S. v. Causby.
”

That particular case–a pillar of Lawyer Freemantle’s presentation to the Meadowood group–was, Mel explained, a decision more than twenty years old. “It concerned a chicken farmer and military airplanes. The airplanes repeatedly flew over the farmer’s house, as low as sixty-seven feet–a whole lot lower than any airplane ever comes near Meadowood. The chickens were frightened; some died.”

After years of litigation the case found its way to the U.S. Supreme Court. Mel pointed out: “The total damages awarded were less than four hundred dollars–the value of the dead chickens.”

He added, “There was no pot of dollars for the farmer, nor is there–in that legal precedent–for you.”

Mel could see Elliott Freemantle, his face alternately crimson and white with rage. Ned Ordway was once more holding the lawyer by the arm.

“There is one legal case,” Mel observed, “which Mr. Freemantle has chosen not to mention. It’s an important one–also involving a Supreme Court ruling–and well known. Unfortunately for Mr. Freemantle, it doesn’t support his arguments, but runs counter to them.”

The case, he explained, was
Batten v. Batten
in which, in 1963, the Supreme Court ruled that only an actual “physical invasion” created liability. Noise alone was not enough.

Mel continued, “Another ruling, along the same lines, was
Loma Portal Civic Club v. American Airlines
–a 1964 decision of the California Supreme Court.” In this, he reported, the Court ruled that property owners were not entitled to restrict the flight of aircraft over houses near an airport. Public interest in continuance of air travel, the California court laid down, was paramount and overwhelming…

Mel had quoted the legal cases unhesitatingly, without reference to notes. Clearly his audience was impressed. Now he smiled. “Legal precedents are like statistics. If you manipulate them, you can prove anything.” He added, “You don’t have to take my word for what I’ve told you. Look it up. It’s all on record.”

A woman near Elliott Freemantle grumbled at him, “You didn’t tell us all that. You just gave your side.”

Some of the hostility directed at Mel earlier was now being transferred toward the lawyer.

Freemantle shrugged. After all, he decided, he still had more than a hundred and sixty signed retainer forms, which he had been careful to transfer to a locked bag in the trunk of his car. Nothing that was said here could undo the fact of those.

A moment or two later he began to wonder.

Mel Bakersfeld was being asked by several people about legal contract forms which they had signed this evening. Their voices betrayed doubt. Obviously Mel’s manner, as well as what he said, had made a strong impression. The crowd was dividing into small groups, most in animated discussion.

“I’ve been asked about a certain contract,” Mel announced. Within the crowd, other voices silenced as he added, “I think you know the contract I mean. I have seen a copy of it.”

Elliott Freemantle pushed forward. “So what! You aren’t a lawyer; we’ve settled that once before. Therefore you’re no authority on contracts.” This time Freemantle was close enough to the microphone for his words to carry.

Mel snapped back, “I live with contracts! Every lessee in this airport–from the biggest airline to a headache pill concessionaire–operates under a contract approved by me, and negotiated by my staff.”

He swung back to the crowd. “Mr. Freemantle points out, correctly, that I am not a lawyer; so I’ll give you a businessman’s advice. In certain circumstances the contracts you signed tonight could be enforceable. A contract is a contract. You
could
be taken to debtor’s court; the money might be collected. But my opinion is that, providing you serve proper notice immediately, neither thing will happen. For one thing, you have received no goods; no service has been rendered. For another, each of you would have to be sued separately.” Mel smiled. “That, in itself, would be an undertaking.

“One more thing.” He looked directly at Elliott Freemantle. “I do not believe that any court would look favorably on a total legal fee in the region of fifteen thousand dollars for legal service which, at best, was nebulous.”

The man who had spoken earlier asked, “So what do we do?”

“If you’ve genuinely changed your mind, I suggest that today or tomorrow you write a letter. Address it to Mr. Freemantle. In it, state that you no longer want legal representation as arranged, and why. Be sure to keep a copy. Again, in my opinion–that’s the last you’ll ever hear.”

Mel had been blunter than he at first intended, and he bad also been excessively reckless, he supposed, in going quite this far. If Elliott Freernantle chose, he could certainly make trouble. In a matter in which the airport–and therefore Mel–had active interest, Mel had interposed between clients and lawyer, casting doubt upon the latter’s probity. Judging by the hatred in the lawyer’s eyes, he would be delighted to do any harm to Mel he could. Yet instinct told Mel that the last thing Freemantle wanted was a searching public scrutiny of his client recruiting methods and working babits. A trial judge, sensitive about legal ethics, might ask awkward questions, later still, so might the Bar Association, which safeguarded the legal profession’s standards. The more Mel thought about it, the less inclined he was to worry.

Though Mel didn’t know it, Elliott Freemantle had reached the same conclusion.

Whatever else Freemantle might be, he was a pragmatist. He had long ago recognized that in life there were gambits which you won, others that you lost. Sometimes the loss was sudden and illogical. A chance, a quirk, a nettle in the grass, could turn an almost-grasped success into mortifying defeat. Fortunately for people like Freemantle, the reverse was sometimes true.

The airport manager, Bakersfeld, had proven to be a nettle–carelessly grasped–which should have been avoided. Even after their first brush, which Elliott Freemantle now realized could have been a warning to him, he had continued to underestimate his opponent by remaining at the airport instead of quitting while ahead. Another thing Freemantle had discovered too late was that Bakersfeld, while shrewd, was a gambler too. Only a gambler would have gone out on such a limb as Bakersfeld had a moment ago. And only Elliott Freemantle–at this point–knew that Bakersfeld had won.

Freemantle
was
aware that the Bar Association might regard this night’s activity unfavorably. More to the point: He had had a brush with an association investigating committee once already, and had no intention of provoking another.

Bakersfeld had been right, Elliott Freemantle thought. There would be no attempted debt collecting, through the courts, on the basis of the signed legal retainer forms. The hazards were too great, the spoils uncertain.

He would not give up entirely, of course. Tomorrow, Freemantle decided, he would draft a letter to all Meadowood residents who had signed the forms; in it he would do his best to persuade them that retention of himself as legal counsel, at the individual fee specified, should continue. He doubted, though, if many would respond. The suspicion which Bakersfeld had effectively implanted–
damn his guts!
–was too great. There might be some small pickings left, from a few people who would be willing to continue, and later it would be necessary to decide if they were worth while. But the prospect of a big killing was gone.

Something else, though, he supposed, would turn up soon. It always had.

Ned Ordway and several other policemen were now dispersing the crowd; normal traffic through the concourse was resuming. The portable p.a. system was at last being disassembled and removed.