Those of us who practice in the mass tort space spend vast portions of our professional lives dealing with our opponents’ experts. In our minds, we seek only to enforce the dictates of the Federal Rules and of the United States Supreme Court (and their esteemed state counterparts); to wit, to ensure that experts are  qualified to render the opinions they offer and that they arrived at those opinions through reliable methodologies.  But, so very often, we face the fact that experts can say virtually anything they want with impunity (and most often without even being excluded).  We say “virtually” because we learned today, with horror (and, we confess, with some amusement), that even this regrettable reality has its limits.

Today’s case, Ruehl v. S.N.M. Enterprises, 2017 WL 5749560 (M.D. Pa. Nov. 28, 2017), is not a drug or device case.  It is a slip-and-fall case, but it illustrates the outer limits of a court’s tolerance for an expert’s misconduct and the consequences of straying beyond those bounds.  In Ruehl, the plaintiff’s decedent, his elderly wife, died as she attempted to pass through automated sliding glass doors into the defendant’s hotel.  The plaintiffs alleged that the sliding glass doors struck the decedent as she passed them, knocking her off balance so she fell and hit her head on concrete.  The defendant contended that the decedent simply lost her balance and fell.

The plaintiffs hired an expert who asserted that he was “a premier expert witness in the field of automated sliding glass door technology.” Ruehl, 2017 WL 5749560 at *2.   The expert’s retention agreement provided that he “retain[ed] the right to approve video deposition[s],” but, as the court noted, did not “foreshadow[] [the expert’s] curious and categorical refusal to comply with court orders, or attend video depositions.” Id. After the fact (and we’ll tell you more about what led up to this), the expert filed a declaration stating that he “generally refuse[d] to allow videotaped depositions” but “on one occasion allowed such a deposition provided that [his] face was not shown,” id. (internal punctuation omitted), a condition that “apparently stem[med] from some concern on [the expert’s] part that unknown and unnamed persons [would] digitally alter the video in ways that [would] be detrimental to [him].”  The court commented, “In nearly four decades of legal practice devoted exclusively to federal court litigation, we have never encountered such an idiosyncratic view by any lay or expert witness . . . .” Id.

But, to get back to the story, the plaintiffs’ counsel apparently learned of the expert’s opposition to being videotaped about two years into the litigation, after they had paid the expert more than $20,000 for his services. Some months later, the defendant scheduled a videotaped deposition of the expert, which, as the court emphasized, “they were entitled to do under the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure.” Id. at *3.   The expert demanded from the defendant, and accepted, a $3,050 prepayment of his fee for the deposition, while simultaneously notifying the plaintiffs’ attorneys that he would not voluntarily agree to participate in the deposition.

The plaintiffs’ attorneys moved for a protective order and “vigorously advocate[ed] on [the expert’s] behalf.” Id. at *3.  But the court reached the obvious conclusion, denying the protective order and ordering the expert to sit for a videotaped deposition.  And the court limited use of the deposition to the litigation, thereby (lol) “address[ing] [the expert’s] odd and speculative concern that his words and visage would be digitally altered by unknown sinister actors . . . .” Id.

As the court explained, the order gave the expert the choice among complying with the order, seeking timely reconsideration of it, or initiating motion practice (for a protective order or to quash the deposition subpoena) through an attorney of his own. “The one thing he could not do, however, was to engage in some unilateral, passive-aggressive course in which he ostensibly agreed to schedule a deposition, while privately evading his basic obligation owed by all witnesses by failing to appear for that deposition.  Yet that is precisely the path that [he] chose.” Id.

First, according to “testimony and contemporaneous notes of plaintiffs’ counsel,” when the expert was informed that the court had denied the protective order, he responded, “I don’t care about you or [the decedent] or some a****** judge.” Id. And, when the plaintiffs’ counsel implored the expert to cooperate because the family of the decedent was counting on his testimony, he replied, “Nothing will bring her back, so I don’t give a s***.” Id. But “at the same time that [the expert] was presenting his refusal to participate in the videotaped deposition in profane terms as some matter of principle, he was also willing to forego that principle for a price.” Id. at *4.  Specifically, as the expert admitted, he told the plaintiffs’ counsel that he would sit for the deposition if they provided him with a $10,000,000 Lloyds of London indemnity bond.  “Plaintiffs’ counsel understandably discounted this bizarre and extortionate suggestion.” Id.

Simultaneously, and in spite of all of this, the expert’s office manager – also his wife – was making scheduling arrangements for the deposition, on a date and at a location that the expert specifically approved.   Deposition time arrived, and – wait for it – the expert didn’t show up.  Ultimately, the plaintiffs were “compelled to negotiate a settlement of [the] lawsuit from a highly disadvantageous position,” since their expert had abandoned them. Id. The defendant moved for sanctions, and the plaintiffs ended up joining the motion.  That’s right, both sides were seeking sanctions against the same expert.  The expert responded and (lol lol) filed a motion for sanctions against the plaintiffs’ law firm.

In a victory for all that is good and right – and obvious – the court granted the parties’ joint motion for sanctions and denied the expert’s cross-motion. The court found that the expert’s conduct “involved a dual dereliction of the duty of candor and cooperation that [he] owed to [the] court, as well as the duty of loyalty [he] owed to his clients who had paid him more than $20,000 and were relying on him to provide crucial expert testimony in this case.” Id, at *7.  The court concluded,

Thus, [the expert’s] pattern of misleading conduct designed to frustrate this court’s order and the discovery process, coupled with his openly voiced contumacious disdain for his responsibility to the court and his own client, is sanctionable as contempt . . . . But perhaps most egregious of all is the disservice which [the expert] did to his clients, . . . an elderly couple who had retained his services to assist them in this litigation. . . . While [the expert] may be completely indifferent to the plight he created for the [plaintiffs], we are not. Therefore, [we will impose sanctions] in an effort to assist [the expert] in locating his moral, legal and ethical compass . . . .

Id. at *8.   (Note to selves:  look for other opinions by this awesomely pithy judge.)

The court did not order the expert to repay his entire $20,000 fee, finding that such a sanction would not be “narrowly tailored, as required by law,” because the expert had provided some professional services before the episode began. But the court asked the plaintiffs’ attorneys to submit an accounting of all time and expenses broadly related to the expert’s misconduct.  In addition, the court ordered the expert to repay the defendant for deposition fees and expenses totaling almost $5,000.  Finally, and best of all, finding that “[the expert’s] conduct in the instant case may be relevant to a consideration of his continued licensure by the state and membership in [the American National Standards Institute (ANSI)],” the court ordered that a copy of the decision be forwarded “to the appropriate licensing and professional association officials for whatever action they may deem appropriate.” Id., at *9.

All in all, a horror show, and we feel sorry for all of the parties. But kudos to the judge for decisive action (and cool rhetoric), and a cautionary flag to any other expert whose sense of omnipotence may be similarly ballooning.  We’ll watch for other decisions of this ilk, and we’ll keep you posted.