It’s an understatement to say that law firms have changed in the 50 years since I was first admitted to the bar. One of those changes was the demise, somewhere along the way, of what lawyers in my firm once called the Lemcke test.
Appellate oral arguments are exciting, exhilarating and challenging. I’ve been presenting oral arguments since I was sworn into the bar; after 20 years in practice (first as a public defender and then as a law school clinic director), my arguments tally has almost reached the triple digits. It’s possible that my clinic, the Habeas Project at the Mercer University School of Law, holds the record in the Supreme Court of Georgia for the most cases heard in one day—three in a row on Cinco de Mayo in 2009.
Recently, I had an immigration case, where my client was tardy on every deadline and patently refused to do anything beyond the bare minimum to aid their cause. I was emotionally drained by the case but buoyed by the positive result at the end. I must admit I couldn’t fight the impulse to remind the client that they had stood in the way of their own success.
The defense attorney-client relationship is like no other. It’s a tie that binds two very different people caught up in a high stakes battle—over money, custody, liability, freedom—even life. A client tells defense counsel sacred secrets carried to the grave.
If there’s one thing the pandemic taught us, it’s our need for nimble adaptation. Law has historically been slow to adapt to change and innovation. But the arrival of COVID-19 changed the way we conduct business, from navigating Zoom hearings and using VPNs to juggling child care and homeschooling for those with young children. Even turning off video filters proved challenging, as illustrated by the kitty cat lawyer Zoom hearing on YouTube.
A great deal of practicing law is persuading someone to believe, act or agree with your client’s position, whether it is in a courtroom, a boardroom, a negotiation or at a dinner table. We seek to persuade juries, judges, colleagues, friends, family or the press that we are right and that others are not. Unfortunately, the art of persuasion is not taught in all law schools.
Lawyers are busy. We have intense jobs, and the stressors are endless. Emotional clients ask us to work magic, we’re continuously in adversarial positions and our days require flawless focus. The cycle of work, bill, prepare and work more, can be vicious.
I spent nearly 10 years at a world-class international law firm that had disproportionately more men than women at the partnership level. And while the number of women who entered the firm was the same as men, the number of women who left was greater.
At my law school 50th reunion earlier this year—by Zoom, of course—several of us with careers in large law firms compared notes. We spent the expected amount of time reflecting on how much law practice has changed over the past half century.
The trendy catch phrase these days is “self-love.” When I first learned about “self-love,” I mistakenly believed this meant pampering myself. Massages, candles, scented baths, vacations and other pleasantries were indulgences that, as a busy trial attorney, I did not have time for. Loving myself might include indulging in earthly delights, but it goes much deeper than superficial rewards.
The ABA Journal wants to host and facilitate conversations among lawyers about their profession. We are now accepting thoughtful, non-promotional articles and commentary by unpaid contributors.
