Invictus: Daniel Simons

 

One of the finest teachers in a generation was finally set free from his pain on a chilly spring Saturday in March. For over twenty years he had refused to accept that cancer would kill him and for the last three years of his life he tried valiantly to ward off the inevitable.

 

Daniel Scott Simons was a few months shy of his 53rd birthday. For a long time he had defied the cold predictions of his doctors. To him the phrase “it can’t be done” was abhorrent. But in the presence of his beloved wife Kay and their boys Zack and Asher, the showman teacher quietly left the stage.

 

Since his passing, I have been overwhelmed by the messages from people with whom he worked or those he taught. His light will always shine for them.

 

Dan was the son of Nancy and Jay Simons who live in Florida. He spent his teenage years travelling around the country and riding horses. To the surprise of many who knew him later in life, he was a very good horseman. He won the national championships a couple of times and then went to University.

 

His Dad Jay is a lawyer – straight out of central casting with white hair and a commanding presence.

 

Dan didn’t want to join the family firm. He told his Dad that he loved living in Chicago and looked forward to a career as a Classics lecturer. Jay flew immediately from Florida. He told Dan he was free to pursue his dream but that his parents wouldn’t be paying for it.

 

The wily attorney then played his trump card. “Study law in Florida next year and I’ll pay for it. If you don’t like it after a year, you can come back here and I’ll pay for you to go on with Classics.”

 

Jay Simons knew his son. Dan came home. He became successful but a bit flash. On his own admission he was a “Mr Big Shot” trial lawyer specialising in medical cases. “You wouldn’t have liked me”, he said.

 

The great irony was that he soon came to know a lot more about medicine when he was struck down by an acute form of leukaemia. He was not yet 30 years of age. The doctors gave him 3 days to live but he hung around. When he was well enough he came back to the United Kingdom so Kay could be with her family when he died.

 

Against the odds he survived and the two baby sons he never expected to know enjoyed over 20 years with their Dad.

 

Dan returned to the law working for Alexander Harris, Oxley and Coward and Irwin Mitchell. But he was much happier teaching. He won a professorial chair at Nottingham Law School which is where I met him.

 

The law school was then in its heyday and Dan became one of my team of tutors on the LLM in Advanced Litigation.

 

I quickly realised that he was a top-class teacher but what stood out most was his sense of humour. He was one of the funniest people I have ever met.  But he hated laziness and pomposity and could see through phoney people like a laser beam.

 

Dan did complex comic routines. Once he was on a roll, he was difficult to stop. He would adopt the physical stance of his target and take them off in an American accent. His style was too funny to be cruel. His listeners would fall about laughing.

 

At Nottingham in 1995, he tutored a team of fairly senior lawyers called Armitage Johansen. His team was disciplined and competitive but I noticed that they smiled more than the other teams.

 

The course comprised 6 residential weekends: five in Nottingham and the last in Florida.

 

On the final evening of the fifth course, Dan delivered a learned after-dinner speech on the history of Nottingham. As the next module was to be held in his home state, he then abruptly changed his theme. He wanted the students to look forward to visiting America.

 

To the horror of a few self-important members of staff and to the delight of his audience, Dan proceeded to disrobe.

 

My job was to turn on the tape recorder. As the patriotic strains of the Star-Spangled Banner rang out through the restaurant, Professor Simons peeled off his clothes one by one.

 

When the music stopped there was nothing but gratitude in our hearts because he was forced to halt the performance. His thumbs had reached the waistband of a pair of lurid stars and stripes boxer shorts.

 

Dan was poached by Nigel Savage to head the Institute of Advocacy and Dispute Management at the College of Law and I joined him a few months later.

 

To his credit, Nigel just let us get on with it and kept the bureaucrats at bay. Our partnership was sometimes fraught but always fruitful. We enjoyed bouncing ideas around and arguing. The challenge was to create something out of nothing which the law firms would then buy. We believed passionately that our customers wanted quality courses and we resisted all attempts to change our style.

 

I designed the courses and he piloted them, warts and all. As a true professional, he did it with panache. If he had doubts, the class never knew but he would often come back afterwards and say “This didn’t work” or “That was OK but it needs more questions”.

 

Over the years we taught in many different countries. He strove sincerely to be politically correct but he didn’t always succeed.

 

The Finance Director at the College of Law was Alan Humphries. Most people kept a respectful distance from him but Dan knew he signed the cheques. Whenever he saw Alan, he would fall to his knees and start polishing the Director’s shoes. Alan loved it.

 

Dan was always immaculately dressed. He loved expensive watches, tailored suits and smart ties. He hated cardigans, short-sleeved shirts and slip-on shoes.

 

Invariably he would arrive with a cup of coffee an hour before the course and tackle the Telegraph crossword. As the PowerPoint projector hummed away and his screen saver covered a wall, Dan would make small changes to the classroom furniture until he was satisfied with the arrangement.

 

It was a difficult time for the support staff, especially if the Professor’s equipment didn’t work or some materials had not arrived. I called that short period before each course his “time in make-up”. It was almost as if he was warming himself up to perform.

 

And what a performance it was. Dan’s true genius was as a presenter. He was passionate, knowledgeable, compelling and funny.

 

A roomful of senior lawyers might be called “Ladies and Germs” or “Cowboys and Cowgirls”. As Dan took the class through the fictitious litigation case study various expressions would emerge.

 

Remember, this was a British audience: buttoned-up, well-mannered and passive.

 

If your court documents weren’t in order Dan thought the judge would be bound to say, “No ticket. No laundry. Adios amigo!”

 

If you lost a case, Dan’s take was that you were “Screwed, blued and tattooed”.

 

If you won he would say triumphantly, “Call in the dogs. Piss on the fire. The hunt is over”.

 

Mostly (there were some memorable exceptions), the audience loved it. Dan excelled with the more senior lawyers. He quickly seized on a person’s character and sent them up and it wasn’t long before everyone was laughing, even the victim.

 

In short, it was Dan’s philosophy that when they were laughing, they were learning because they remembered the point.

 

As an advocacy teacher, he was superb.

 

He was accurate and perceptive and frank but he encouraged his students to do better without crushing them with criticism.

 

Some of his methods could be unorthodox. I was once in the video room giving a critique to a senior partner from Herbert Smith who had just been taught by Dan. We watched her performance carefully on the screen and I was stunned to see a ball of paper hit her on the nose.

 

“What was that?” I cried.

 

“Oh that’s just Dan, “she replied nonchalantly.”He doesn’t like me saying um.”

 

He helped hundreds of people and would jump to anyone’s aid if he thought they were in trouble.

 

He was at his best holding court in the Knights Templar on Chancery Lane. He drank a horrible concoction of double vodka, grapefruit juice and a dash of cranberry, which he called a “Double Boris”. His pal James Hordern says "he would go ballistic if you forgot the cranberry".

 

One night he delivered a spoof Diversity Awareness course to his colleagues, but other pub patrons soon joined in. It made our jaws ache with laughter. Those who were there will always remember it.

 

One of our colleagues never bought a round. It was something that Dan scorned. When I saw this man approaching the bar to buy us all a drink, I called Dan at his home in Sheffield and told him. Without missing a beat, he said “I feel like the guy who’s just slept through Halley’s Comet”.

 

He was called to the Bar but it didn’t really suit him. He would wear a wig and gown in the Small Claims court. He found the snobbery and the cliques hard to take.

 

Dan Simons was interested in learning. He continually furnished his mind. He travelled throughout the world; he went on cruises; he loved opera, Jimmi Hendrix, physics, food, conversation and history. He always had the best seat in the restaurant. He always sought an upgrade. He wouldn’t take “no” for an answer.

 

Without fanfare he and Kay raised thousands of pounds for charity, in particular the Weston Park Cancer Charity.

 

Ten years ago, when we were in Hong Kong, I introduced him to poetry and read him Invictus by William Henley. He loved it so much that he asked me to read it when he died. He said it summed up his life. Tragically, he didn’t know the pain that was to come.

 

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

 

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

 

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

 

The last three years of Dan’s life were filled with exhausting trips to hospital in America; blood transfusions, tests and operations; false and fleeting hopes, tears, laughter and a palpable anger that this was a situation he could not control. The toll on his family, particularly Kay, was immeasurable.

 

The local rabbi, a great friend, was there when he died. That would have been important to Dan.

 

In the Jewish tradition his funeral came quickly. It struck me that he would probably have preferred to lie in state for a week or two.

 

Daniel Simons will live on in the hearts and memories of those whom he taught and touched and loved. He will stay with us in the personalities of his wonderful sons, Asher and Zack. He will survive in the funny and oft-repeated tales of his brief, crowded and remarkable life.

 

And so we said goodbye. There was quite a crowd in the small park at the back of the synagogue. Each of them gave silent thanks that they had known such a man.

 

As they covered my friend’s coffin with earth, the sun came out and shone.

 

Peter Lyons

York

Wednesday 14th April 2010

 

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