My first mistake was wearing a pair of handmade Alden shoes into the courthouse. They are ridiculously comfortable and look like a million bucks, but unfortunately, they have a metal shank in the sole. While these black beauties provide essential stability, which my father always stressed, this feature also made passing through a metal detector inside the Earl Cabell Federal Courthouse in Dallas a major problem.

On the afternoon of August 23, 2018, I was heading inside what I knew might become a contentious courtroom to claim my share of a class action lawsuit. You could say I was a typical lawyer, trying to dupe the system, like, it’s a dirty job and someone’s got to do it, but it’s more complicated than that. I mean, I’m a good guy. I’ve been taking care of my sick mother for years.

In any case, I figured I should be stepping pretty for the occasion. Not by choice, however, I became the only attorney on the premises who had to remove his perfect, jet-black shoes, forcing me to step aside and watch a parade of slick, well-dressed lawyers and an assortment of clerks enter the tenth floor, unencumbered by any issues with their feet.

As I was pulled aside for further scrutiny by two rather large security guards, I felt thankful to be wearing such handsome, designer socks. They featured a green and white rendering of an eagle in flight, set against a backdrop of Independence Hall in Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love. I was a huge fan of my local team, dreaming of owning my own AFL franchise someday, but for now, showing off a pair of limited- Brian Felgoise and David Tabatsky

edition, cotton blend socks to honor my hometown team as the ultimate champions, would have to suffice.

I hoped someone would notice, especially a miserable Cowboys fan. One of the guards glared at me as if my feet were offending him. I smiled and made some comment about hoping the Cowboys might one day rival the Eagles again, just for the sake of good competition.

I hoped even more that there would still be a seat at the Plaintiffs’ attorneys’ table when I finally made it upstairs into the courtroom. From my calculation, there had to be a place for me because I would be presenting to the judge at this Fairness Hearing.

As a young, brash but somewhat naïve lawyer, fresh from grinding my way through Temple Law School in Philadelphia and setting up my own firm with my friend and partner, I was about to be thrown directly into the fire of plaintiffs fighting for their fair share as they encountered the larger-than-life world of a corporate war zone.

Fairness, my ass. Where was the fairness when it came to my choice of shoes?

It had already been a hectic afternoon since arriving 30 minutes late at the courthouse, due to the nasty Dallas traffic. This was a legal proceeding I had been anxious about for quite some time because a judge was about to decide whether to approve my settlement. This case was my first big securities class action, and I was itching to have my share secured by the judge.

Just to set the record straight: I was supposed to receive $275,000 as a fee because I had gotten the Defendants to agree to pay back $2.5 million to the company in question as a result of their actions, which caused the company to spend $5 million for attorneys to represent them.

If you’re thinking that’s a shitload of money, you’re right. But considering how the system works, it was an appropriate amount and I had earned it fair and square.

2 The Education of Ryan Coleman

As soon as I entered the courtroom, Bill Waterman, who I had met a few years earlier when he filed one of my first cases for me, stood up and waved me to my seat. Bill was the local counsel for the law firm Schwartz, Bennett, Golden & Kiester, LLP, better known as Schwartz & Bennett. He had wanted to meet me early at the courthouse to have a coffee and discuss the hearing. As a local counsel, he was a designated attorney who would be admitted in court to serve as a representative for an attorney (me) who was not officially licensed to practice in a specific court in an out-of-state proceeding.

Schwartz & Bennett, who must have had at least 75 lawyers on payroll at that time, was a law firm located just outside Philadelphia, and I referred a lot of cases to them because they were rock stars in this field of law. In exchange for bringing them clients, the firm paid me a referral fee anytime they received a fee for litigating a case I had referred to them.

It was a sweet arrangement, especially since I was still paying off loans from putting myself through law school. This work I was doing would allow me to settle my debts within another year or two, which was a huge relief for me, personally and professionally. I needed to accrue capital if I was going to expand my law firm and become a serious player, and that also meant keeping my wife feeling secure and happy because most of the hot shot lawyers I looked up to were married, and what woman wants a husband who still has a ton of loans to pay?

I had to get my shit together in a major way. That afternoon, I was already off my game from the whole security scene I had to endure by the elevators. I was a little uncomfortable, too, because my hotel was just a block away from where President Kennedy had been shot, even though it happened a lifetime ago. I knew the tragic incident well because when I was an undergraduate at Drexel University, majoring in political science and minoring in economics, I saw video footage of the motorcade and the shooting hundreds of times because one of my professors was obsessed, so I must admit, I was spooked just being in Dallas, in the shadow

3 Brian Felgoise and David Tabatsky

of all that rotten history. I mean, who goes and shoots a president, even if you don’t like him or agree with him? That was insane and it still freaked me out a little.

When I finally arrived in the grand courtroom, I was relieved to see that there was a place for me at the Plaintiffs' table next to the jury box. The Defendants were seated at a table further away from the jurors. The judge would be seated about 20 feet away from our table, raised above us all, on what is commonly referred to as the bench, which was close enough that one would be able to clearly see and interpret the judge’s facial expressions. All the spectators, who were just lawyers on this occasion, sat behind the railings in rows of five benches. It looked like we were at a convention of bankers or some meeting of accountants, showing off their suits. I was happy to be wearing my Aldens again because they always made me feel like a million bucks.

Just as the proceedings were about to begin, Waterman, not missing his chance to remind me that he was more experienced, leaned in and whispered intensely into my ear what would soon become sage advice.

“Whatever happens today before Judge Glynn, please remember one thing.”

I stared at him as he furrowed his forehead and moved in even closer. I could smell the caffeine on his breath and wished I had the time to go get a quick cup myself.

“Do not speak unless spoken to.”

That sounded like one of the sisters in my cousin’s Catholic school.

“You mean . . .”

“Don’t say one freaking word unless Judge Glynn asks you a question.”

I felt like I was back in first grade, about to be tried by my teacher in front of my entire class for questionable behavior, like talking out of turn. I had a habit of doing that, sometimes at the worst moments, so maybe Waterman was right. I should cool it on the verbal impulses.

4 The Education of Ryan Coleman

As I adjusted my imported silk tie, which featured a multi-colored, Andy Warhol style print of Benjamin Franklin, I surveyed the courtroom and saw a row of legal all-stars, the big guns in this arena, looking polished and ready to roll. I had watched a few of them breeze through the security checkpoint while I was delayed because of my shoes.

I was a young, up-and-coming lawyer, looking fresh and spiffy, and ready to score my first big payday in the world of class-action lawsuits. I would soon discover that the Honorable Brenda Glynn, our presiding federal judge, suffers no fools.