Hearsay

This brief eulogy from Horatio, over the still form of Hamlet, became the title of Gene Fowler's book about John Barrymore, the consummate portrayer on many stages of heroes in Shakespearean tragedies.

It fits as well in homage to Jerome Mirza, a trial lawyer for whom the courtroom was a venue where he could pursue “the roar of the greasepaint” that eluded him when a law degree became a higher priority than a career in theater.

A fair number of trial lawyers have thespian traits, and can speak their lines with dramaturgic emotion to 12-person audiences. Jerry Mirza had not only the chops to draw a jury into his performance, but the credentials earned in years of studying classics of the art.

At Illinois Wesleyan, he had leading roles in several plays while delving into oral interpretations of Shakespeare and Shaw, and hoping to get a master's degree in theater at Yale.

A legal career offered better security. In Mirza's words, “Law was a communications field, and I just thought it seemed that I was skilled for it.” When a law firm sought someone who wanted to be a trial lawyer, the placement dean at the College of Law said in 1963, “There's only one guy.”

In time, multimillion-dollar verdicts became routine. Some colleagues revered him. Others thought he went over the edge when he told a reporter, “If I could hire any personal injury lawyer in the U.S., I'd hire me. I think I'm the best.”

As Dizzy Dean said, “It ain't braggin' if you done it,” and Mirza did it. He shared his singular acumen in the books he published, the College of Advocacy he started, the associates he nurtured, and as a president of the ISBA and ITLA who was not afraid to intercede when rules and laws made practice difficult.

The trappings of Jerry Mirza's success belied his origins as an only child in a Wrigleyville apartment with no backyard, and a vexatious youth who attended three high schools before settling down and finishing at the head of his class at Central YMCA High.

When his drama class performed a play by Eugene O'Neill, it became an epiphany. “I decided I liked that,” he said. “It's what I would do in college.” Years later, he recalled, “If I hadn't been married, I'd probably have made a beeline to Hollywood.”

In law school, Mirza jumped at chances to hone his analytical and writing skills, even during an atomic energy seminar. It was taught by Prof. George Frampton, who tutored him with special senior-year study “that really helped me get ready for my eventual career.”

Language always fascinated Mirza. Rockford Magazine, after his record verdict in that venue, said of him that “At first glance he seems cool and aloof, almost arrogant.” But “when he speaks, he does so softly, with impassioned words” that win the hearts of jurors.

As guest speaker at a suburban bar dinner, he railed against such legal redundancies as cease and desist, free and clear, last will and testament, null and void, and even worse, totally null and void.

“Get away from lawyer talk. Use words that communicate,” he urged. “You wouldn't praise a spaghetti dinner and then say, ‘Please pass said spaghetti.'”

During his term as president, Jerry Mirza made sure his associates contributed to the workings of the ISBA. Dave Dorris was secretary of Tort Law and the Bar Journal Editorial Board, and vice chair of Civil Practice and Procedure (he moved up to chair both section councils).

Tim Kelly was appointed to Civil Practice. Ten years later, then in his own firm, he chaired the section council and served on the Assembly. His vice chair was Tom Harris, ironically the last associate at the Mirza firm and now an associate judge.

Amy Davis served on the Committee on Judicial Appointments, and eventually became McLean County public defender. Jean Swee formed her own firm and went on to chair the Workers' Compensation Law Section Council.

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At the end on Oct. 12, Debbie Peters, Jerry Mirza's partner in life for 18 years, related in her online update that he was comfortable and peaceful, despite the gradual failure of his body during seven arduous weeks of ups and downs that followed his heart attack.

His indomitability recalled Gene Fowler's account of John Barrymore's ebbing life: “He was trying, it seemed, to rise with the instinct of a knocked-down champion, his senses beaten, but his spirit never.”

Fowler closed with a portion of the quotation from Horatio, in Hamlet, that seems a fitting way to say farewell to such a champion of the bar as was Jerome Mirza.

“Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”