The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

When Ron Koslowski arrived on the island and hung his shingle out on the highway — KOSLOWSKI ATTORNEY AT LAW — he honestly wasn’t sure how long he’d last here in the boonies. Having plenty of competition from the Stanwoodopolis law offices, a new lawyer might have a tough time making inroads. “Nobody likes an attorney”, he would tell us layabouts down at the Pilot House Lounge, “until they need one.” True words, Ron, true words….

The Pilot House probably saved him from an ignominious return back to the cities and the corporate firm he’d left after announcing his intention to set up his own practice. Fortunately Ron could drink with the best of us — and more importantly, with the worst of us. He might have hung his shingle up north on the highway, but his real office was the Pilot House.

Nearly all of Ron’s business those first few years consisted of defending clients who were drinking buddies at the Lounge. Mostly drunk driving and divorces, the 3 D’s, Ron called those cases. So many were fellow late night patrons of the Lounge that Ron began to buy rounds and then wrote those bills off as business expenses. He even had beer pint glasses embossed with the words: I Don’t Always Get Pulled Over ……… But When I Do, I Call Ron Koslowski — with a picture of presumably him holding a martini glass. And of course a telephone number for that one all important call from the holding tank….

If that weren’t enough, he had shot jiggers and wine glasses printed with his personal legal motto: Reasonable Doubt for a Reasonable Price. Randy Aptow, the Lounge owner back then, figured the free glassware was a good quid pro quo for Ron’s advertisements. The sheriff’s department and the county courthouse judges weren’t as sanguine, but this is America, even on the South End, and the business of America is business, even if that’s debatable down here.

Needless to say, after a couple of rip-roaring years for Ron, most of his clientele had already divorced, some twice, and the penalty for repeat drunk driving scared all but the worst of the boys at the Lounge. Ron rarely won the DUI cases. His defense was invariably to question the accuracy of the breathalyzer or to argue his client was pulled over for trumped up reasons, but the prosecuting attorneys and the judges, far too familiar with Ron’s lame legal arguments, usually threw the book at his drinking pals. Divorce was simpler, except when the wives hired their own attorneys, lawyers much more skilled and sober than Ron, but even then, the legal fees just increased. Win or lose, Ron won.

As is usually the case on the South End, as well as in courts of law, all good things come to an end. When Melissa, Ron’s long suffering wife, finally had had enough, she hired her own attorney and sued for divorce. Ron, of course, made the mistake of representing himself. Suffice it to say she took him to the cleaners, gained possession of the house and the newer car, which left him pretty much paupered. To salve his loss, he drank away his sorrows one last night at the Lounge, after which he was pulled over by an Island County deputy. At least he got lodging that night. All of us at the Pilot House figure he moved on to fresh clients after he stopped showing up, probably plenty of bars up north looking for free glassware.