I started working in a law office when I was a senior in high school in 1971. I started working for my late brother Dennis, doing land titles to put together a coal field.[1] And ever since then, I’ve gone week in and week out to law offices, some belonging to others and some to me. So to say that it’s been a tough week might be true to me, but I’m sure to get a you-got-to-be-shittin’-me response. Ok, let’s say that it was an interesting week and I’ll leave it at that. 55 years and counting, I’ll accept that.
I did have a little fun this week, by doing a continuing legal
education “lecture” to a county bar association. Hey, I’m allowed to call it fun even though
you might find the topic (“Tell-The-Whole-Truth Negotiation” – aka the “No-Shit
Technique”) to be just a tad obscure.
(Actually, I’ve used that technique to good effect for many years in
civil cases – i.e., where money is the issue – as well as in several murder
cases.)[2]
I do CLE lectures occasionally, and I love to do them. Good lawyers are always learning their craft
and it’s always a kick to be a part of that process. For about the last 10 minutes of every
lecture I do, I philosophize, encourage, do the rah-rah thing and share my
genuine love for the practice. I copy
that from Prof. Jack Bowman, who I first saw do it 30 or so years ago. (Jack is a hell of a nice guy and has written
some engaging fiction available on Amazon.)
I have always told Jack that I copy him, that I will never give him
credit, so the hell with him. He
chuckles every time.
I did get an unexpected comment/compliment from a lawyer who
years ago I’d match blades with in some harmless and funny (well, harmless and
funny to he and I) (him and I?)(Us’n?) but not so much to our clients. He told me that I had developed since he last
saw me about 20 years ago a nice, soft story-telling voice. That was good to hear. See, I know my voice has changed. It was due to a stroke and I have been continuously
annoyed by what I counted as a speech impediment. See, I never thought to see the positive. Ok, sometimes I’m a bit of a dummy, as my
first partner used to tell me every time she got annoyed with me.
That last 10 minutes this week, I felt like I was “on,” and
that I needed to remember what I said and how I said it. It odd how we just intend to write stuff down
and never seem to get around to it. Between
the invention of writing one copy at a time, the invention of Gutenberg’s
printing press (“Gutenberg!! We hate
your type!!)(I had to say that or else I would have strangled and died in
searing agony – that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it) and up until the dawn
of the Internet, we had to put up with editor’s, printers, and very limited
distribution, but after the Internet, we just didn’t seem to get around to
it. Heck, you call ME a dummy.
So here I am, propped up in bed, with endless Diet Cokes at
my fingertips, trying to put myself back into that room and remember what I
said.
Pardon me a moment. I
have to put myself in the mood. From
your perspective, it’d look like something between a séance and a healthy
belch, but to me, it’s getting into the philosophical place.
When did our profession start? It wasn’t with the American Constitution,
that’s for sure. Some say it started
with the English Common Law as the many lawgivers started deciding cases by the
same propositions of law. Lots of
lawyers think it started in 1215, when King John was forced by Stephen Langton
to sign Magna Carta. Others say it was
when Lord Edward Coke was writing or Chancellor Kent. I think it was earlier than that. Maybe the first true lawyer was The
Venerable Bede, a seventh century English monk.
Some few of you appear to be in your late 20’s or early 30’s. Just wait.
It’ll seem like tomorrow, you’ll be a 50 year lawyer. You’re just gonna
have to trust me on that one.
You may remember meeting me.
Oh, maybe not by name or by appearance, but you will know that you met
someone like me in your travels.
Because you knew me, you are connected to the lawyers I knew
in my own youth. Through me, you know
the two longest serving judges in the state, Judge Fred Fox and Judge J. Harper
Meredith. They both held Court right
across the hall. You know the first
woman judge in the State, the incomparable Judge Callie Tsapis. I had the honor to appear in front of her in
her last year in office. Through me, you
know how much of a delight Judge Tsapis was in law school, because through me,
you’ve heard Woody Potesta telling stories about her. Through Woody, you know Senator Neely and
Louis Schoolnic. Through Louis, you know
the John W. Mason and through the young Judge Mason, before he became Judge,
you know Francis Harrison Pierpont. Look
through this wall and go back 160 years, and you can see a house on fire 2
blocks up the street, where Confederate raiders set fire to Governor Pierpont’s
magnificent library because he undid the Virginia Secession Ordinance. Through Governor Pierpont, you’ve met a seedy
Illinois lawyer who had a simple signature, just “A. Lincoln.” You’ve met Judge Chitty who explained
patiently the vagaries of common law pleading.
And you know that we continued to use common law pleading until the
Rules changed in 1960. And you know
Coke, Kent, the justiciars, the reeves, and everybody going back to Old Bede.
If you put yourself wherever the Venerable Bede hung out,
you’ll recognize what he’s doing. He’s
doing the same thing that you do.
He’s giving voice to the voiceless.
He’s telling hard truth to people who think they’re
powerful.
Oh, not like the modern version where ever nodding head
thinks they’ve come up with something new and clever. He’s telling the would-be powerful people in
a clean and clear voice, and not giving a damn whether they like it or not.
He’d doing what you do every time you come to the
office, every time you go to Court. Voice to the voiceless. Truth to power.
And just like you, Old Bede had secret doubts. He has secret fears, he knows that if he
misses a statute, it’s on him, if he misses a briefing schedule, it’s on him, if
he misses a critical fact, it’s on him and it’s too damn late to fix it. He wakes up at 3 AM, counts the holes in the
ceiling tiles, and goes over his argument again. He endures the isolation, the truly
existential aloneness that you all experience.
And Old Bede knows it’s worth it.
That’s why we do what we do.
And why you can be proud of being a lawyer.
God bless all here.
Mizpah! R
[1] A
mine did open about 10 years after that, it was mined out, and then was closed
and sealed. I don’t know how much coal
was removed, other than it had to be a bunch.
It was “low coal,” about a 36-inch seam, so some properties were
undermined (that means lack of subjacent support – in other words, the land
collapses unevenly and can damage or destroy buildings), but not so much as
with the 9-foot Pittsburgh vein of coal.
[2]
Ah, the memories. My son Tim used to
love to come to my murders. Doesn’t
every normal child?
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