At the Bar - Pick out one maritime lawyer from the crowds of lawyers

HERE’S a puzzle for you. How do you pick out one maritime lawyer from the crowds of lawyers, shipbrokers, P&I executives and underwriters surrounding the Lamb pub in London’s Leadenhall Market, just a stone’s throw from Lloyd’s, and arguably containing the highest density of shipping types in the city, if not the country? Fortunately, Michael Snyder has told me in advance he will be wearing a rancher hat, which makes him somewhat easier to identify.

I had intended to fight my way into the Lamb, but downstairs is standing room only, and the quieter upstairs bar is shut, so we decamp to Prism, fifty yards up the road, shunning the cavernous dining hall for the cosier – but still empty – downstairs bar.

Mike grew up watching Perry Mason and, fascinated by the way the television detective would perforate the prosecution case, took to haunting the law courts to see the drama played out in real life. Fortunately, this was encouraged by court officials, who saw this as an “unusual, but meritorious pastime for a small boy,” says Mike.

With a start like that, it might seem only natural that he would become a lawyer, but the prospect of impossible college fees put him off at that stage. Instead, he went to sea, where his classroom career gave him a basic grounding in maritime law.

The adventurous ten years which followed brought an understanding of the maritime life which was to come in very useful when, ten years later, he came ashore and at last followed the path which had fascinated him as a boy. Now, though, it combined with his love of the sea and of big ships to shape a career in maritime law.

Mike was soon doing well in his new environment and, after a series of big wins, he became known as the “P&I Clubs’ Man”. He attributes that success not just to his ability to win cases, but also to the advice of Stuart Bradley, a partner at the first law firm to employ him, Bradley, Eaton, Jackman & McGovern. “Stuart taught me to take the long view of client relationships, and that a successful practice for the long term required diligence, perseverance, and a quality result, one case at a time, " says Mike. “He assured me that if I did that, loyal clients would follow.”

Mike took that advice, and it has clearly paid off, as he is in the UK now to visit a number of clients, almost all of whom are P&I clubs. That seems a long way from the cases of Mason, Colombo and the like, but there is still a strong link between Mike and his early heroes. He still loves courtroom work, he says “and in fact, I took part of my trial technique from Colombo. It’s what I call the ‘dumb sap’ pose – “could you explain to me…”, “how does that work?”

Not an aggressive trial lawyer, then, I ask, the kind who thumps the table and looms over the witness? “No, not at all,” he says, and another hero comes into play, “I’d say I’m more like your Horace Rumpole.”

I wonder briefly if I should have held the interview in a wine bar off Fleet Street, one of Rumpole’s favourite haunts, but Mike seems quite happy with his coffee. Rumpole would doubtless have approved of the bottle of Californian red wine he has brought me, though.

Perhaps Mike’s biggest case to date came when he was appointed counsel to the salvors in the Amoco Cadiz, which more than one commentator has described as ‘the case of the century’ - “but of course, that’s last century now,” Mike jokes. He enjoyed his involvement in the case, despite its immense complications and complexities. It was also a ‘good’ case in that there was no loss of life involved, something Mike feels particularly strongly about, having been shipwrecked himself.

Mike is clearly still enthusiastic about ships, and enjoys making use of his practical experience in his cases. So does he sail recreationally? “No way,” he insists. “You know, whenever I see a yacht, it’s mostly under tow or motoring. Proper big ships I love, but sailing…” What he does enjoy is playing his 1925 Steinway grand (badly, he claims) and woodworking. “Laying my granddaughter in the crib I built myself was a very special moment for me,” he says, showing me a photograph. He grins. “And as soon as she’s old enough, we’ll take tap-dancing lessons together.” I’m not sure I believe this – but I wouldn’t rule it out.