Prescot: What can you do for us, Brantley? What experience have you had ? Brantley: Practically none. But I believe in myself. Doesn't count? Deep inside, I know I can do anything if I get a chance. Think back to when you were my age. Remember how you felt when you went after that first job. Remember how you wanted it so badly. You couldn't sleep the night before the interview. Remember how crushed you were when the guy said... "What kind of experience you got ? " You wanted to shake your fists and say.. " I can do anything if I can just get a chance"
One sequence. When my wife, Susan, died, I didn't deal with it at all. Actually, I went to work the next day. I remember thinking to myself, "That's life". "Quit feeling sorry for your self get over it and get on with it." A few weeks later, I answered a call from an old friend of Susan's who did not know she had died. And when I heard myself saying, "Susan has passed away." When I actually said those words, it hit me. All the pain I was trying to shut out just overwhelmed me.
Chris: "You're gonna be a great writer someday, Gordie. You might even write about us guys if you ever get hard-up for material"
It's like this. A dead plaintiff is rarely worth more than a living severely-maimed plaintiff. However, if it's a long slow agonizing death as opposed to a quick drowning or car wreck, the value can rise considerably. A dead adult in his 20s is generally worth less than one who is middle aged. A dead woman less than a dead man. A single adult less than one who's married. Black less than white. Poor less than rich. The perfect victim is a white male professional, 40 years old, at the height of his earning power, struck down at his prime. And the most imperfect, well in the calculus of personal injury law, a dead child is worth the least of all.