Andy Vickery – 50th Reunion Essay

Andy Vickery

5569 Doliver Drive

Houston, TX 77056

andy@justiceseekers.com

281-772-9144

Spouse(s): Carol Cuenod Vickery (1993, 25 years and counting)

Child(ren): Gina Vickery Ross (1971), Peter Anderson Vickery (1975), Christie Peeler Garella (1983), Marc Lamar Peeler (1987)

Grandchild(ren): Leila Grace Ross (2003), Bobby Ross (2007), Oswin Vickery (2010), Vivian Vickery (2014), Brooks Garella (2014), Emmie Garella (2017)

Education: University of Georgia, JD 1972

National Service: US Army, 1969–76 (Captain)

Career: Trial Lawyer for real people

Avocations: Golf, Travel

College: Silliman

September 1965. A puerile, immature 17-year old Georgia boy gets off the train in New Haven, lugging a footlocker to a campus he has never seen. His mediocre valedictory address is a faded memory. Honestly, he has no clue what awaits him. But he quickly learns that, in addition to being Southern Baptist and incredibly naive, his IQ by all appearances is well below the average of his classmates and his secondary education is woefully inadequate for the task at hand. In short, he is now a “small guppy in a large ocean.” And, yet, somehow, he endures, becomes a “Yale Man,” and sings and lives out his own “Bright College Years.”

If I could borrow Marty McFly’s DeLorean, I would like to give that lad a piece of my mind. “Smoke some pot. Be a regular at the Tables Down at Mory’s. You won’t be tapped for the Whiffs, but you certainly could be an Alley Cat. You don’t have to trade ROTC for SDS, but please, go beyond Lysistrata and collect some empirical data on whether it is better to MAKE LOVE NOT WAR. Get your ass down to Battell Chapel and listen to the most prophetic voice within your orbit. And most of all, put forth a greater effort to form those friendships that “time and change shall naught avail” to break.

My musings about missed opportunities are not meant to suggest that Yale was not a transformative experience for me. It certainly was. I learned to read, to write, to think. And, in spite of the Ivy, I had a true college experience. Blue Power, baby! In June 1969, I received both a sheepskin and a commission.

For the next three years I was back at the top of my academic class at UGA Law School. After that, I became what I was always meant to be—a trial lawyer. Most of my career has been spent trying to hold antidepressant manufacturers accountable for the violence triggered by their drugs. My Yale credentials have helped. On April 24, 2000, the Indianapolis Star ran a front-page story with my picture: “He’s Eli Lilly and Co.’s legal nightmare; an outspoken, Yale-educated Texas trial lawyer.”

In June of 2001 I won a landmark jury trial in Wyoming: “Paxil can make some people commit homicide and/or suicide.” Within three years of that verdict, the FDA was requiring black box warnings about that risk. I am proud to have pushed that snowball down the hill.

On the personal side, my wife Carol and I just celebrated our 25th anniversary. Between us we have four kids and six grandchildren. Before marrying Carol—or perhaps as a prerequisite thereto—I finally paid heed to the sacramental calling that began at Yale and became Episcopalian. In 2012, I was Senior Warden of Christ Church Cathedral, an inclusive congregation that feeds the poor and celebrates the marriages of all peoples.

At 70 I am still working “100 days a year”. My cases are as varied as a one-day trial last year concerning a wrongfully withheld $1,850 security deposit to a major pending products liability case against TASER, whose new generation “smart weapons” simply aren’t as effective at stopping the bad guys as they claim. And then there is the ongoing, pro-bono, capital murder GCM at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky. But more of that anon.