Fighting for Dear Life (11 page)

In the last generation, the United States Supreme Court legalized abortion in
Roe v. Wade,
laying the groundwork for the proliferation of abortion in our society. Was our judicial system now set to approve the killing of disabled people hidden away in nursing homes and hospices?

But Terri wasn't hidden from me. I had come to know her during the last few weeks. I had to do my best, with God's help, to make this judge, the nation, indeed, the whole world, through those TV media eyes watching me from the jury box, understand that Terri had a life worth living. She had a family who loved her no matter what. Terri needed therapy, rehab, and good old-fashioned TLC, not a death sentence. I was eager to get this hearing underway. Was Judge Greer's delay due to some threat against him? I was glad armed officers and security forces were on hand to worry about those things. It was enough for me to be thinking about my oral argument, the frayed emotions of the Schindler family, and the ever-present media. But was Judge Greer aware of something brewing?

As if reading my mind, one of the courtroom's law enforcement officers crossed the room and headed directly for my table. I offered a smile. I figured he was coming over to provide some sort of routine notification for the holdup. You know, something along the lines that someone was running late, or perhaps a transcript or key document needed to be dispatched to the courthouse before we could begin.

The officer appeared at my side. He placed his left hand on the table, palm down, and then leaned in close as if preparing to offer an insider stock tip. He cleared his throat. In a low, commanding tone he spoke three words.

‘‘Don't turn around.''

‘‘Excuse me?'' I said, matching his muted voice.

I noticed his eyes were focused somewhere over my shoulder on an unseen point of interest behind me. ‘‘Mr. Gibbs, I need to ask you to avoid making any sudden moves that would draw attention to us. Do you understand?''

I offered a slow nod, although in reality I was unsure where this conversation was headed.

‘‘What's up?''

‘‘We have a possible . . .
situation
,'' he said, as if struggling to find the right word.

I forced a smile as if to pretend we were just talking about the weather. A moment earlier I was busy arranging my notes and mentally cross-examining each aspect of the motion I was about to make. Out of habit I questioned everything. . . . Was there an oversight? A hidden insight? What about a potential weakness that my team had overlooked? I like to leave no flank uncovered.

So as you can imagine, I wasn't real excited about the interruption and I was having some difficulty discerning what the officer was driving at.

‘‘We've identified what we fear is a potential threat,'' he said, adding, ‘‘to you.''

‘‘Me?''

‘‘Yes, sir.''

There had to be some mistake. Death threats against Judge Greer were well-known, which is why the judge held his hearings in four different courtrooms. Understandably, Judge Greer didn't want anyone getting too comfortable in any particular chamber. I had been told that the judge wore a bulletproof vest under his black robes. But why would anybody want to target me?

The first flicker of anxiety started to emerge.

Granted, I knew my staff was praying. Bob and Mary Schindler were praying, and millions of Americans were praying too.

But people were praying for
Terri's
life.

The officer leaned closer. ‘‘We're concerned about the conduct of a white male sitting in the last row. He appears to be intensely focused on every move you make. We've made the assessment that he could be a security risk.''

This was the first time in my career where a member of the audience might be present not to observe but to cause harm for some unknown personal agenda. Then again, maybe I should have anticipated a stunt like this—if that's all it turned out to be. Now that Terri's struggle had acquired a national profile, surely some nut case with a desire to cash in his fifteen minutes of fame would surface.

I started to say something, but the officer cut me off. ‘‘Don't worry, Mr. Gibbs,'' he said, although the stiffness of his demeanor betrayed his unease. ‘‘The suspect entered through the security checkpoint so we assume he's not carrying a knife or a gun.''

Assume? Even if this guy walked through the same security checkpoint as the rest of us, maybe he found a way around the safety measures. Did he manage to smuggle in a plastic bomb? Did he have an accomplice inside the court?

‘‘As a precaution,'' the officer said, interrupting my thoughts, ‘‘we've stationed a number of armed, plainclothes marshals in the room. Two have taken up positions on either side of him.''

Smart move. A smart
legal
move, that is. Doing so enabled the court to avoid a potential constitutional crisis by removing an individual just because he
looked
suspicious without proving an actual threat. Placing him under an immediate watch was a good start. I would have preferred to have heard that the SWAT team was on the way.

Suddenly, I found myself fighting not only for Terri's life but potentially for the lives of those around me. A thousand thoughts collided in my mind.

Where was my family?

Were they safe?

My wife hadn't planned to attend today's hearing. Had her plans changed? As a homeschooling mother, she sometimes brought the kids to court to further their education. I had to know if they were in the gallery. I wanted desperately to turn around and search for their precious faces. Right then and there I made a decision that my family would no longer tag along with me to these hearings. No way. I couldn't fathom what would happen if someone attempted to harm them.

That's when a new emotion pushed its way to the forefront of my mind: fear. Not a fear of dying
perse
. Rather, it was the inborn response that every father has when confronted with someone or some
thing
that threatens the safety of his family.

In a way, I was experiencing firsthand a taste of the sheer panic, indeed the living nightmare that the Schindlers had been battling for
years
. It was the fear of a parent knowing that their child is going to suffer—and they had no legal means to stop it. Like the Schindlers, I knew I would be compelled to move heaven and earth to keep someone from harming one of my own.

What sane parent wouldn't?

I felt a hand on my shoulder. ‘‘Uh, Mr. Gibbs? Are you all right?''

I blinked the room back into focus. The officer was speaking again. ‘‘We don't want to create a panic. However, I need for you to discreetly turn around and take a look. Tell me if you know this individual. Take your time. Be casual . . . and don't stare. Just scan the faces in the back row. Our man is the third guy from the doorway.''

‘‘I understand,'' I said, steeling myself.

I turned, slow and steady, hoping my face didn't betray the spike of anxiety within. I saw a guy, midthirties. His unshaven face and long, dark greasy hair came back to me, although I had never spoken with him. I remembered he was a somewhat unusual protestor; he was the sort of fellow who was kind of rough around the edges. I had no idea if he was a good guy or a bad guy.

Then again, he
was
wearing far too much clothing for a Florida afternoon. His heavy, black trench coat could easily conceal something strapped to his body. Now what? While thankful that I didn't find my family in the room, I still had a dilemma. Should I continue with the case, thereby becoming a lightning rod for every last person who disagreed with the outcome? After all, when I agreed to work with the Schindlers, I never dreamed that I'd become a target of someone's delusions—or rage.

Suddenly, the bailiff's voice broke through my thoughts.

‘‘All rise.''

The judge was entering the courtroom. It was time to get back to the business at hand. But in that moment of waiting, I had seen this case in a new light. I sensed even more that I was being called on not only to make legal arguments but to reach for something more fundamental about my convictions regarding the worth of every human life.

Come to think of it, that had always been the reason I was pouring myself into this cause, why my office staff thought this case was worth working long hours, indeed often without sleep, looking for any way to put Terri back into the loving arms of her mom and dad. I had to march forward, do the very best I could. Warehoused in a hospice room across town, an innocent woman condemned to die was counting on me.

Looking back on these events, I'm convinced that between the presence of the marshals and the power of prayer, the proceedings that afternoon went off without further incident.

Lawyers are not supposed to become too personally involved with their clients. But this case was different. And as I stood up to make my legal arguments before the judge, I realized that my few moments of prayer and reverie had given me something invaluable. I now carried in my heart an even more unshakable appreciation—indeed, a clearer understanding of why the Schindlers refused to give up on Terri. I prayed that if I were ever in Bob Schindler's shoes, someone would make an all-out effort for me and my family. I realized again that the effort to preserve life is always worth giving everything we have—no matter what the outcome.

I approached the podium. ‘‘Your Honor, my name is David Gibbs, and I have the privilege of representing Bob and Mary Schindler, the parents of Terri Schiavo.''

OPEN TO A MIRACLE

While fighting for Terri's life within the court system was our primary avenue to save her from an unjust, premature death, a legal remedy wasn't the only potential solution. That's why behind the scenes my staff and I had worked around the clock to find some way—any way— to settle this tug-of-war outside of court. We knew that in just a couple of short months Terri's feeding tube was scheduled to be removed for the third and probably final time, and we were committed that no option to save her would be left unexplored.

For instance, with the single stroke of a pen, with a single decision, Michael Schiavo could have said, ‘‘You know what? I disagree with you that Terri has a quality of life worth maintaining. But she has a mother and father, a sister and brother who believe strongly that she can improve. All of her blood relatives want her to live. Maybe I should just walk away.''

Now
that
would have been an unforgettable gift.

We wondered whether Michael might agree to some sort of compromise. Was there any set of terms under which he might consider releasing Terri to her family?

What about a million dollar offer to just walk away?

CHAPTER NINE

LET'S MAKE A DEAL

Terri has parents whose unselfish desire is to simply love her,
care for her and let her live. . . . Terri may no longer be
perfect or complete but she has a fundamental right to life.

—P
ATRICIA
H
EATON
, A
CTRESS
1

I
've always been of the opinion that this case should never have been taken to the courts. Long before George Felos or I or anybody else entered a courtroom, Michael and the Schindlers should have been able to hammer out an agreement between them. After all, this lawsuit involved a son-in-law who at one time was very close to Terri's parents— he and Terri lived with the Schindlers for a number of years.

In the context of this family tragedy, Michael could have said, ‘‘Look, I want a divorce. I want to get on with my life. I changed my mind about caring for her. She's a vegetable and nothing will ever change that. It's too bad what happened to her. . . . I just don't think she has any life and we should just let her go.''

For their part, Bob and Mary could have said, ‘‘You know, we disagree, she is very much alive to us. She kisses us, she cries, she listens to the radio, she still loves music. We love our daughter and we will gladly take good care of her.'' At that point, I can't understand why Michael wouldn't have just said, ‘‘Look, if it means that much to you, I'm going on with my life. Here, take your daughter. Dealing with her is your problem.''

That's the way disputes and issues should be handled privately within a family. That's the way disputes and issues are often handled even after they are taken before a court and become a public matter. The two parties in a dispute often reach a settlement. Even in a criminal case, most criminals don't want to face the wrath of a jury or serve jail time. They certainly don't want to be sentenced to the fullest extent of the law, which is why they usually cut a deal with the prosecutor. They negotiate and then enter into a plea bargain.

Likewise, the vast majority of civil cases settle out of court. For example, when a business is sued, the officers of the company will evaluate several factors before going to court. They'll examine their odds of winning, and they'll calculate the cost to litigate against the cost of just paying an out-of-court settlement. They'll also factor in the reputation issue—in other words, would a trial negatively impact their reputation in the community?

Our system of justice places a premium on settlements. For a host of reasons, including the reality of a lengthy appeals process that could drag on for years, both sides in a dispute are encouraged to come to some mutually satisfactory agreement.

It's the classic give-and-take.

Why, then, couldn't Terri's family have settled her fate between themselves? Why couldn't there have been a private family agreement long ago? As I studied the family dynamic, I concluded the reason they had reached an impasse and had to take the case to a public court was that the Schindlers were willing to give up everything
except
the life of their daughter. For Michael's part, the only option he was willing to consider was some plan by which Bob and Mary would at least potentially agree to Terri's death.