Sometimes, no matter how busy we keep ourselves, or how determined we are to remain young, the feeling that a surprisingly large number of years have disappeared becomes unavoidable.
Last night I visited a local watering hole and eatery with an old acquaintance, an old client and a new wife. I showed them the high wooden-walled booth I was sitting in which inspired a column I wrote over 25 years ago, titled Whores of the Knight.
That column, recalling a partly imaginary conversation that took place with a senior lawyer and an associate in the adjoining booth, queried whether lawyers were figuratively descendents from the knights of old, exhibiting high ethical standards and jousting on the royal battlefield of the courts for the rights of their clients, or were no different than whores providing a sought after result for a negotiated fee.
The column mused over the Irish pub atmosphere and the no nonsense, and not particularly friendly, waitresses. Last night there were different waitresses, although I’m not sure about one of them. The attitudes were the same.
As soon as I walked in, I saw a lone lawyer eating dinner and downing a dark beer. Doug very narrowly beat me in an election to become President of the State Bar a few years ago. I joked that once again he couldn’t find anybody to eat with, and then sat down for a while. We talked about law practice issues. Although everybody likes to win, losing a Bar election didn’t make me feel particularly bad because those doing Bar work are, almost without exception, well-meaning people that are doing something good for the legal profession and its clients.
In the middle of dinner, another lawyer showed up. This one had a wife – at least I took her to be his wife. Lloyd was a bankruptcy lawyer in a firm for which I clerked after my second year of law school.
He’s now in the largest firm in town. I don’t have much of a relationship with him, but I know if I asked him for a favor, he would do it. There is a certain camaraderie that exists among lawyers, particularly those who practiced law together, worked together on a case, or even on opposite sides of a case.
John, the old client that was part of my dinner group, is a former high school classmate. I hadn’t seen the old acquaintance, Roland Van Comfort, for a long time. John and I met Roland at a job site the summer after he graduated from high school, which was the summer after our first year in college.
Despite Roland’s Hollywood, or even regal sounding name, the job was selling encyclopedias. We would report downtown at 2 p.m. and the “team leader”, who looked strangely like Fonzie from “Happy Days,” would drive us into a poor area of town – or in some cases, into a poor area of a different town – and turn us loose just before dinner.
John complained Fonzie always dropped him off in a trailer park. Our job was to find homes that had both husband and wives present, and to convince them they were failing their children unless they were immediately prepared to commit to purchasing a set of encyclopedias – yearly supplements extra. Part of our training included getting signatures on the dotted line while using our forearm to shield the ultimate purchase price.
We would work the streets for about four hours, and then the Fonze character would pick us up as it was getting dark. I, like most other lawyers, and most other people, worked at a number of strange and unpleasant jobs along the way. This was not one of the good ones.
Even selling women’s shoes was better. Lots of doors were slammed in my face and I remember one particular time when the man of the house came to the door with a beer in his hand, wearing a ribbed “wife-beater” undershirt, and before I could say a word, turned around and yelled “Alice, it’s another sh-thead salesman.” In retrospect, the job may have actually been preparations for courting clients and appearing in court.
It was fun reliving the “old days” with Roland and John. John ended up dating the encyclopedia company receptionist and Roland set me up with the girl he deemed “the prettiest and most popular in his high school class.”
She was everything a 19-year-old guy could want for a summer romance. It actually worked out pretty well for me. We dated for almost two years. Unfortunately, she won’t talk to me now.
I didn’t mind the reminiscing and I think my wife Cheryl was entertained by stories from the past. We ate rare roast beef sandwiches, drank beer and eventually it was time to go. As I walked to the door, I couldn’t help but remember the question I’d asked about lawyers in O’Connell’s Pub, when I myself was a new lawyer.
I thought about the clients, the cases I’ve tried, the lessons learned – some the hard way – and the hundreds of columns I’ve written since leaving that pub over a quarter century ago. In retrospect, after all that time, whether we are whores or knights, is still a question for the jury.
You may review the original “Whores Of The Knight” at www.levisongroup.com.
©2011 Under Analysis LLC Mark Levison is a member of the law firm Lathrop & Gage LLP. You can also reach Under Analysis LLC in care of this paper or by e-mail at comments@levisongroup.com.