Ben Reach

Solving a Moral Dilemma

January 21, 2019 | Ben Reach, Short Stories | Comments

Jim and Ann White (not their real names) were two of Ben’s oldest clients and friends . When Ann called Joanne for an appointment, Joanne could tell from her voice that she was under great stress. She set the appointment for ten next morning and called Ben on his cell phone to let him know despite the fact she knew he was sitting in a jon boat on a pond with Sam fly casting for bream. “I am worried about Ann White. Set an appointment for you to see her tomorrow here at ten. She said not to tell Jim. Wanted you to know so you and Dr. Sam would not schedule something else.” The something else she feared was another pond fishing date. It was March and they were bedding. Ann arrived fifteen minutes early, driven by Fred Blevins, Mossy Swamp’s butler and all around inside man (bar tender, chauffeur, grocery shopper, guardian of the very old or very young visitors whenever needed—he had been a Pullman Porter in his long ago youth and enjoyed the natural dignity of an ambassador). Read more

The Ring

December 26, 2018 | Ben Reach, Short Stories | Comments

The two daughters of one of Ben’s favorite clients had called for an appointment to see him together as soon as possible. Joanne had set it for two days later because she knew Ben and Sam had a bream fishing outing scheduled tomorrow. Ben was grateful for that for two reasons: first, because it had been hard to get an open time on the pond, and second because the daughters were oil and vinegar, and when they wanted to see him it was usually about a disagreement over the care of their mother, one of Ben’s dearest friends and oldest clients, or about the management of the family’s assets, for which Ben had Trust Protector status. Ben was hopeful the two days had been enough time for the sisters to think their disagreement through and settle it themselves. That proved to be wishful thinking. Read more

A Quiet Withdrawal

December 23, 2018 | Ben Reach, Fiction, Short Stories | Comments

Ben Reach went to the National Championship only when someone close to him—a handler or dog owner—had an entry in contention. Still, with all Ben’s connections to the sport, he found himself riding at the Ames Plantation for a half-day every few years. This was one of those years, and Ben was enjoying it. The friend and client with a dog qualified and ranked high in the Gossip Rankings (the only rankings save Purina Points) was a client from Thomasville with a private jet who invited him along. Ben loved to fly thus, and hated to fly commercial. Read more

Contrary Advice

December 11, 2018 | Ben Reach | Comments

Ben Reach had faced this unhappy moment many times in his long years practicing law. Yet no time seemed so sad as this one. The client was one of his favorites, Fred Eanes, owner of Cedar Hill Plantation and former CEO of Clench Industries, a defense contractor he had sold for a billion dollars so he could enjoy Cedar Hill, a Thomasville quail plantation and a gift from earlier generations of his illustrious Yankee business-wise clan. Read more

A Reinstatement

October 17, 2018 | Ben Reach, Short Stories | Comments

“Gilbert Blevins called and asked if he might come see you,” Joanne said to Ben Reach on his return to the office from lunch at Millie’s Diner. “When will he be here?” Ben asked. “At three, today is his day off.” “Good.” Read more

What Do I Do With Gnarly Pine?

October 10, 2018 | Ben Reach, Short Stories | Comments

Sequel To Per Stirpes or Per Capita Bob Blain had to decide what to do on his death with all his wealth except Gnarly Pine Plantation, the five thousand acre quail plantation outside Thomasville his family had owned and stewarded since 1895. He could leave it to whomever he chose without estate tax concerns because it was held in a trust for him that was not transfer taxable when he died. His family was gone except for his six grandchildren, ages fourteen to thirty. None of them could afford to own it alone, but as partners—all or some of them—might be able to swing it. Big problem for Bob, he did not know them well enough to judge whether some or all would be suitable stewards for this special place. Read more

Per Stirpes or Per Capita

October 2, 2018 | Ben Reach | Comments

Ben Reach got the call on the morning of November 1. The caller was Bob Blain, formerly of Boston, now a resident of Thomasville where his family had owned a quail plantation since 1895. Until now Bob had resided on the plantation only Thanksgiving to March 1 each year, plus a week for Spring gobbler season and some bream fishing and some weekends in dove season. Bob was Ben’s age. “Ben, I want to review my estate plan with you now that I am a Georgia resident, “ Bob said after opening pleasantries. They agreed on a meeting time a week later. Read more

The Set Up

September 23, 2018 | Ben Reach, Short Stories | Comments

Ben got the call on his cell phone on Saturday morning, the first week in March, as he and Sam fly cast for bream from a Jon boat on a pond at Mossy Swamp Plantation. “Mr. Sam, we been set up.” The caller was Andy Ames, a young pointing dog handler just turned pro. Ben could detect the fear and anguish in his voice. “Who is ‘we’ Andy?” Ben said from instinct. “Me and Mr. Harold,” Andy replied. Read more

The Secret Fund (Sequel to The Last Summer)

August 10, 2018 | Ben Reach | Comments

Readers will recall that in The Last Summer a lad named Jimmy got his bearings thanks to a summer of hard outdoor work with a bird dog trainer on a ranch in Montana. A year later Jimmy’s grandfather, who had financed that summer, called Ben Reach’s office and asked for an appointment. “Can you make it at about four on a Friday, and ask Dr. Sam to join us?” “Of course,” Joanne said with a smile. She suspected that the purpose of the grandfather’s appointment would be a reward to the curmudgeons for what the Montana summer had done for Jimmy in helping him become a man instead of an adolescent. Read more

The Last Summer

July 19, 2018 | Ben Reach | Comments

Bill Culp was sad. He had just retired, at age sixty eight, from his job as dog trainer on Mossy Swamp Plantation. For the first time in forty years, he would not be going North July 6 to train bird dogs on the prairie. In the earliest years he had gone as a helper to an all-age for-the-public pro handler, then as a pro handler himself, and the last twenty years as the trainer on this South Georgia shooting plantation. He told himself he had nothing to be sad about. He knew he was fortunate, was financially secure, unlike many who had “followed the dogs” and ended up at his age with nothing but arthritis from horse falls or worse. But the thought of not spending July, August and three weeks of September, his favorite part, on those limitless lands, not seeing the glorious sunrises and sunsets, not feeling the ceaseless winds on his face when they finally changed from blow torch to cool, then crisp at dawn, and again at the long day’s end, depressed him. Read more