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 RAY DREYFACK


 LAWYERSPEAK
There Should Be A Law Against It!

 "Let's see...if I can come up with
maybe another 40 or 50 big words
he'll have to look up in the dictionary,
I think I can tack on another $250
to his bill..."

 

If college grads can't make sense of it, who needs it?

 

By RAY DREYFACK
of TheColumnists.com

I’m mad as hell, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Tess, my loving wife, is equally frustrated. The time’s sneaking up on us when we have to take a hard look at our trust agreements and other pertinent papers to check that everything’s in order.

Example: We have individual revocable agreements. I’m Tess’s successor trustee; she’s mine.

So we dragged the documents out of the vault and started to read. All at once I felt like a sixth grader. “That’s not bad,” Tess confessed. “I didn’t get past fourth.”

We had started with Tess’s revocable trust agreement and learned right off that Tess is the Grantor (“hereinafter called the “Grantor”), and Tessie A/K/A Tess Dreyfack , is (also) Trustee, (“hereinafter called the “Trustee”).

So far relatively simple. No problems yet.

We read on, wanting to make sure we are adequately covered as successors to each other, that when we die our assets are properly distributed to our children and grandchildren who will be legally entitled to squander them as they will, and that we will be reasonably well protected from the tax sharks, etc. Things like that.

So we skipped from section to section wondering how much it would cost for our lawyer to square us off on this stuff.

So we read on. In one paragraph we were informed that: “If Grantor’s husband, RAYMOND DREYFACK, shall survive Grantor, or is presumed to survive the Grantor, then, and in such event, the Trustee shall place into, as a separate and distinct fund, to be known as “Trust A,” a pecuniary amount equal to the fund to the amount by which the value of the property disposed of by this Trust…”

At this point I sprained a dendrite in the left sector of my medulla oblongata.

To be fair, the trust is composed in English. No foreign language intrudes. But a typical sentence runs from 50 to 70 words. Some exceed 100. The text includes a mind eroding assortment of whereases, nothwithstandings, herinafters, hereunders, deems advisables, herein to the contraries, and the like.

All right! Enough already. I don’t consider myself brilliant, or even bright. But I am the author of 28 published nonfiction books, two novels, and a collection of short stories. Plus I am sufficiently well educated and experienced to have been selected to teach a course at NYU. Yet I must confess that these damned Trust Agreements, penned in lawyerspeak, floor me. I could go through them 10 times and still need an interpreter. They’re no more comprehensible to Tess who is pretty good at comprehending stuff.

I recall once, on a brochure writing assignment for a nationally known consulting firm my task was to clarify for potential clients a productivity improvement program contrived by the firm. When I handed in the completed brochure it took about three minutes for the editorial director to reject it.

“Given this brochure,” he grumbled, “a potential client could develop and implement the program himself. He wouldn’t need us.”

Lawyers seem to apply the same modus operandi. If clients lacking advanced degrees or who don’t happen to be summa cum laude, could understand the documents they produce, their fees would be cut in half. As I said, there’s nothing I can do about it. I know of no law requiring attorneys to create documents in comprehensible English.

Still, it pisses me off. So when Tess and I visited our lawyer I griped about it.

He was soothingly sympathetic. “Many lawyers would have taken 50 pages to produce your 24-page trust agreement,” he replied. “I kept it as simple as possible.”

Yeah, sure.

We spent almost an hour in his office and on parting I asked, “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” he replied.

In response I blinked.

Outside his door, having calculated that we had saved at least four or five hundred dollars, Tess turned to me and said, “What a nice guy!”

Go figure it out.

©2006 by Ray Dreyfack. The illustration is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This story first posted Nov. 13, 2006.

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