Theodore Cooperstein PLLC

United States Courts of Appeals
Supreme Court of the United States
Mississippi State Appellate courtsAppeals Criminal and Civil
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We all need help sometimes to handle the anxiety and stress of trying something new.Trial lawyers are generally prepared for everything, and they face the unexpected with the power to adapt. Ted Cooperstein was no exception to this rule, so after 25 years of federal jury trials, on top of his military experience as an Army paratrooper, he was unconcerned when a routine MRI scan was scheduled to take a look at his lower back. After all, lying down flat hardly calls for any exertion.And this was not even Ted’s very first MRI. . .When the sliding slab kept moving beyond his lower back, and Ted’s neck and head began to disappear into the narrow, dark tunnel, something unexpected happened to his neurological system. He started to panic in spite of himself.Along with the panic came shock. Once you’ve stood in the open door of an aircraft at 2,000 feet, poured your heart out to a jury, or stood up to a federal judge’s questions, you don’t expect to have a problem with lying still in a small tube for twenty minutes.As the technician reversed the direction of the slab, bringing him out of the tight space, Ted began to breathe easily again. The technician was the only witness to his panic attack, but he still felt embarrassed and humbled by his sudden, claustrophobic reaction. “If I reschedule the exam,” he thought, “it will delay things much too far into the future.”So he spoke with the technician, and they realized that if his body was turned around on the slab and entered the MRI head-first, his head would then emerge out the other end, leaving only his back and feet inside the narrow tube. He knew he could handle that, so the MRI was completed.The experience was a reminder for Ted that we all need help when confronting sudden change. It made him think of the trial lawyers he helps when they experience the anxiety and stress of entering a new and different court. He’s able to preserve and win back their hard-won effort.Just like he relied on the expertise of the MRI technician to help him through that experience, Ted provides his expertise in helping trial lawyers feel more confident when it’s time to go to an appeals court.There’s no shame in asking for assistance. Ted understands what you’re dealing with, and he’s here to take your case on appeal.

“Every trial follows its own life arc,” Jay thought as he waited for the jury to return the verdict that would determine his client’s fate. To a large degree, the jury also held Jay’s fate in their hands. A high-profile loss could damage his credibility, affecting his capacity to attract future cases and clients.While the jury deliberated, the silence that filled the near-empty courtroom was overwhelming. Since he couldn’t see, hear, or read the jurors now that they were out of the room, the suspense was tangibly thick in the air.Jay had certainly been here before. Every time a trial date approached, it ignited a spark of intensity inside him, narrowing his focus and setting his nerves on edge. Each step was a dance with danger – gathering the trial materials, preparing witness examinations, strategizing jury selection, and rehearsing the opening argument. They all had the potential for explosion that could send everything plummeting to the ground.But once the initial hurdle was past, the trajectory of the trial had surged forward, and a predictable momentum carried Jay along. He had navigated it all, guiding the defense toward the goal of acquittal. The first perilous exposure to the jury was behind him, and he and his team had surfed the waves of direct and cross-examinations.The journey had held its bumps – objections overruled, damning exhibits admitted, and stinging witness statements. But these were minor tremors, quickly absorbed into the rhythm of the trial. The denial of the motion for acquittal marked the peak of the trial arc, and from there, the end rushed closer.As the case descended toward its conclusion, Jay started to feel the tension of uncertainty. The decision to put his client on the stand had been a gamble. Would that prove to be a dire choice?There was no time to dwell on it when the jury instructions conference brought a rapid-fire series of fights over wording.Then came the final moment of danger – the summation and closing to the jury. He stood before them, laying out the facts and the law as he had rehearsed it over and over in his mind. He strived to be clear, smooth, and persuasive. Did he make them see the justice of his client’s case in a simple, clear picture? All he could do now was hope he had done enough.Finally, Jay breathed a slight sigh of relief as the verdict came in. But when they declared his client “guilty,” that relief evaporated, and he instantly felt deep remorse. In the desperate hope of a different outcome, he asked for the jurors to be polled, but it was in vain.Jay offered consolation and reassurance to his client and his family, promising that the fight was not over.To make the day worse, another of his cases that day before a different judge resulted in summary judgment that dismissed the claim he’d brought for an injured plaintiff. The judge didn’t care about the voluminous evidence and the laborious depositions that countered the summary judgment motion. (Surprisingly, the federal judge also got the law wrong!)As Jay trudged back to his office, the adrenaline drained from his system, and a wave of exhaustion replaced it. The lobby was empty, abandoned, and dreary in the evening hours. The elevator clacked and groaned as it slowly ascended.The familiar grooves of his well-worn chair offered little comfort as he sank into the cushion. He checked his email, hoping for good news that might have arrived while he was gone. There was none.He had always prided himself on his ability to defend the innocent and bring justice where it was due. The guilty verdict was not just a professional setback. It was a personal failure that cut his confidence to the core.“How can I redeem myself from these dual losses?” Jay asked himself. He began to worry this could become a recurring pattern that would cause him to lose it all. His gut tightened and felt sour. What now?His hunting cabin, which was his sanctuary and place of solace, could even be under threat. It was a symbol of his success and freedom, and the thought of losing it filled him with a cold dread.His relationships, too, were at stake. His son, who had always looked up to him, might see him differently now. His wife and daughter, who didn’t share his passion for the wilderness, might not understand the depth of loss he would feel if he no longer had the cabin.The verdict also threatened his standing in the community. His reputation as a lawyer was everything to him.But perhaps most significant was the impact on Jay’s self-esteem because his sense of identity was intertwined with his work. These losses evoked a profound sense of disappointment in himself, and he wasn’t accustomed to that feeling.Jay knew he was at a crossroads. He could let these defeats define him, or he could turn them around. It was a daunting prospect, but he reminded himself that he was no stranger to challenges. “No, I’ll face this head-on,” he told himself. “Just like I’ve faced every trial in my career. After all, I’m not just a lawyer; I’m a fighter.”And fighters never give up.

TED COOPERSTEINFor many years, Ted only entered the State of Alabama by parachute! You see, in 1982, he attended US Army parachute (airborne) school in Ft. Benning, where the plane would take off from a runway in Georgia for training jumps and finish in the drop zone across the border in Alabama. It was seven years later before he finally arrived in the state by car.But Ted didn’t spend all of the eighties attached to a parachute. He completed both his undergraduate history degree from Dartmouth College (summa cum laude) and his law degree from Stanford University during that decade. And he even found time to be a five-time contestant on Jeopardy, where Alex Trebek referred to him as “Champ.”In 2004, he ended up with another nickname—“Teddy Ballgame”—given to him by none other than James Comey, the then Deputy Attorney General. Ted was working in Comey’s office at the Department of Justice, and the name came from Boston Red Sox star Ted Williams.Ted got through Dartmouth thanks to Army ROTC, which paid his way. In return, he served 30 years in the Guard and Reserves, retiring in 2011 with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. He led a platoon of five M48A5 Patton tanks, served as a battalion intelligence officer in the 11th Special Forces Group, and then served as a field grade officer in the intelligence directorates at Theater Special Operations Commands. He deployed during Operation Enduring Freedom to Qatar, Oman, Jordan, and Kuwait, and he stayed on parachute jump status (hazardous duty orders) for 20 years. His highest award in the military was a Joint Service Commendation Medal.With that prestigious military career, you might picture Ted as a JAG lawyer for the Army, but he always kept his civilian career separate. And he wasn’t content with his undergraduate and J.D. degrees. He also earned an L.L.M. in International & Comparative Law (with distinction) from Georgetown University in 1999, a Master of Strategic Studies from the U.S. Army War College in 2008, and was a Lincoln Fellow in 2018 at the Claremont Institute for the Study of Statesmanship & Political Philosophy.Ted has also published law review articles and an op-ed in The Wall Street Journal. He wrote and edited for The Dartmouth Review where he knew Dinesh D’Souza and Laura Ingraham. But if you think Ted is all work and no play, think again. He was Senior Editor of The Dartmouth Jack O’Lantern humor magazine, too, and while at Dartmouth, he successfully led a raid to paint the statue of John Harvard green the week before the Dartmouth-Harvard football game.When it comes to the practice of law, however, Ted takes it very seriously. Before he retired from the federal government in 2022, younger prosecutors in the US Attorney’s Office often asked him for his insight about their cases. His criminal chief appreciated that he could depend on Ted to be one of the last lawyers to leave the office at night, and he was well-known as “tough but fair.”Ted’s trial lawyer clients can rest assured that he has “been there and done that,” as he’s familiar with and can relate to all aspects of both civil and criminal trial practice. And unlike most trial lawyers, he genuinely enjoys the research, reading, writing, and oral arguments involved with the job.Ted and his wife, who is originally from Thailand, have two middle-school age daughters and a goofy but lovable, 80-pound puppy named Sammy.