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A Moral Dilemma

Anne Turner Taub

    “Whew, thank the Lord I never had to make that kind of decision,” said Russell Sherman to his television set as he shut it off and glanced out of the window to see how his impatiens were doing. His mind was still on the movie—a young doctor in the emergency room of a large hospital was confronted with a difficult choice. Only one operating room was available but whom to give it to—a policeman with a wife and three children, or a hardened criminal with a long history of armed robbery, but whose wounds were of greater urgency.
    Russell sighed and recollected with satisfaction that in his long, legal career he had rarely had to deal with people under stress. As an attorney he had handled corporate matters—estates, trusts and wills—quiet, predictable activities that hardly involved emotional outbursts or life-threatening decisions. Truly an introvert, when time for his retirement came, he looked forward to a peaceful life devoted to his garden, his books, and his television set.
    With pleasure he glanced out of the window again, to enjoy the way the impatiens were responding to the warm weather. His daughter had said that now that she had a family of her own, and with her mother passed away, he had transferred his need for nurturing to his flowers. She might be right, he thought, as he noticed that the postman had just come and was leaving a large envelope in his mailbox at the end of the walk. The postman saw Russell through the window and waved hello, gesturing to the little flag that indicated that there was mail.
    Russell walked down to the mailbox, stopping to remove a dead leaf on the pachysandra that edged the garden pathway. In the mailbox was a large brown envelope from his old friend Jim Whitman. He hadn’t heard from Jim since their last law school reunion and wondered what he could possibly be sending him.
    Russell walked back to his living room, studying the envelope as he went. The return address was from the American Arbitration Association where Jim had worked for many years. At that moment, the phone rang and it was Jim. “Russell, I need your help. We are swamped over here, and with your expertise in estate matters, I wonder if you could arbitrate a case for me. Did you get the papers I sent you?”
    Russell thought about it for a minute. Arbitrators were used when the judges had a big backlog and the parties involved were willing to accept the arbitrator’s decision. An estate matter was the usual cut-and-dried case he liked to work on. Russell decided that it might be interesting to work on an estate matter again.
    Jim went on, “It’s quite a simple case, really. A brother and sister were left a million dollar estate in equal shares, so there is no problem there. But the mother’s rocking chair—it’s old, and may even be broken—but for some reason, they are both determined to get it. Think you want to take it on?”
    Russell considered it. It might be fun to get back into harness, and this case looked like it might take all of fifteen minutes. “Okay, Jim”, I’ll do it, but next time we meet, you buy the drinks.” Russell could hear Jim’s sigh of relief at the other end of the phone.
    Russell sat down in his most comfortable chair—his favorite TV program would not be on for an hour—and opened the envelope. Glancing over the salient facts, he decided that it was, indeed, a simple case, just as Jim had said it would be. He picked up the phone, called the Arbitration Association, and arranged a hearing for the following Monday. Then he went out to enjoy his garden. As he did so, he glanced up at the sky. Even when the sky was overcast, he was fond of it, because the rain nurtured his impatiens. But today, the sky was so blue, it could melt one’s heart—not a cloud dared to venture upon it. Russell was a religious man, and when he looked up at the sky, he often thanked God for giving him such a good life—a loving wife, a dear daughter, and a wonderful career.
    On Monday, he dusted off his old business suit, found the tie he hadn’t worn for two years and presented himself at the hearing. The brother and sister were there waiting for him, sitting at opposite ends of a long table. They seemed like a nice, respectable, sensible-looking pair. Both were dressed in navy blue suits—he with a Harvard striped tie, she with a gold necklace and matching earrings. As he read the will to them, checking all the details, they each nodded amiably and agreed to abide by his decision just as if he were a judge in a courtroom.
    “Now, about the rocking chair—” he began, but with that, both of the heirs stood up and began screaming at each other. He calmed them down, and said he would hear their sides, one at a time. He began with the daughter.
    “You can’t know what the chair means to me,” she said, almost in tears. “When I was young I had polio for three years. My mother would put me on her lap, while she rocked me gently, and tell me stories for hours. I don’t think I would have survived that illness without those stories and that chair.” She sat down, trying to keep the tears from spilling out of her eyes.
    The son was silent for a moment. Then he spoke, “Our father died when we were very young and that chair is almost the only memento I have of him. I helped him build that chair for my mother when she was pregnant with my sister, and every time Mom sat in it, I was so proud that she was using something I had made. Whenever I had a problem, she would sit in that rocking chair, listen to me, and try to help me solve it. And somehow, as she rocked, the question would seem to resolve itself. I wish she were here right now.”
    Russell ended the session, promising to give them a verdict by the following week, and went home dismayed. He realized that to each of them, that chair really was their mother, the one memory of her that would keep her with them forever.
    What was he to do? What would King Solomon have done if both mothers had refused to have the baby cut in half? He understood the longing they felt for a mother they would never see again but which of the two could he deprive of the need for this one last memory of her? He decided to put the matter aside for a couple of days, hoping the answer would come to him, perhaps when he least expected it.
    The week was almost over when Russell, again in his garden watering his plants, felt he could put the decision off no longer. There was no question about it—he would have to disappoint one of them. He looked up at the sky, at his sky, and wished the sky could give him his answer. Today, he noticed it was again a gorgeous blue, but now white, clouds danced across it. He remembered how, when he was young, he used to create animals in the shapes of the clouds. “All kids do that, I guess,” he told himself as he admired a big, round cloud just above him. “Gosh,” he thought, “it looks just like a baby’s face,” and suddenly, the answer to his dilemma came to him. With relief and happiness, and warmth for both the heirs, he made his decision.
    When they met again, he gave his decision. “I am going to treat this chair as if it were a child.” The son and daughter stared at him, puzzled.
    “In an equitable divorce case with caring parents, the parties each get custody of the child. Therefore, you will each get joint custody of the chair for six months. This is my verdict and it will stand.”
    Russell looked at the two but could read nothing in their faces.
    One month later, he received a letter from the daughter. “I want to thank you for your sensitive handling of our situation. Not until that hearing did I realize what that chair means to my brother and why he loves it so much. At the end of six months, I know that I will be glad to put it in the care of someone who will cherish it as I do. You will be interested to know that we have once again become good friends just as we were as children.”
    As Russell put the letter down, he realized that for the first time in his life, he was not just experiencing his usual sense of fulfillment at “a job well done”, but he had a deep feeling of warmth at knowing others were getting understanding and pleasure from what he had done for them. He looked at his impatiens and smiled at them.
    The next day he called Jim and asked if he had any other “simple” cases to be considered.

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