As he watched his clients struggle, like so many lost souls, to climb out of the legal quicksand they found themselves in, to end the horrible nightmare and to break free of the vicious snare divorce court had become, Swindell assumed the role of quiet confidant. He was part philosopher, part silent witness to their misery. If he could not help them, he would try his best to understand them--or to make them feel understood. That was the least he could do. As long as he received his fee, Swindell, like a modern-day Charon, would calmly guide his clients across the deep and terrible waters of divorce, steadily rowing forward, ever forward, until they reached the far shore. Once in the shallows, he would lift his oar and allow the boat to glide forward the last few remaining feet, as the awful mists cleared and his clients found themselves staring up at the dark and foreboding Gates of Hell.