Vioxx trial turning city of 12,000 into media ground zero

Business suits, BlackBerries and laptops seem to have taken over this town.
As the nation’s fourth Vioxx lawsuit began this week in Rio Grande City, dozens of lawyers, reporters, analysts and expert witnesses descended on this city of about 12,000.
They came for an up-close view of a high-profile, high-stakes lawsuit in which the family of a local man who died while taking the arthritis drug is suing pharmaceutical giant Merck — for $1 billion in punitive damages.
The lawsuit has attracted national attention for a host of reasons, among them the Rio Grande Valley’s reputation for generous civil awards and predictions that the case could prove pivotal for future Vioxx suits. Merck so far has lost one suit, won one, and one was declared a mistrial.
But locals have mixed feelings about having the spotlight on Rio Grande City, and about the outsiders who are shining that spotlight.
"It’s good for the economy, but it’s a short-term economic impact. Whether it brings notoriety to Rio Grande City, well, we’ll see," said Mauro Villarreal, head of the city’s economic development corporation.
Villarreal worried a big award to the plaintiffs could contribute to perceptions of the area as overly friendly toward plaintiffs. In December, the American Tort Reform Association, a national group that advocates curbing awards in civil suits,named the Valley and the Texas Gulf Coast the country’s top "judicial hellhole" for 2005.
Local businesspeople said they welcomed the extra clientele. Still, they dodged questions about potential downsides to the influx of outsiders, many of whom operate at a faster pace than the middle-age and elderly tourists who usually populate the city’s hotels and restaurants at this time of year.
"They’re not Winter Texans. I can tell they’re here on business," said Elizabeth Garza, a front desk clerk at the city’s Best Western Garden Inn.
Twenty people associated with the lawsuit have booked rooms at the inn, Garza said with a little smile, but to protect their privacy, she would not reveal identities. The inn is much fuller than usual for this time of year, she said.
La Borde House, a turn-of-the-century mansion and hotel that is one of the city’s most popular tourist attractions, also is booked. Plaintiffs’ lawyers and support staffers have rented out the downtown hotel for the week, according to Historical Commission employees who oversee the hotel’s operations.
"For us it’s just business," said administrative assistant Nadia Elizondo. "I don’t see any downsides. People are coming here."
On Tuesday morning, the plaintiffs’ legal team had set up shop in the hotel’s normally empty parlor, pushing antique furniture against the walls to make room for a long folding conference table covered with boxes of files. Security evidently was tight: A woman typing on a laptop referred visitors to the Historical Commission, explaining, "Nobody’s allowed in here." A sign on the hotel door said, "Dear visitors, we are currently at full occupancy and cannot allow viewing of the hotel."
At the Starr County Courthouse, the visitor parking lot, mostly empty on an average day, was full. Cars lined both sides of the street leading to the building.
Lawyers on cell phones paced around the building and a woman working on a laptop sat on the front steps of the courthouse. Television camera operators camped out, waiting for the court to recess.
A few feet away, the courthouse’s groundskeeper, 71-year-old Ramiro Diaz, surveyed the scene.
A former migrant laborer who most days can be seen in his standard jeans, western hat and boots, he seemed unperturbed, merely assuming his usual posture and waving to passing acquaintances.