Stephens & Stevens Marital & Family Law

Obituary

Eddie’s Essay on John

Eulogy:

John Christiansen was, by far, the best family law attorney I have ever seen.

But if you knew John, you know there was so much more to him than that.

John was one of the most charismatic people I have ever known. When you had John’s attention, you felt like you were the center of the universe. That was one of his gifts. He made people feel seen. He made people feel important.

My name is Eddie Stephens. John was my uncle. He was my mother’s little brother. He was also my first boss, my first mentor in the law, and later, my adversary. So I had the privilege of seeing John from many different angles: as family, as a young lawyer, as a student of his craft, and eventually as someone who had to stand across the courtroom from him.

And from every angle, John was unforgettable.

First, John had a wicked sense of humor.

He was a prankster. He loved a good setup. He loved the joke before the joke even landed. There were stories from childhood that, looking back, probably could not happen today. There was snipe hunting. There were swamp adventures. There were elaborate practical jokes. There were moments where you were not entirely sure whether John was teaching a lesson, initiating someone into the family, or simply entertaining himself.

And with John, sometimes it was all three.

There was also the legendary annual football game between John and his law partner Jay Jacknin — a game that somehow involved lawyers, judges, ringers, questionable judgment, and custom jerseys. It was part competition, part comedy, part circus, and entirely John.

That was his sense of humor. Sometimes brilliant. Sometimes outrageous. Always unforgettable.

John also had a special relationship with his sister, my mother. They had this rhythm between them — pranking each other, laughing at each other, trying to outdo each other. It was fun to watch because it was rooted in love.

John was also a man of grand gestures.

He did not do things halfway. If he was going to help, he helped completely. If he was going to give, he gave generously. If he was going to make someone laugh, he committed to the bit. If he loved you, you knew it — not always in soft or sentimental ways, but in actions, in presence, in loyalty, and in the unmistakable force of his personality.

For my thirteenth birthday, I had announced that I wanted a snake. Most adults would have ignored that request. John did not.

So he got me a python.

What he did not know — because he had not cleared this with my mother — was that my mother had also gotten me a snake. She got me a boa. John got me a python. They both got the full habitats with all the bells and whistles.

I was the coolest kid in school that year.

My mother was livid.

John laughed and laughed and laughed.

But his grand gestures were not always funny.

Sometimes they were profound.

When my mother passed away, John offered to take me in. He said I could move to West Palm Beach and live with him, and that he would be fully responsible for me.

That was not a casual offer. It was not something he said just to be kind. John meant it completely. That was the kind of loyalty he carried for his family. When something mattered, John showed up. He showed up big.

That was one of his most beautiful qualities. Beneath the humor, beneath the courtroom presence, beneath the mischief and the charisma, there was a man capable of enormous loyalty and enormous love.

John also had a way of changing lives without announcing that he was doing it.

Years later, when I was in college, John invited me to go skiing in Aspen with him and his family. I was studying art and motion picture production, and I was struggling with what my future was supposed to look like.

John did not lecture. He did not criticize. He did not tell me what to do.

Instead, he told me to meet him at the South County Courthouse and watch him work.

I watched him handle an uncontested final hearing. It was not a battle. It was almost a ceremony. He was showing the profession. He was showing possibility. He made it look easy, even though it is not.

But John made it look possible.

That was one of his gifts as a lawyer and as a mentor. He did not always have to explain the lesson. He embodied it. He demonstrated it.

When I say John was the best family law attorney I have ever seen, I do not say that casually. John practiced law for fifty years in Palm Beach County. He was not just experienced. He was extraordinary.

He was one of the smartest human beings I have ever known. His strategic vision was unbelievable. Whether he was preparing for trial, questioning an expert witness, dealing with an opposing party, or plotting out his ranch, there was always a plan. There was always an angle. And with John, the angle always made sense.

He had the ability to take something complicated and make it feel obvious. He could explain a case in a way that made the judge feel like the conclusion had been sitting there the whole time, waiting to be recognized.

That is a rare gift.

John understood that family law is not just about statutes and cases and arguments. It is about people. It is about timing. It is about pressure. It is about judgment. It is about knowing when to push, when to wait, when to speak, and when silence will do more.

Eventually, I had a case against John.

You might think that would be fun.

It was not.

John destroyed me.

At our first hearing he put me in a chokehold in front of the judge. And the judge thought it was funny.

That was the thing about John. Even when he was beating you, part of you still admired the way he was doing it.

We started trial right before Christmas. John took his time. In fact, John took so much time that by the time we broke for the holiday, the entire trial had essentially been consumed by Uncle John.

The plan was to come back after the holidays so I could present my case.

But fate, and apparently John, had other plans.

When the mail arrived after the break — and yes, this was before e-filing — there was a final judgment of dissolution of marriage.

It was the proposed judgment John had submitted before trial.

And it was signed.  Even though I never got to present my case.

True story.

John won at the trial level. He won big.

But John had also taught me about this little thing called the Fourth District Court of Appeal. So up it went. And a major portion of that judgment was reversed.

For the family law legal geeks here — and I know there are a few of you — the citation is 40 So. 3d 48.

Our career record ended up one and one.

But even then, John was still teaching.

He taught lawyers how to think. He taught them how to prepare. He taught them how to see the whole board, not just the next move. He raised the level of practice around him by simply being so good that everyone else had to get better.

John’s professional legacy is extraordinary.

But the years alone do not tell the story.

The story is in the clients he helped through some of the most painful chapters of their lives.

The families he guided.

The lawyers he trained, challenged, inspired, and sometimes terrified.

The judges who respected him.

The colleagues who knew that when John appeared in a case, the case had changed.

And his legacy was not limited to the courtroom.

John gave to his community. He gave his time, his resources, his influence, and his heart. His charitable work reflected the same qualities that defined him everywhere else: generosity, commitment, and action. John was not performative about helping people. He simply helped. He supported causes, people, friends, and family in ways that often made a real difference.

And then there was his family.

For all of John’s professional accomplishments, for all of his courtroom victories, for all of the stories that will be told and retold, his family was central to who he was. He loved big. He laughed big. He showed up big. He built a life full of personality, loyalty, humor, and connection.

Those who loved John knew he was not a small presence in anyone’s life.

He was larger than life.

Thank you, Uncle John, for the lessons.

Thank you for the grand gestures.

Thank you for showing so many people what excellence looked like.

Thank you for loving your family, your friends, your clients, and your community in your own big, bold, unforgettable John Christiansen way.