Valorie Wells Davenport

In late October, 2009, two long time friends suddenly died in a tragic and unnecessary  car accident while rushing back home from Hobby Airport along rain soaked Allen Parkway to retrieve documents which John O’Quinn (a well known Houston lawyer) had forgotten but needed before he left for an out of town mediation later that morning. My other friend, John’s driver (and friend, Johnny) who had worked for John for over 26 years, turned over the wheel, most certainly at John’s  insistence, so that the two could make better time, get the documents, and still make it back to Hobby in time for the flight. Forty five minutes later, high speeds, a rain soaked road and perhaps too much attention on the needed documents, the impending flight time and the upcoming settlement talks (and too little attention on the hard driving rain and the treacherous, winding road) found both men dead.  In seconds (and two heartbeats) none of what once seemed so critical, mattered at all anymore. One too hard left turn and the SUV kept turning, and turning, sliding, over a median, not once but twice, unable to find the traction to slow down until it slammed into a otherwise unmenacing, six inch diameter tree, far on the other side of the auto ban like roadway.

Watching the news footage and seeing pictures of the vehicle, all over the news during the following week after the accident, felt totally surreal. My first thought was, “trees aren’t suppose to be in the middle of cars like that.”  Then, the tree was so small: how could it do so much damage and kill two people, especially John.  Followed by ”that is just a short hunk of twisted metal, it can’t really be his SUV at all.”  Now, months later, I still can’t really accept it; the tree was so small and John  was. as so many people know, “larger than life.” How could this be true? But it was true. John was here and then, in the turn of a wheel and the skid of tires and one lonely, rather small tree, he and my Johnny were and remain gone.

I must admit, at some level, I suspected that something like this might happen one day. Everyone who knew John well enough to have ever driven with him, knew he was a terrible driver. He just never could get anywhere fast enough.  I think a large part of that was that he always tried to cram 48 hours of living out of the 24 hours the rest of us were given every day. In doing so, John pushed himself –and along with that, he also pushed everyone who worked with him–even my other friend, his friend and driver, Johnny, far beyond what most normal people –and employers–would ever expect. But it was embedded in John; a part of his inherent nature,  to do everything he could to meet the demands life placed at his doorstep. You see, John was not only brilliant, but also uniquely and incredibly talented as a lawyer.  He held people accountable. Even the rich and powerful. In fact, for those he held them to a higher burden. He expected them to keep those they employed safe and make certain that those who bought their products, who made them their millions (or billions)  in profits, bought products which not only served their represented purpose, but that the products they sold were also safe and did not cause the public harm.  When products hurt people, John got angry. This anger, in my observation, was the primary fuel for his incredible drive which kept him working, day and night, to fight and win so many calls for his help. What part of the fuel that many people did not see was  John’s connection (and through it, his natural empathy) for the pain of ordinary people who suffered tragedy and loss at the hands of these corporate giants who had played so recklessly with their lives. It wasn’t the money, but the cries for help from ordinary people, which kept John from taking any real time off–or from quitting altogether. His talents coupled with his gift of empathy together, as few understood, for John, was both a blessing and a curse. John could not turn his back on the weak and wrongfully injured.  Despite his wealth, John could not walk away from corruption and injustice.  Throughout John’s almost forty years of practice, and, in all honesty, even throughout his sixty eight years of life, John saw far too much of all of it. And the more John saw, the more angry (and the more demanding) he became.   

You see, from all I can tell, John O’Quinn grew up pretty much the classic egg-head nerd. Tall, skinny, black, horn-rimmed glassed, the whole nine yards. He was raised by his dad, a hard driving s.o.b. who owned the garage where John worked after school. John’s father was demanding, uncompramising and relentless: things were “his way or the highway”. I recall John telling me about a time he rebuilt a motor and changed one thing because he thought it would work much better the way he had made the adaption: rather than be proud of his son’s innovative idea, John’s father ordered John to tear the entire engine down and rebuild it from scratch, exactly like he had been told.  Had the same thing happened with one of the mechanics who worked in the garage, no doubt the elder O’Quinn would have just issued his often harsh retort “Rack ‘em and leave!” a command which was equivalent to Donald Trumph’s now classic harsh and also quite clear: “You’re Fired!” Quite early John learned the tyranny of upper management. He also had a heart felt and never ending desire to get things right.

John’s father died in an apartment fire when John was a young man. He’d lost his mother when he was five or six, after John’s father took him away from Louisiana to Houston. (She died, before John got back with her when John was 12.) Although married twice, John never chose to have children. All he had was the law: and thousands of clients (and other people who never knew him) who all lived better lives because he cared.

So, John was, at 68, rushing again to cram 48 hours into a 24 hour day when a rain soaked, winding roadway, and a six inch diameter tree reached out and suddenly proved to everyone, including John, that he was not invincible. I am sure John never saw it coming. The rest of us did; kind of. Anyone who had ever ridden with John had to have known it was possible, even Johnny. We just didn’t think it would come so soon.

So, God bless you John Maurice O’Quinn. The world is better because you lived. I, as one of many, will miss you everyday. Your maker (your father and your mother) and others you love and who love you have all greeted you will open arms. Your soul is free. 

Rest happy and at peace.

Love,

Nadine

(And God Bless You too, Johnny Cutliff)

This entry was posted on Friday, February 19th, 2010 at 12:35 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.