COLUMN: Justice at last prevails

From Jason Brenner's, "My 20 Inches," Fall '96 From Jason Brenner's, "My 20 Inches," Fall '96 "The following people please approach the bench: Jason Brannen, Ari Gendavski, Dan Hanover, Michael Feldstein, Raven Mehita, Raul Agral and Ajay Guraparap-whatever ." The case: Michael Fieldstone, Ari Gendason, Rahul Aggarwal, Ajay Gorrepati, Jason Brenner, Dan Hanover and Ravee Mehta vs. James Lydon. The location: Philadelphia Municipal Court, 1301 Filbert Street. The date: April 25, 1996. The time: Way too early in the morning. Our lovely day in court represented the culmination of four months of pure frustration and anger. James Lydon (I'll withhold his middle name to protect his anonymity), a local off-campus landlord, runs his business in a -- how do I put this politely? -- interesting manner. He owns the property at 312 S. 40th St. and, seeking tenants last October, placed an ad in the Mt. Olympus of college publications: the DP. I responded to Lydon's classified ad, and with six other finely groomed and well-cultured young men, met him at his property. As a flock of snow-white doves flew past a beautiful rainbow, we saw before us our dream home, the kind of place we had fantasized about since our days as pre-pubescent freshmen frolicking in the Quad (or languishing in Hill House). An off-campus mansion located on plush 40th Street, our fantasy home stood between the thriving thoroughfares known as Spruce and Pine. The house contained every modern amenity known to college students: massive common space, large single bedrooms, washer/dryer, and -- hold your breath, kids -- a bar. I heard the angels sing as I entered this West Philadelphia version of the Hearst Castle. But alas, our fantasy remained just that? a fantasy. Lydon gave us the executive tour of the property, pointing out the fine intricacies of the house, such as where to entertain females. (I don't think entertain was the exact word he used -- wink, wink.) We told him that we were good, kind-hearted young men with solid family values and that such carnal pleasures held no interest for us. The next day we gave Lydon our $1,000 deposit and, in turn, he presented us with a receipt for the house. Everything seemed fine, until I got a phone call in mid-December in which Lydon said he would rent the place to another group of tenants -- unless we wanted to match their rent of $700 more per month. I politely told him in which orifice he could place his $700, and hung up. In mid-January, we found another house -- albeit for more money and without the same level of amenities (read: no bar). Soon afterward, we filed a lawsuit against Lydon. When Mike Fieldstone listed the four Jews and three Indians comprising the plaintiffs, the woman at Municipal Court asked, "What is this? the United Nations?" Lydon hired a lawyer who graciously informed me that we would never win the suit and that my real father was actually the milkman. She eventually tried to settle with us out-of-court for $1,000, but we refused. We would have our day in court. Without a lawyer, we carefully assembled our case for trial. My hands shook profusely as we approached the bench. After all, I frequent courthouses about as much as I hang out in the stacks of Van Pelt. We stood up from the uncomfortable dingy seats and all seven of us crammed behind a tiny podium with Lydon and his lawyer just a few feet away. Where were the eight-foot long mahogany tables, the marble floors and the other beautiful icons of squandered tax money, I wondered? We tried to present our case as well as we could. Unfortunately, a weekly correspondence course from the University of L.A. Law represented our only legal training. In fact, as we tried to cite codes in some law book, the judge stopped us in mid-sentence and said, "You may go to Penn, but you don't go to law school yet." On the other hand, Lydon seemed to have the whole trial thing down pat. He brought his pregnant daughter and his cute little grandchild, thus gaining crucial sympathy points. As Lydon began his testimony, I figured he would try to beat us on technicalities and attempt to "out-lawyer" us (which wouldn't have been difficult, seeing as we didn't have one). Instead he just plain lied. He into a whole spiel about how a group of evil students tried to extort a decent, honest man out of his hard-earned money. He falsely recalled how we demanded $10,000 worth of renovations to the kitchen, to which one of my friends replied: "I can't even cook! What would I do with a new $10,000 kitchen?" Lydon's lawyer then placed me on the stand and starting grilling me about who called for the Code Red. Reeling on the defensive, I asked, "What do you want?" "I want the truth!" she thundered. Losing my composure, I blurted out in my finest Jack Nicholson impersonation: "You can't handle the truth." (Columnist's note: Skip this last paragraph if you've never seen A Few Good Men. Allow me to recommend it, as the cinematography and background lighting are simply superb.) Actually, nothing that exciting or dramatic happened during the trial. No one tried on the bloody gloves found at the murder scene. My day in court contained as much Hollywood excitement as sitting in an Economics l lecture. The judge heard both sides and promised to render his verdict within 10 days via mail. Ten days soon turned into 10 weeks and we waited until mid-July as the verdict trickled its way through the mail. I should have considered myself lucky that, between the bureaucracies of the Philadelphia Municipal Court and the United States Postal Service, the verdict arrived at all. In the end, the judicial system vindicated us, and we won a paltry settlement of $700. Although less than the amount we could have settled for out-of-court, the judgment represented a sweet but hollow victory. Justice had at last prevailed, through the court's verdict and through the publishing of this column. Last semester, the DP killed a piece similar to this the day before it was to print because the DP's lawyer, fearing a costly lawsuit, deemed it "clearly libel-risky." I was told to wait until after the trial before detailing Lydon's misdeeds. Well Mr. Lydon, you acquired a few thousand extra dollars through your seedy practices, but it appears that, in the process, you also earned a day in court and a bit of well-deserved negative publicity. Case closed.