It was 1980 and I had recently concluded a representation of legendary filmmaker Dino De Laurentiis. The telephone rang in my K Street office in Washington, D.C.

It was De Laurentiis calling from London. “Richard, I’m shooting a picture in London and need your help right away,” he said in his heavily Italian accented English. “Uh, oh,” I thought. “What do I know about British criminal law?”