After I graduated college, I taught and coached at my high school alma mater, an all-male Catholic school in Hyattsville. It’s a special place primarily because a few dozen single-minded professionals have dedicated their lives to developing quality young men. One teacher was there for more than 50 years. The principal emeritus has been there about the same. Numerous others have been there for 25+ years with no signs of stopping.

The former basketball coach had John Wooden call him the best coach ever. The music director just celebrated his 40th year with the school and presides over college-quality musicians and facilities.

But you can’t have a successful school without top-notch parents who support the cause. As a student and teacher there, I encountered many quality families who sacrificed substantial income and time to give their son a better shot at making it. As you might expect, not all students appreciated the sacrifice and either were asked to leave or did so on their own accord.

One family that stood out as ideal was the Looney family, who I jokingly referred to as the Irish-Catholic Brady Bunch: three boys, three girls, and dedicated, hard-working parents. Brendan, who I coached on freshman football, was the oldest son –- a tough-as-nails kid whose exemplary work ethic was matched by as pleasing a disposition as you’ll ever find in a teenager.  Not only was he a born leader, he was the right kind of leader: example set the bar, not words.

Read the rest of this entry »

Powered by Bookmarkify™

I’m a little worried about how excited I was for the start of the professional football season. When Thursday morning of the first game day feels like Christmas, you got problems.

Apparently I’m not alone. The NFL’s TV ratings were through the roof in Week 1. People around Baltimore are buzzing about the Ravens being Superbowl contenders. In D.C. there’s a sense of hope now that the owner has abdicated power to a real GM and coach. Both teams are 1-0 after hard-fought games against punk rivals.

Life is good.

When I began working in Baltimore, the Ravens had recently won the Super Bowl. I rooted for them against the Giants and liked the defense-minded squad led by Ray Lewis — the best player I’d seen since Lawrence Taylor. And after Irsay did the unthinkable, I was glad Baltimore had a winner again.

What surprised me, though, is that the goodwill doesn’t necessarily extend 35 miles south. In fact, my boss seemed genuinely perturbed when he found out I’m a Redskins fan. He says they now have an additional question during interviews. I’m not sure he’s joking.

Read the rest of this entry »

Powered by Bookmarkify™

The first leg of my summer vacation involved a 14-hour drive to Florida with just me and a golden retriever. (Don’t ask.) The conversations tended to be a little one-sided, but 95 South is painfully efficient, and we made it in one piece.

You have a lot of time to think on a trip that long, coupled with interesting radio choices on the FM dial. One thing is for sure: The lower-numbered FM stations are more likely to make you a better person, either by force or osmosis. It’s all jazz, NPR-type broadcasting or religious songs and preaching.

This is especially true when you hit North Carolina and points south. Frankly, it gets a little too “Children of the Corn” for me at times, but that tends to focus the driving a bit. As in please-don’t-run-out-of-gas focus. I could have sworn Malachi sold me a Frosty outside Savannah, Ga., though. Thank God for Miles Davis.

Read the rest of this entry »

Powered by Bookmarkify™

The Maryland Court of Appeals made national headlines recently for its ruling in Nefredo v. Montgomery County.  As you may recall, that’s the case where the court struck down a Montgomery County ordinance banning fortune tellers. The basis?  Violation of the First Amendment for impermissibly burdening the psychic’s free speech.

What doesn’t make sense is that the appellant moved out of town after the trial court’s ruling, leading to the obvious question: Didn’t he know he would win the appeal?

Regardless, in honor of the Nefredo decision, here are some random predictions –- from the legal world and elsewhere:

Read the rest of this entry »

Powered by Bookmarkify™

Apparently, the Maryland Court of Appeals has something against entrepreneurs and common sense.

The most recent example comes from an unbelievable decision that should send shock waves through the business community and the law firms that represent them.

In Allen v. Dackman, a 5 to 2 decision, the Court of Appeals reversed the Baltimore City Circuit Court and the Court of Specials Appeals by holding that an LLC member could be held personally liable to a lead paint plaintiff, even though that member (1) didn’t know the plaintiffs/squatters were illegally living in the row house at issue, (2) had no lease with them, (3) never stepped foot in the house, and – this is important – (4) was acting on behalf of a business entity actually called a limited liability company when the property was bought at a tax sale.

The ruling was based on a peculiar interpretation of a section of the Baltimore City Housing Code. The practical result is that Mr. Dackman may have his life savings and related assets seized to satisfy a judgment.

Umm, honey, about that college tuition and wedding fund ….

Regardless, the decision is as scary as it sounds from a business perspective, and at least two judges agree. Read it here, especially the dissenting opinion.

The scariest part of the ruling is the holding that a member of an LLC may be held liable for torts that he or she “personally commits, inspires, or participates in, even though performed in the name of the LLC.” What does “inspiring” a tort mean, by the way? Also, notice the word “intentional” does not appear before “torts,” meaning good ole’ negligence comes into play.

So here’s the hypothetical: Mom and Pop own a store under an LLC. Have insurance. Work hard, save money. Egg shell plaintiff is injured in the store. Plaintiff files negligence claim against LLC, Mom, and Pop. Jury likes plaintiff and awards big money, in excess of insurance. Garnishment letters, writs of attachment, and door knocks from the sheriff follow.

Who said the American Dream is dead?!

Bottom line? If you own investment property via an LLC anywhere in Maryland, be careful. If you own residential investment property via an LLC in Baltimore City, evict everyone, bulldoze it immediately, move to Fiji, and pray that a process server doesn’t hunt you down. [Note: Author’s jokes not to be taken as actual legal advice.]

For those unfamiliar with LLCs, corporations and the like, a crucial role is that they are allowed to exist as separate legal entities, with the ability to buy and sell property, get insurance, sue and be sued, pay taxes, etc. And because societies benefit from business and commerce, entrepreneurs who form entities like LLCs usually are shielded from personal liability if the business gets sued. It’s a reward of sorts for those with the stones to start their own business.

For example, if I slip and fall at an Apple store, I can’t sue Steve Jobs individually and ask him to pay the judgment. Instead, I would sue the Apple business entity responsible for that store, which presumably has insurance and assets to satisfy a judgment or pay a settlement. In other words, the business entity shields the owner/director from personal liability, but the aggrieved party still has a company from which he can collect.

In Maryland, typically the only way you could get to an individual business owner or director — i.e. “pierce the corporate veil” — was by proving fraud or “paramount inequity.” Evidence burdens are necessarily higher to do so.

The Dackman case, however, flies in the face of that longstanding tradition and leads Maryland down the slippery slope of personal liability for those who merely act on behalf of a company even when there’s no fraud or malice. If the Dackman ruling gets expanded, the chilling effect on entrepreneurs and especially small-business owners will be substantial.

Powered by Bookmarkify™

Three years ago this July, we had to put our pet dog down. Sammy was his name, a fawn Boxer with the disposition of a jester and the lines of a thoroughbred. He was the runt of the litter when we got him, but grew to a fit 60 pounds. Sammy especially loved playing with other Boxers, including his best friend, Otis.

Best of all, Sammy was great around our children. After our oldest daughter was born, we brought her knit cap home for Sammy to smell before their first meeting. It must have worked. Sammy enjoyed her hugs and kisses but endured countless lip pulls and horsey rides, all without a growl or snip. He showed more patience than his owners on many occasions.

Although Sammy turned eight that July, tumors and canine epilepsy had begun to ravage him several months prior. Eventually the daily seizures and spontaneous yelps of pain were too much to take. A sick dog around young kids is a dicey situation, too, so we called the vet and set up the appointment. It was the first time my wife or I had to personally do such a thing. Pangs of guilt crept into the rationalizations.

I left work early the afternoon we did it. As luck would have it, it was a brilliant sunny day and Sammy seemed to be doing okay. His bounding-into-the-car days were gone, but he perked up as we drove to the clinic. He also did the tongue-out, pant thing dogs do where it looks like they’re smiling. The pangs of guilt got stronger, a brutal companion to the lump in my throat.

After we arrived at the vet’s, we stayed outside for a few minutes to walk Sammy on a small island of grass near what looked like an oak tree sapling. He sniffed around, cocked his leg to do his business like a boy dog should, and looked at us like he appreciated the walk. Then, it was time.

The office was like most vets’ clinics. Gray chairs lined the walls and faced the front counter. The receptionist was a middle-aged woman who clearly had been prepped for our arrival. Her muted smile and sympathetic eyes told the story. So as not to delay the event, the vet’s assistant immediately walked us to the examination room. She shed some tears with my wife before giving us some time alone.

The room itself was small but appropriately furnished. A metal exam table was flanked by a dark-colored couch and a few chairs. Pet-themed art was on the wall. A cabinet and sink were in the corner.

The vet came in, explained the procedure, and asked if we wanted it done on the table or the couch. We chose the couch then sat down with Sammy between us. He settled in and rested his head on my wife’s lap. It would be quick and easy, the vet said. The first needle would make him fall into a deep sleep; the second needle would stop his heart. That was it.

We scratched Sammy’s head and chest for about ten minutes while saying our good-byes. He seemed relaxed and enjoying the attention.

As we petted him, the memories flooded back. I thought about the day we got him, the struggles with house training, the walks to his favorite spot, the extra stocking at Christmas, the graceful way he ran, his appreciation of fresh water. Most of all, though, I thought about how the one thing you could count on when you got home was seeing him near the front door, anxiously awaiting your arrival. The older you get the more you appreciate that kind of loyalty.

Eventually the vet came back and asked if we were ready. We nodded and continued to pet him as she did her thing. He went to sleep in my wife’s lap after a few minutes, and then it was over.

Later that night, I couldn’t help but think of death and dying and how brutal some people’s last days can be. I thought about my grandmother who died of Alzheimer’s, a ruthless affliction that left her unable to recognize her seven children and her husband of 50-plus years. I thought of my other grandmother, whose illnesses before death shrunk her to a shell of her former self.

I thought about cancer victims whose pain belies a merciful God, dementia and stroke sufferers who require 24/7 care, and countless others with terminal diseases that often rob them of their money, hope, and dignity.

I also thought about the millions of people who spend their last days in impersonal nursing homes or hospitals, their life’s savings depleted by the obscene cost of treatment and medication, their families distraught by an unfair dilemma.

The scary part is how often this scenario may be repeated with aging baby boomers and America’s backwards medical system. (Katy Butler’s recent column in the New York Times is about as eloquent a rendering of this tragedy as you’ll find.) In the thick of it will be elder law attorneys helping people deal with these tricky, complicated issues.

Then I shook my head and thought about how my dog was permitted to go out. A needle to sleep, a needle to die – all while in the lap of the person who loved him most. I know law, ethics, and religion reject such a thing, but I must admit, at that moment, it didn’t seem so bad to die like Sammy.

That said, the lessons Sammy’s life taught us are more important: Be loyal, show patience with children, enjoy walks to your favorite spot, appreciate fresh water.

Powered by Bookmarkify™