A Legal Directory
CD-RIP: LEGAL TECHNOLOGY TALES OF TERROR AND THE LESSONS LEARNED
By: Peggie Brown
SYNOPSIS
Using the staccato style of writing found in many a horror
story, Peggie Brown recounts two tales of terror involving the use of imaging technology
for document storage and retrieval in litigation. Not one to take refuge in shock
value alone, Peggie concludes her article with a number of ghoulishly clever tips
for those who dare to believe in the paperless office. Read this article with the
lights on, checking over your shoulder every now and then. This article won the
MasterPost, a writing contest in The TechnoLawyer Community.
INTRODUCTION
On most days, the ghosts of legal technology past don't cross
my mind. Instead, they remain buried beneath the cheerful veneer of American life
in the midst of a bull market. I scramble from one emergency to the next like many
other paralegals in the trenches. I think about what I would do if I won the lottery.
I check my TechnoLawyer Community e-mail. I pass judgment on the latest government
scandal. I make weekend plans. I sneak in an extra billable hour while eating lunch
at my desk. I do the laundry. I surf the Web. But on those days when thunder clouds
roll into town and extinguish the Sun as if it were connected to a light switch,
the ghosts of legal technology past sometimes rise from the depths of my memory to
haunt me once again. If I close my eyes, I can still see the terrified faces, the
mad scrambles, the lessons learned. I pen this article with the hope that it will
prevent such horrific events from taking place where you work. One can only hope.
Before I recount my tales of terror, please note the following:
-- When the events discussed below transpired, I worked in
a high-tech law firm that believed a little too earnestly in the paperless office.
I have since departed.
-- Some material may not be suitable for people who believe
that technology can always save the day. These people may experience cold sweats
or hot flashes when I explain why such a notion is foolish at best and disastrous
at worst.
THE DAY OF THE DISMEMBERED DOCUMENTS
The paperless law office may eventually take root in the legal
profession, but not until imaging vendors perfect the underlying technology and legal
professionals understand how to manage such a workflow. During my tenure at a law
firm that believed wholeheartedly in the paperless office concept, I worked on a
particularly grueling environmental litigation trial. Nothing could have prepared
me for the sheer terror that lay ahead of me.
We hired an imaging vendor to place all of our trial exhibits
on two CD-ROMs. I received one of the CD-ROMs several months before trial so that
I could index it and review the documents therein for smoking guns. After performing
this task, I asked about the other disk. I was told not to bother because a paralegal
no longer with the firm had already indexed it and the lawyers working on the case
had already reviewed the documents.
As the trial drew near, we laughed at the reaction of our adversaries
when we told them that we would give them two CD-ROMs in exchange for their fifty
boxes of trial exhibits. Our adversaries attempted to prevent our use of the CD-ROMs,
complaining that they could not access them. Our grins were wider than the Mississippi
as we told the judge that we would happily convert the CD-ROMs to a format that our
adversaries could use. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately as you will soon see),
we had a federal judge who saw the wisdom in saving a few hundred trees (especially
in an environmental case). In fact, the judge marveled aloud at the technological
wizardry used in the OJ Simpson criminal trial. I guess television really does influence
just about everyone!
Two days before opening arguments, the imaging vendor delivered
the newly converted CD-ROMs. Between my boss preening over his electronic victory
in court and the vendor assuring me that the CD-ROMs were 110% fit for duty, I found
myself caught up in their reality distortion fields and didn't feel a pressing need
to take them for a spin. And besides, I had dozens of other projects on my plate,
all with impossible deadlines. At 8:00 p.m. that night, I finally took a few minutes
to review the converted CD-ROMs.
I first looked at the CD-ROM on which I had worked. It passed
my white glove testing with flying colors -- it contained all the documents and the
imaging software made it easy to view them. The reality distortion fields remained
intact. I then looked at the CD-ROM on which I had not worked. The first document
contained only one page, but I knew for a fact that the original contained more than
one page. Gulp! The second document also contained just one page despite its corresponding
multipage original. Big Gulp! The same was true of the third document! Uh Oh! The
entire CD-ROM consisted of first pages only! Oh No! I called the vendor and we discovered
that the original CD-ROM also contained dismembered documents! The paralegal who
had indexed this CD-ROM must have only looked at the first page of each document,
never realizing that the subsequent pages of these documents were not present! Oh
my! And then, the coup de grace -- given our unwavering confidence in the paperless
office, we did not have these documents on paper. The reality distortion fields exploded!
For the next two days, this proud puppy put her tail between
her legs and borrowed paper copies of the exhibits from our adversaries for photocopying.
While we didn't exactly make a splash with our technology, we did avert disaster.
DEATH OF A CD-ROM
I'm not quite sure how many shocks to the central nervous system
it takes to give the typical paralegal a heart-attack, but it must be more than two
since I suffered through not one, but two terrifying experiences at the paperless
law office introduced above. In addition to the day of the dismembered documents,
I also dealt with the death of a CD-ROM.
It all began with the production of 160 boxes of documents
by an insurance company in response to our client's document request. The insurance
company figured that it could bury our six-lawyer firm by sending us on a fishing
expedition. Instead of succumbing to this popular hardball tactic, we sent one lawyer
to conduct a cursory review of the documents and choose the most relevant boxes.
After we received our first cut of documents (20,000 pages give or take a few), we
hired an imaging vendor to scan them. The imaging vendor built a so-called "bridge" that
enabled our firm's imaging software (PaperClip) to read the scanned documents. The
vendor completed the task in just eight days. As with our other case, we returned
the originals to the opposing party without making so much as one paper copy. (Yes,
I know -- George Santayana.)
The imaging vendor made the unfortunate mistake of giving the
CD-ROM to the senior partner on the case. I myself never even knew that this CD-ROM
existed until a representative of the vendor called me one day to gauge my satisfaction.
Does it work properly? Any glitches? How's the speed? Gulp! I immediately went to
see the senior partner, who could not recall what he did with the disk. However,
after a strip search of his office, home, and car, he actually found the CD-ROM.
Yes! I popped it into a CD-ROM drive and found nothing. Nothing! The CD-ROM did not
contain any images. Gulp again! I called the imaging vendor and requested that it
burn a new CD-ROM from the backup. Unfortunately, the vendor had just deleted the
images from its system. Uh Oh! In the end, we sent the seemingly blank CD-ROM to
a data recovery outfit in California. The disk recovery elves worked their magic
and restored all the original data for a cool $1,500. After a few angry exchanges,
the paperless law firm and the vendor split the cost of the data recovery. Oh my!
Around the firm's proverbial water cooler, theories began to
develop about what exactly caused the CD-ROM to suffer the digital equivalent of
amnesia. The theory that drew the most support went something like this -- the partner
tossed the CD-ROM into the back of his car and left it there for a few months. We
all know what happens to dogs left in a car on a hot summer day. It would seem that
CD-ROMs fare no better. As for the vendor, one of its representatives told me that
it didn't make a duplicate of the CD-ROM because it didn't want to charge an extra
$30 to a very cost-conscious client. That $30 seemed a small price to pay in light
of what happened.
LESSONS LEARNED
Even the most terrifying of tragedies do some good in the lessons
they teach. So it goes with my two tales of terror:
-- Always check the work of imaging vendors upon delivery;
not two days before trial!
-- Even after the initial check, conduct subsequent checks.
You can never be too careful.
-- Designate the paralegal to safeguard the CD-ROMs much as
you would paper documents.
-- Never rely on just one CD-ROM. It's dirt cheap to duplicate
CD-ROMs.
-- Keep at least one of the backup copies off-site (though
not in your car) -- send it to your client.
-- When using imaged documents for trial exhibits, have at
least one set of all documents on paper.
-- Don't become so proud that you lose touch with reality.
Technology can enhance productivity like nothing else, but it can also fail to live
up to its expectations. The smallest of trifles, such as a dead battery or an inoperable
CD-ROM, can bring an entire workflow to a standstill.
CONCLUSION
As imaging becomes less expensive and the cost of office and
storage space increases, paperless law offices will become commonplace -- even necessary.
Despite my two terrifying experiences, I remain a technophile and a supporter of
imaging technology. The key to its successful use lies in good old-fashioned management.
Manage the technology well and it will repay you handsomely. Manage the technology
haphazardly and you too will find yourself haunted by the ghosts of technology past.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Peggie Brown is CEO of Brown Holdings LLC Group which includes
the Internet site development company KatsueyDesignWorks
