History

I don't how to describe what I just went through so I'm just going to spit out the simple facts as I recall them.

I was in Nevada for the election, as a member of Obama's volunteer lawyer corps. Our mission was to monitor individual precincts for any election law irregularities or violations, up to and including the handling of the electronic voting machines after the polls were closed. This project was the brainchild of the Democratic National Committee as a direct result of the Bush-Gore fiasco in 2000, and it was adopted wholeheartedly by Barack Obama. I'm unaware of how well-organized it was for Kerry in 2004 but the depth and level of organization in 2008 was simply awesome. A lawyer from New York and I were both assigned as partners to monitor a polling station in central Las Vegas, very close to the Strip. Once the doors were closed to voters for the night, our job was to walk through each of the 15 machines with a county employee to observe the machine counts, removal of data cartridges, sealing of the cartridges into a secured box for delivery to the state, tabulation of the numbers, and dismantling of the machines.

Before the polls closed, we had no major incidents at our station. Turn-out seemed low to me but I later learned that it was actually a healthy 70%. It probably appeared low because the precinct had so many machines in place that the lines were always short. Toward the end of the day, we encountered a few first-time Obama voters who were turned away because they were at the wrong polling station but had no transportation to their correct precincts. We made an executive decision to temporarily remove my "legal monitor" cap and put on my "get out the vote" cap by personally shuttling them around. These citizens were thrilled to the core to be participating in the process. One of them, a young African-American, marvelled at the fact that he would tell his kids one day how proud he was to have voted for Barack Obama.

One voter I shuttled was a disabled Vietnam veteran who was voting for McCain. As I helped him to my car I jokingly asked if he'd be okay sitting in a car with a huge "Obama" sign taped to the rear windshield, which of course he was. He asked me at one point, "Why are you doing this? What do you get out of it?" I told him I believe in my candidate but I also believe in the democratic process, so I was simply happy to help him exercise his rights as a citizen. This, I have to say, is what the Obama campaign trained me to do. I hope I permanently influenced that veteran's view of President-elect Obama and his supporters. I think I did.

As the day wore on, I started getting text messages from friends around the country reporting results to me. Emotions among the Nevada volunteers were already extremely high, and they got more and more charged as results started coming in. The first report I got was of Vermont, which proved to be the first state to be declared a supporter of a black presidential candidate in US history. I barely had time to revel in that moment as I scurried about, when a string of eastern and southern results came in, some for Obama. Then came Pennsylvania and New Hampshire, at which point I began writing back to friends, "It's over." On the ground, we volunteers could barely contain ourselves. Our job was to stay at our precincts to monitor the closing of the polls, and stay afterward to handle the machine shut-downs, and that was tough. As Florida, Ohio, and ultimately Colorado came in, the New York lawyer I was partnered with and I exchanged alternating looks of shock, determination not to be distracted, impatience and sheer happiness.

Once the tabulations and shut-downs were accomplished, we got in our cars to drive to the Rio casino in Las Vegas where the campaign was hosting a volunteer and staff party. As I pulled out of the precinct's parking lot, I turned on the radio and heard Senator McCain deliver his concession speech with honor and dignity, and that's when the tears of joy and disbelief began to flow for me. The Rio had a massive hall set aside for Obama staff and was filled with what I'd estimate to be two or three thousand people. A huge movie screen-sized television was broadcasting coverage of the results and media were everywhere. My timing was good, as Senator Obama was set to take the stage for his acceptance speech within a matter of minutes. People inside were hugging complete strangers, crying, high-fiving each other, congratulating each other, and the air was electric. With each mention on the screen of the simple fact of Obama's victory, a huge roar from the crowd would go out. When they showed one scene of people dancing in the streets in Kenya, the ground seemed to shake with the crowd's reaction. It was like being in a rock concert or a sports auditorium.

The moment the television showed Mr. Obama entering was something I'll remember as long as I live. It was so loud I couldn't hear myself think. When he opened his speech with those now famous first words ("If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible..."), the intensity of emotion in the room was palpable. I had given up long ago of pretending I wasn't crying, which was okay, because everyone else was too.

Eventually, I met up with other volunteers I'd befriended throughout this unforgettable day. As we roamed around the casino soaking in the atmosphere, people would see us or we would see them and just yell out the single word to each other: "Obaaaamaaaaaaaaa!" It quickly became a regular vocabulary word of everyone in the Rio. Everywhere you'd go, people would spot an Obama t-shirt, Obama pin or whatever and spontaneously burst out crying to each other, "Obama!"

For many of us including me, it was a day that started as early as 3:30 a.m. Fittingly, it wasn't until almost exactly 24 hours later that I finally decided to stop partying and make my way back to the hotel to catch some sleep. I turned to one of the young lawyers who directed the Nevada legal team effort to shake his hand and say goodbye, and I drunkenly told him, "Thank you for making history." He looked back and said, "We did it together."




Note: (Here's a local newspaper's account of what I just described).

Obama or McCain?

I was at an airport this week, about to fly to Chicago for a business trip. A black airport employee spotted my "I Early Voted" sticker, approached me and asked, "Tell me straight, man: who'd you vote for, Obama or McCain?" Stunned for a second at his bluntness, I looked back at him and said, "Obama." I thought he might not believe me because of my hesitation, but he grinned and fist-bumped me. I picked up my bags and started to walk away, and after a few steps I turned around and forcefully called out to him, "He's going to win." As he nodded and looked back at me, the expression on his face is something I'll never forget. I'm not a good enough writer or poet to describe this moment without over-dramatizing it. I just know that I had goosebumps as I walked into the terminal. I am a campaign volunteer and member of Obama's volunteer lawyer corps, and through Election Day will have worked for him in 3 different states. No moment I've experienced has impacted me the way those few seconds did. I wish I could explain why but right now I can't.

The reasons why I support Obama are the stuff of disagreements and debates and that's not the point of this post so let's set those aside for a moment. I am supporting him because I believe he is the best qualified candidate for president. But I am equally passionate about helping him achieve victory because I want to prove that the best qualified candidate can be elected president even if he happens to be black. I can't begin to imagine the emotional impact of all of this upon African-Americans. The word "historic" has been thrown around freely this campaign season. In all the excitement of this election, I don't think the magnitude of this event, if Obama wins, will sink in until well after it is over. How do you reconcile three centuries of what has happened to black Americans throughout history with November 4, 2008, the day one of them may be entrusted by the entirety of the American population to be their commander-in-chief? I have no idea. The look on that man's face gave me a glimpse into what it might look like, but I doubt even he knows what this all means. I just know that it changes everything, if it hasn't been changed already.

Analogies

What's a good analogy for the difference between being a litigator and in-house litigation counsel?

Maybe: A litigator is like a sharpshooter, poised and hidden from sight with only one specific target in sight, with orders to shoot to kill without regard to the big picture. Just point, shoot, and kill. While the in-house lit manager is like a sergeant storming the beaches of Normandy, with shells and gunfire and grenades and body parts being flung at him from every direction, where the shells and bullets and grenades and body parts are the million different nuanced legal issues he deals with on a daily basis, none of which he has time to think about for more than 0.6 seconds, any one of which could kill him.

Or maybe, as a friend pointed out, the litigator is like the grunt sent out into the trenches to do the fighting, while the in-house guy is the colonel in the field. I'm still at risk, unlike the CEO back in Washington, but I'm directing operations from where I'm at, and occasionally I may just have to grab my rifle and barge into a building or a town square.

Pitching

I got some interesting reactions to my last post. I was just being a human being, 'ya know. I just wanted to have lunch with a buddy of mine, and there I was being pitched for business. Some say I should put up with it. Whether I should or shouldn't isn't really the point. I just wanted to hang out! When did wanting to hang out with my friends become wrong?

But that aside, the comment that interests me right now is the one asking how young associates are supposed to pitch to clients. There is so much that isn't said about this aspect of being a lawyer in private practice that it boggles the mind. I've had many, lengthy conversations about it with my fellow associates over the years, some of whom are now partners. Why don't partners and law profs just tell young lawyers the truth? Why? Maybe I ought to write a book. Anyway, here's some truth for 'ya. Readers who disagree or get pissed off are especially welcome to react in the comments.

Insurance adjusters are typically college-educated and litigation-savvy non-lawyers. In-house counsel are, of course, lawyers. Adjust your marketing expectations accordingly. My boss (in-house counsel) won't even talk to you if you're less than a 5-year associate. And even then he's only talking to you because you're under the strict supervision of your senior partner. And he's only dealing with that partner because the partner's established himself as an expert in his state in the very specialized area of insurance coverage. Not to be confused with standard insurance defense work, which is the area of specialization of most insurance adjusters.

How do you pitch insurance adjusters, then? The old-fashioned way. Schmoozing. This repulsed me as an associate so I never did it and therefore had no insurance defense clients. But if you learn how insurance companies work, you can figure out how to get to the gate-keepers of business, if that kind of business is really what you want. Believe me when I say that the CEO of Acme Insurance Company of America does not really give a shit if a low-level adjuster in charge of $25,000 car accident claims is handing out policyholder defense files to a lawyer who's taking him to NFL games every weekend instead of the "best and most efficient law firm on the market". And quite frankly, why should he? Does it really matter? It's a $25,000 claim. You're going to bill the company $10,000 for it (at your shitty hourly rate of $125 an hour) and then settle it. That's exactly what "the best and most efficient law firm on the market" would do too. So who cares?

Now, are you going to work your way up from that kind of work into convincing people like Acme's Select Litigation Unit's chief counsel to send you cream of the crop, high-billing-rate bad faith defense files, coverage disputes, or commercial disputes with other insurers? No. That will probably never happen. So why aspire to it? I know partners at insurance defense firms who are now millionaires because they've been doing crappy auto policyholder defense files for 30 years. If you're a young insurance defense associate, this is your likely future in the insurance defense world. Accept it, or get out while you still can.

Back to the original thoughts about whether I'm being too hard on my friend who tried to pitch me, for a moment. In my admittedly short experience so far in-house, I've already been pitched by some of the best and the brightest marketing lawyers in the country. I've also been on the other side and watched brilliant marketing partners who I worked for do their stuff. So I speak from at least SOME experience when I say that my friend's approach was not just annoying to me, but simply not the right way to do it. There is only so much a private lawyer can do to impress a client about his legal skills. The proof is either there or it isn't: I've seen your writing skills, I've seen your legal analytical skills, and I've seen your results. Beyond that, all you've got left to market with is your personality. A lawyer who can engage me in 2 hours of conversation while switching effortlessly between the subjects of my favorite baseball team and French history because he happens to genuinely love that stuff too... is probably going to befriend me whether or not we do business together. The point I'm probably not doing a great job of making is: if you've got a good natural personality, just be natural. The rest will happen if it was meant to be. Am I wrong?

Getting Pitched

When I first landed an in-house position, there was lots of joking amongst my lawyer friends about the ass-kissing of yours truly that would soon commence. And it's true, I've seen plenty of ass-kissing, and it's kind of funny and amusing and in its own way, nice. Free meals everywhere you go is nothing to complain about.

But earlier this week I went to lunch with an old pal of mine and... he suddenly began treating me like a potential client. He asked me more than once to send work to his firm, which really annoys me because then I have to explain how 95% of our work isn't in our state anyway. If I want to send you business, I'll do it. I know who you are. If I need you, I'll call you. And besides, if I suddenly switched gears at the company and fired all our old firms and hired a bunch of new ones for no reason, I'd get on my boss's radar screen and I don't really want to do that. So quit hasslin' me, man! It's just me! Where did you, the old you, go? Come back!

He also bought me lunch. He never bought me lunch before. We've lunched together for some 7 years now and we always just split the check without another thought. Why the fuck are you buying me lunch? Are we on a date? Are you going to try and kiss me goodbye or open my car door for me? What the hell, dude? Snap out of it and stop marketin' me!

Bills

One of the most amazing aspects of moving in-house is reviewing bills from outside counsel. In some ways it's like looking at a mirror. I see myself in the young associates whose hours show up, sometimes innocently struggling to find the right phrasing or bill a fair amount for a long, tedious task. Other times, you wouldn't believe the kind of crap that jumps out from an overbilled bill. It makes me wonder how that guy down the hall at some firm I worked at got away with what was surely a bunch of fraud, day in and day out. Showing up to work for 4 hours a day but bragging to associates about billing 2200 hours a year. I look at these bills and wonder how any of this was possible? It's so easy to see!

Of course, my company uses sophisticated bill analyzing software. In mere seconds, I can look to see exactly how many hours Associate Bob spent "researching" the elements of a rescission action under Nevada law in preparation for a motion for summary judgment between December 3 and December 9, even if he's scattered his entries in a confusing jumble. It's so easy to break this stuff down that associates who pad their bills would shit their pants if they only knew. I am also a former litigator, unlike risk management or insurance adjuster types who often review bills. If you tell me it took you 55 hours to finish writing a motion for summary judgment, I only need 5 minutes to look at that motion and determine whether you're full of shit or not. I guess that's why they hired me.

Catching a Break

I had lunch with a former boss of mine the other day. A senior partner at the firm where I spent the bulk of my law firm career. I actually attempted to buy him lunch but failed miserably, as he yanked the bill from my hand and gave a very clear, unequivocal expression with his face that my paying was simply not acceptable.

I was the one who'd invited him to lunch. I hadn't seen him in a bit over a year ever since I'd left his firm for more money at another firm, but I wanted to thank him for his support of my career. And when I look back at how I've gotten to where I am, it couldn't have ever happened without the support of these key, senior lawyers along the way who simply believed in me. It started with the coverage guru who decided to put more weight on my writing sample than on my so-so law school GPA in deciding to give me my first job, at a small coverage boutique. It was he, and the two other partners I worked with there, who threw me into some very cool coverage cases where I argued motions, deposed witnesses, and wrote an appeal that was later published. Within a couple years I had more in-the-trenches experience than many associates at big firms, and a partner at one of those big firms who needed a coverage lawyer decided to take a chance on me. Within months of hiring me, my father died, and a few months later I discovered my newlywed wife had been cheating on me. Sure, the firm was compassionate in reacting directly to those events. But what would happen in the aftermath, when I was distracted, not paying enough attention to my cases, and even screwed a file up? That was the real test. The partner who first brought me in let me have it, don't misunderstand. I was "talked to" about my performance and put on notice that I needed to get my shit together or else. But I can tell you with sincerity, it was tough love. He looked me straight in the eyes and said I was too damn good as a lawyer to making my superiors wonder about me like this. He defended and protected me when I'm sure eyebrows were raised internally at the firm. And so I proceeded, and did well, until a couple years later I got recruited. I was at my new firm for a little over a year when an in-house gig popped up requiring someone with coverage expertise. The hiring lawyer at the company was a long-time friend of the senior partner at my old, larger firm. Any guess who emailed me to ask if I was interested? Any guess as to whether my qualifications for the job came up when those two went to lunch the day before my first interview?

So I am grateful. As I've written this post it occurs to me that I owe more than one person a lunch, so next week I'm going to make some phone calls and take out my old bosses from my first firm as well (they'll probably yank the bill from my hand too; I don't know at what point we young lawyers get enough respect that we're allowed to pay but I apparently haven't reached it even by going in-house). In law school I was told that networking is the key to getting ahead in this business. I am living proof of that being true, and I am not someone who worked particularly hard at networking. But I did respect and appreciate the people I worked for, I did work hard for them, and I didn't burn bridges as I moved from one opportunity to another. There's no way I could have advanced anywhere without these gentlemen simply giving me a break when I really, really needed one. So, here's to them.

The Hire/Fire Game

Yet another fascinating aspect of being in-house, for a long-time litigator like me anyway, is to see what happens behind the scenes when it comes to hiring and firing outside counsel. A law firm friend recently asked me: what really goes on when a new law firm is chosen by your company, or when another one is fired?

I'm still new on the job and still learning. But what I've observed so far is a pretty straightforward process. The firms that have been fired were dropped because they failed even the most fundamental, basic things about servicing a client. No responsiveness. Sloppy work. Low quality work. The firms that were hired were very often selected through the process of networking. For example, a senior partner at a firm plays a role in some national organization, and met my boss at a seminar where she (partner) impressed him. Or, a lawyer was opposing counsel to my boss when he was also at a firm, many years ago in a huge, complicated case. The opposing counsel made sure to keep in touch with him over the years since, on friendly terms. One day the boss became in-house counsel at a company and needed someone with that opposing counsel's specialty. Whaddya know?

They weren't kidding when they drilled it into me in law school that networking is the key to getting ahead in this profession. And while I'm sure I could do much better than I have, frankly, networking is how I got this job in the first place.

A good lawyer knows the law; a great lawyer knows the judge.

Four things I love about being in-house

I'm sure this list will build over time. This is just what comes to mind today. Feel free to add your own. If you're at a law firm, feel free to add your wish list, or point out what I should be missing about firm life.

1. Being the decider. Even a senior associate at a law firm is subject to the veto power of the partner for every minute decision about a case, and even the partner is in turn kissing the ass of the client at all times. But I am now the client. Obviously I am still not a supreme being in that I also report to a higher corporate power within my organization. But the level of deference to my judgment is high. And entire law firms are subject to my supervision and decision-making power.

2. Being presented to. This is closely related to #1. Despite some limited level of autonomy I felt as a law firm associate, there is something vastly different about having high-priced, well-prepared, smart lawyers take several hours out of their time to prepare an oral presentation in order to inform you, for the purpose of influencing you to make a particular decision. Maybe, I confess, it's an ego thing. One of the outside counsel on a matter I'm handling is a senior partner I used to work *under*. He reports to me now and I have to approve his bills. How cool is that? (Don't feel bad for him. His income is still probably mine times ten).

3. Being valued for being valuable, every day. As opposed to being valued for entering 10.5 hours into the day's billing software. It is possible, in a law firm, to have a 15 hour day where you were busy all day and accomplished a hell of a lot, and still feel shitty about it because all it really means is you billed 7.5 hours. Your sense of accomplishment on any given day is reduced merely to how many hours you billed. Little else matters. Being a great lawyer is not mandatory at any law firm I'm aware of. Billing X hours per year is mandatory at most law firms I'm aware of.

4. Variety. I never, ever, ever have to deal with a 6-hour document review session anymore. I walk into the office in the morning, and by day's end will have dealt with a hundred different issues, made a hundred different decisions, talked to a hundred different people (in 17 different states), and am seated quietly at my desk for maybe 5 minutes the whole day.

IN HOUSE!

So, like, I'm back. I probably have two readers left after having basically abandoned the blog for so long. But I can report to both of them that I am, in fact, back.

What inspired my return? I guess the fact that I have something to say about my career again. Let me start by saying simply that I've achieved the dream of many law firm associates around the country, by securing a position as in-house counsel. For this, I am blessed, and fortunate, and thankful.

The way this career turn makes me feel is interesting. I am inspired again. Which begs the question: had I lost what was once my love for this profession? I would say yes. So before I get to the very positive mood I am in today, let me vent and address all the negativity that is just waiting for a reason to gush out of me.

I was a civil litigator at private law firms for 7 years. When I started, I actually relished the thought of researching case law to analyze questions of law, and drafting motions, and battling it out with opposing counsel. Seven years of law firm life eroded that youthful enthusiasm. How and why?

I'll tell you why. Law firms as profit-making business entities are inherently sloppy, inefficient, corrupt, and demoralizing to their employees. The lessons learned through centuries by traditional corporations in our capitalistic Western society have not seeped into firm culture. And they never will in my lifetime, because law firms don't need to learn those lessons to survive. An absolutely incompetent fucktard manager of people can be an extremely successful and lucrative equity partner in a law firm. If you have no idea how to manage projects, how to delegate, how to keep the morale of those working under your supervision high, or how to run an organization of people in general, that's okay... you can still be an extremely successful and lucrative equity partner in a law firm! The key to success in private practice is strictly and exclusively: rainmaking. If you're really good at kissing people's ass cheeks, you have a great long-term future in the law firms of America. Sure, going to a good law school will get you that first job right after graduation, which is swell. But your academic pedigree, your legal acumen, your ethics... all those things fall by the way-side once you get into the 20 and 30 year range of your career. I see this very clearly, because for seven years I have been observing what were once young lawyers like me have turned into, in order to be "successful", aka, equity partners at big law firms. Don't get me wrong, some of these successful law firm partners are wonderful people. Some of them are my friends, who I respect and admire. Many others are not. But one thing they all have in common is: a large client base.

The fact that equity partners are not pressured by the marketplace to be competent in the field of management, as company executives are in other industries, is simply a function of necessity. A typical company needs to be run efficiently in order to be profitable. Not so for a law firm. The profit center of traditional companies is often the production of widgets, which in turn requires the implementation of efficient management and operations logistics principles. The profit center of a law firm, however, is the rainmaker. Thus, in a law firm of 200 lawyers, there will be perhaps 75 partners who are doing 95% of the rainmaking. Each of those 75 partners are actually independently existing profit centers who don't depend on the cooperation of the others to continue. Those 75 profit centers can implement whatever the hell kind of management principles they want; or they can implement no management principles at all. It doesn't matter! If Partner Joe Smith is bringing in $10 million a year in business (let's say in litigation, products liability defense), he will be sending those files to his minions/associates for them to work up for him. He can be an abusive asshole to his minions, have them bill the crap out of the files, settle the cases or eventually go to trial, kiss the client's ass the entire time, and then move on to the next case. This cycle can easily continue throughout his entire 40 to 50 or more year career. The firm has no economic incentive to improve his management skills or, God forbid, get rid of him because of his poor management skills.

Now, having said all that, does this mean that every law firm and every partner functions in this terrible manner? No, of course not. But many do, because the good managers are not rewarded with higher profits than the bad managers the way they are in other industries. I have seen with my own eyes law firms that churn associates like butter. They graduate law school, join a firm, bill 2300 hours a year to please their demanding partners, get sick of it after 4-5 years, and quit. And what does the demanding partner do? Nothing, really, except to replace the burned out associate with another one and move on. No big deal. The clients keep feeding him with files so why should he care?

My final rant (for today) on law firms is with the core, fundamental concept within their business model that guarantees they will always be corrupt entities: the billable hour. My law firms and the partners who were my bosses have failed, after seven years, to convince me that the law of economics somehow does not apply to billable hours. Human beings act first and foremost according to economic incentives. The billable hour creates an economic incentive for the firm to be inefficient in handling a client's case. It creates an economic incentive for an associate to pad his bills and even commit fraud, in order to meet the firm's billable hour quota.

I am now entering the world of business management, as an in-house lawyer who will be making direct decisions about law firms that will be reporting to me. And in that capacity, ladies and gentlemen, let me very clearly say this: I believe the billable hour is evil, and corrupt. I will have to deal with it because I know the firms I will be managing choose to adopt it as part of their business model. But I'm very familiar with that model and how it works, and it stinks like hell. I've put a lot of thought into this. I've done some very deep reading about it in addition to discussing it with both litigator and in-house friends and colleagues of mine. And now I'm coming to a town near you, with my eyebrows raised and my red pen ready to carve up your probably inflated invoice.

A more up-lifting post next time, I promise.

Beginning of the end

It's been 3 months since my last post. I could be wrong but I think that's the longest I've ever gone. I've run this blog for 3 years now, and these three years have been among the most significant of my life. The blog has witnessed the death of my father, the end of a brief marriage, and several other key events both good and bad that will live with me forever. So I have a sentimental attachment to this "project", for lack of a better word.

I've thought about ending the blog altogether for a while. I still haven't decided to, but I'm thinking about it. Three months without feeling the motivation to post an update is important.

In the last month or so, I took a trip to South America with my mom. Again, didn't feel a desire to write about it here. That means something, right?

Here's what did finally motivate me to post something today:

I'm traveling to Mississippi in November or December. Over just the past 2 years I've traveled to Montreal, Paris, Berlin, Buenos Aires, India, Fiji, and New Zealand. In the meantime I've read now and then accounts of how things are progressing in the Gulf Coast region of our own nation post-Katrina. But an NPR segment I heard a few weeks ago shocked me beyond description. People are still in FEMA trailer camps, stranded with nowhere to go and no hope left. The reporter found at least two people just by strolling through one camp, both single parents, who openly admitted they thought about committing suicide every single day. One of them came very close to doing it a few times.

How can I bear to spend my money and resources and free time on vacations, when this country has given me so much and I've yet to give much back? I'm not taking any trips abroad again, for a long time. My next one will be to Pass Christian, Mississippi where I will spend between 10 to 14 days helping people move out of FEMA camps and back into their communities.

To be honest it's not so much guilt for taking vacations abroad that inspired this particular adventure of mine. It's more anger, and an anger that has in fact been welled up inside me for a while. Anger that a government has failed its essential purposes to protect human life and rebuild what has been destroyed. There's nothing more for me to do as long as this fury resides in me short of driving the fuck out there and doing what our government should be doing instead: hammering nails, cleaning up debris, getting the paperwork done, and moving people back into their homes. Voting, writing letters to the editor, writing blog posts, and venting my feelings to friends at brunches doesn't seem to be very effective.

If any of my old readers is still checking this blog and comes across this post, I implore you to check out this website and join me in Mississippi during your next available time off, if at all possible. Feel free to email me with questions.

Skeletor

A few years ago my firm handed me a pro bono plaintiff's case against an insurance company. Our indigent client's car was dinged by the company's insured, but the company didn't want to pay her $1200 bill. It was instead offering $400 on some cockamamie legal analysis of the fender bender incident that had led to her car getting dinged. I wrote about this case in a series of dorky posts in my blog, naming the insurance company's attorney "Skeletor."

For reasons unknown to me to this day, Skeletor refused to settle and forced us to go all the way to trial. My partners encouraged me to go to trial not only to find justice for the client but also to get my feet wet with some real trial experience. As an insurance defense lawyer myself at the time, I knew how much it likely cost the insurer to fight the case. The final bill probably came to about $25,000. After a one-day trial the jury rendered a verdict in my client's favor, awarding $1200 in damages. My client--an elderly eastern European lady who spoke almost no English--was thrilled and gave me a bear hug when the verdict was announced.

Personally, I would be embarassed to be Skeletor. Neither me nor anyone else at my insurance defense firm understood why an attorney would advise an insurer to take such a claim all the way to trial. Not only did the economics make no sense, but the liability analysis made no sense either.

A few years later I saw Skeletor in the lobby of my firm's building. I was about to walk over and say hello to him but he pretended he hadn't seen me and quickly walked into an elevator. I guess I could understand why he'd do that. But a few months ago, Skeletor had no choice but to work with me again, this time on a case where we both represented co-defendants. Funny thing, he still managed to avoid contacting me for a long time. Each time he had to call our law firm to discuss an issue, he called one of my two senior partners on the case instead of me even though it was pretty obvious that I was doing the brunt of the work and would be the appropriate contact person.

He finally had no choice but to call me some time last week. He made no mention of the little "history" he and I shared from a few years ago. No friendly banter. He just called to explain what he needed, we discussed it, and then he hung up.

The mystery of why he did what he did remains a mystery.

Passing the Bar

Reading all the comments on my bar failure post reminds me of the sweet moment I learned I passed the bar. I was at work in a firm as a law clerk at the time. One of my best friends from law school also happened to be my next door neighbor, and he used his cellphone to call me around 1 p.m., to excitedly tell me that he was standing next to his mailbox holding an envelope from the state bar. Should he open my mailbox and take mine out as well? I told him yes, but not to open it because I'd rather come home after work and open it myself. As he opened his envelope and learned he passed, I held on to my position for all of about 10 seconds. "Open it!" I told him. A brief silence. Then, he deadpanned, "You passed." I hit the roof.

This friend and I had always had a friendly rivalry going in law school, and it turned out that his final bar exam score beat mine by one measly point. We called up the other two members of our motley crew that had studied for the bar together. One barely passed by a few points, and the other's score was so high I'm sure he was close to having the highest score in the state. But we had all survived and nothing else mattered. That day I remember very well. What I have no memory of is later that night when we celebrated.

For the lawyers reading this, do you remember the moment you learned you passed the bar?

The Pushy Paralegal

For a few months now, I've been figuring out how to handle a particular paralegal who doesn't seem to grasp her appropriate role within our firm. On a personal level I get along with her quite nicely and she has a good personality. She does a good job on the tasks assigned to her. The problem is her habit of sending out emails to associates like me that are essentially the same kind of emails a control freak partner would send. I can't stand that kind of micromanaging by a partner, which I thankfully don't deal with at my firm. I'm bewildered at how to react to it from a paralegal.

"UCL, you said a notice of settlement would be filed in the Smith v. Doe case. What is the status of this?"

"UCL, just a reminder that your reply brief in Johnson v. Acme is due 5 days from today."

That kind of thing. And these emails are sent to everyone on the case: me, my secretary, and the senior partner who's overseeing everything. My usual response has been to avoid confrontation, and provide short, one word answers to all of her questions.

Today she pushed the envelope even further. She actually sent me, secretary, and senior partner a "deadline" through an Outlook appointment request by which time she expected I would complete a certain, rather trivial task. I was stunned when I saw this. For those who don't know, these kind of requests have to be either "accepted" or "rejected", and the response is automatically sent back to the sender so they know of your decision. In a sense, her pushiness was coming to a head and I was being forced to take a stand on it.

I looked at her request for about 2 minutes while trying to decide what to do. I ultimately figured out that there is in fact a 3rd, possibly neutral option other than just accept or reject: delete! As far as I could tell, if I deleted her request it would not send an automatic message to her about anything, although she would obviously understand at some point that I had essentially ignored her request. And so, this is the option I chose. The request was deleted, no irritating deadline was put on my electronic calendar, and she was signaled in a subtle way that I found her request to be of no interest or use to me.

I'd say my non-confrontation strategy is probably the best to use for now, because her behavior hasn't gotten to a level that interferes with my work or affects me in a serious way. Mainly it's an occasional irritation that lasts for a few seconds, once every 2 weeks or so.

Or maybe I'm just rationalizing.