Inside Veterans Memorial Auditorium, 1,300 recent law-school graduates are enduring perhaps the three most stressful and important days of their professional lives as they take the Ohio bar exam.
Outside, on Wednesday morning, three massage chairs were being assembled and enough sandwiches to feed a courthouse full of lawyers were unloaded from vans and catering trucks. Beneath one of the tents dotting the parking lot, a wide-eyed puppy waited to comfort the frazzled.
Welcome to the event that one test-taker joked is "the worst tailgate party ever."
In what has become an increasingly elaborate tradition, staffers from the state's law schools pitch the tents in the parking lot outside the auditorium where the bar exam is held. They feed, comfort and cheer on bleary and nervous test-takers.
The Cleveland-Marshall College of Law at Cleveland State University started the trend about five years ago with a small tent under which coffee and Tums were dispensed, accompanied by a smile from a familiar face.
This year, all but one of the state's nine law schools, plus the University of Northern Kentucky, had some kind of presence at the test.
Alumni groups from the schools typically supply the box lunches, fruit, drinks, chips and cookies. The offerings were eagerly sought out by test-takers who poured out the doors of the auditorium after three hours spent answering 100 multiple-choice questions on Wednesday morning. They had an hour off before returning for three hours and 100 more questions.
Last year, observers in the parking lot couldn't help feeling that the stakes had been upped when Ohio State University's law school showed up with massage chairs. The chairs were back this year, and Buckeye shoulders were being kneaded nonstop by three masseuses during the lunch break. |
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Capital University had a pooch on hand last year for students to dote on, and this year Bella, a rescue dog from a Cleveland animal shelter, was there as a guest of Case Western Reserve University's law school
She was a crowd-pleaser, gazing especially lovingly at those holding turkey sandwiches.
Law graduates descend on Columbus every February and July to take the bar exam.
Kelly Johnson of North Royalton, who graduated in the spring from CWRU's law school, told her parents a week ago that she wouldn't be talking to them until after the test.
She passed up the subs from Jimmy John's being offered under the CWRU tent because she has eaten only peanut-butter sandwiches for days, fearing an upset stomach. But she appreciated the university's effort.
"At this point it's really not about luck because I've been preparing all summer," Johnson said. "But it's nice that they've thought of everything. You never know what little thing could push you over the edge."
Ear plugs are popular under the tents. As is aspirin.
"I always say, you never know what your little tic is going to be," said Cori Tarzwell, who works in the alumni relations office at OSU's law school, as she rifled through a box stuffed with such things such as stain remover, bandages and a sewing kit.
CWRU staffers went to a drugstore to buy replacement reading glasses for a student who forgot hers. And throughout the tents, there was a camaraderie built on understanding how hard the test is and how long students have been preparing.
Sean Martin, a recent graduate of Ohio Northern University's law school, appreciated having a place to huddle with people he knew.
"I'm not worrying," he said as he prepared to head back in. "It won't do me any good to worry, and if anything, it will only make things worse."
From Rominger Legal & Cleveland Plain Dealer Reporter.
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The practice of law is often tedious -- research, discovery, motion practice, etc. However, it is rarely boring, and is usually meaningful.
The reason is that the lawyer's work typically involves a client whose problem, concerns, etc. are significant enough to warrant the time and potential expense of seeking an attorney's help. The client wants something. The lawyer's job is to assist in achieving that objective as ably and efficiently (cheaply!) as possible.
That client is (or should be) in the lawyer's mind's eye, motivating her effort to achieve the desired result. When reading a case, the lawyer's thought is, "What does this case offer in terms of benefit or detriment to my case?" Excitement over finding a favorable precedent is palpable. Even when the client is a large, impersonal (but well-paying) corporation, the lawyer interfaces with a person, usually a vice president charged with assisting in the litigation, M & A negotiations, etc. There is a desire to help that person.
There is also the not inconsiderable motivation of besting the adversary. That adversary, usually in the person of an opposing attorney or law firm, sometimes a regulatory body, government agency, corporation, etc., is also in the lawyer's mind's eye, spurring the effort. The lawyer is motivated to leave no stone uncovered, because she wants to win. She doesn't want to lose!
Not so law school, and not so the law student, certainly not in first year, especially first term. Law school is typically boring for most, and for very few does it seem meaningful beyond being a necessary (and expensive) passage to the legal profession.
This past summer I was again invited to instruct a group of students heading for top law schools in my law exam writing and preparation system. It is a good deal for the students (free!), and it gave me a chance to revisit the hustle bustle of New York City. (Exciting for a day or two.)
In order to better impress upon this group of hotshot prelaws that what had brought them success in college wouldn't necessarily bring them success in law school, the organizer of the program, a partner in a major NYC law firm, gave the group a one-hour, essay-type exam the night before my program commenced.
The subject was adverse possession in property law. Students were assigned four cases to brief, and a lengthy article to read in preparation for a class lecture. Then they took the exam. In order to better relate to their experience, I undertook to read the article and read and brief the cases.
Wow! It's been a while since I read cases other than from the perspective of researching a problem relating to an existing legal matter. It struck me that as an academic, elective exercise, reading cases is boring, boring, boring!
Not that I wasn't mildly interested in sharpening my recollection of the principle and nuances of adverse possession. Moreover, as disputes almost always tend to be interesting, the circumstances of the several controversies was somewhat diverting.
For example, the neighbor landowner of an Indiana farmer had discovered an underground cave on his property, the vast expanse of which, unbeknownst to the parties for many years, partially extended beneath the adjoining farmer's property. The issue was whether commercial exploitation of the cave for many years entitled the owner to the portion extending under the neighbor's property by virtue of adverse possession. (No. The adverse possession must be reasonably discoverable.)
However, the attendant discussion of applicable case precedents, the painstaking distinguishing of certain of same, the dissenting and concurring opinions, ... Well, the going began to get tiresome. No doubt but that this would be doubly the case for students unaccustomed to sifting through the sharp, often contradictory twists and turns of a typical judicial opinion.
As for the lengthy article, the apparent gist was that judges in actual court cases were not subscribing to the view of scholars, the Restatement of Property Law, and other learned and thoughtful authorities respecting how the law of adverse possession should be applied. ... Let's just say that the professor who authored the scholarly piece (from Washington University School of Law in St. Louis) lost me on page two or three. Discussion of remaindermen, owners of fee simple titles versus others, etc. literally begn to put me to sleep. (And I at least knew what a "remainderman" was. [I think!])
Fortunately, as a lawyer accustomed to skimming cases for the meat, and following my own 2-4 line prescription for briefing cases, I didn't spend nearly so much time briefing the cases as the prelaws doubtless did. Respecting the assignment given the students, I understood that I wanted to locate relevant law, understand how it was applied in the case, and be prepared to apply it to a new situation, such as might be discovered in an exam fact scenario.
What aided this effort was that, unlike a casebook, these cases, photocopied from West Reporter volumes, presented the legal precepts contained therein front and center in "headnotes."
Of course I ignored the procedural aspects of the cases. I.e., how the case came to its current posture. (Who cares?) The issue, holding, and rationale registered in my head as a byproduct of understanding how and why the law was applied. Given such understanding, my synopsis of the facts of each case was no more than ten words or so. If called on in a law school class, I would be ready to go. I certainly would not be embarrassed.
But I thought about the effect on a non lawyer -- a prelaw, a law student -- of reading hundreds of such cases in the several required first term law school courses. Moreover, what would be the effect of reading cases without the spur of having a client in mind on whose behalf you were reading them, and, moreover, without understanding the requirements of the exercise -- all-important final exam -- that reading the cases is leading up to?
I thought about focusing on a case in terms of the requirements of the conventional law school brief, unchanged since I began law school forty years ago -- procedure, facts, issue(s), rule(s), holding, rationale. How interesting could this be for a non lawyer? How interesting could this be once a student gets beyond the initial excitement of meeting classmates and reading/briefing the first law cases?
The answer has to be, as it was for me as a law school newbie, not very interesting! And I went to Yale Law School, supposedly the different type of law school, the holy grail of law schools, numero uno, where you can take half your courses outside the law school, even in the forestry and divinity schools, as some of my classmates did.
The problem is that students go to law school to become lawyers. (Duh-h!) Then they settle into a daily diet of reading and briefing cases in the required first year courses -- torts, contracts, civil procedure, property, criminal law, etc. There is no visitation of courthouses to see lawyers in action. (Field trip!) There are no exercises in drafting a complaint or a contract, although there is typically a first term library research exercise that culminates in a memo. (Students devote feverish energy to this exercise.)
There are no mock interviews with potential clients, during which such practical matters as billing and establishing escrow accounts might be explored. There isn't even a discussion of what lawyers actually do. (They assist clients in achieving goals, employing legal and procedural strategies disctated by the facts, their knowledge and experience, their creaticity.) Indeed, in most law school classes one rarely if ever hears the words "lawyer" or "attorney!"
There is little in first term to provide a sense of transitioning from student and academic to legal professional. There is just extensive reading, discussing, and taking of class notes. Nothing so different from what students engaged in college, graduate school, or whatever was their last academic pursuit. Except that the subject matter of the reading is more tedious and confusing -- boring!
The only thing that suggests to a law student that he or she is on the road to becoming an attorney is that she is in a law school, and she is reading and discussing cases involving legal goings on.
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This lock step pattern in first term is the same in every one of the 200+ American law schools. Even at Northeastern School of Law, where working internships are a large part of the curriculum, students start off reading and briefing cases in the required first year subjects.
Not until second term does a law student have an opportunity to feel like a lawyer. Many law schools require students in second term to write an appellate (appeals) brief and argue before a judicial panel. For the first time a law student puts on a suit and feels in some sense "I'm a lawyer!"
However, apart from this single activity in second term, everything in law school that requires donning a suit and performing in some semblance as a lawyer is elective, an extracurricular activity!
Moot court (appellate advocacy) and mock trial competition in second year? -- elective! Not part of the official law school curriculum. Prisoner's legal rights clinic, domestic violence workshops? -- elective!
Moreover, the organizers and advisors for such activities are rarely law professors. They are upperclass students in the instance of moot court (with a professor advisor somewhere in the wings), and adjunct hires assisting the upperclass student organizers in the instance of mock trial competitions -- typically local trial attorneys.
Not that some law professors do not take it upon themselves to involve law students in worthy legal activities. Kudos, for example, to professor Barry Scheck of the Benjamin N. Cardozo School of Law, Yeshiva University in New York City (along with lawyer Peter Neufeld) for initiating the highly successful and influential DNA prisoner innocence project. According to their website, over 240 prisoners have been exonerated and released owing to the efforts of this project.
However, apart from the appellate brief and argument exercise in second term, there is little beyond reading and discussing cases (and watching 2 and 3Ls go to job interviews in their suits) to suggest to a first year law student that she is in any fashion becoming a lawyer. If a "1L" is fortunate enough to secure a legal job during the summer following first year, that will be the first time he or she really begins to feel like a lawyer.
Students come to law school as, essentially, academics, and there is little in the typical first year law school curriculum to move them away from that theoretical, book-centered perspective.
Well, let me note an exception. For near thirty years I have traversed the nation instructing over 100,000 law students from all of the over 200 American law schools, and here is the only exception to the foregoing that comes to mind.
Each fall at Washington University School of Law in St. Louis ("WU Law") a "negotiations" competition open to members of the first year class is held in early October. I'm not sure what all is entailed. I just know that this competition is elective, it involves one of the lawyering arts, it takes place on a weekend (often interfering with my one day program), participants wear suits and look like lawyers, and it is eagerly anticipated and observed by first year classmates who are not competing.
Apart from this single event, to my (extensive) knowledge 1Ls throughout the land are just busily engaged reading and briefing cases, and are soon bored. Because compared to literature, history, poli sci, sociology, but perhaps not economics, math, and science (unless you are an econ, math, or science jock), reading law cases is heavy mental lifting indeed. The only motivation after the first two weeks is that you are supposed to do it, you are undertaking enormous debt in most instances for the privilege of doing it, and, especially, you might get called on in class. (Not to worry. Classroom participation normally counts nihil toward the final grade.)
The only relief and respite from the grind of reading, briefing, and discussing cases is provided by those few professors who muster up the energy to give a one-hour midterm exam. (Which will only count toward your grade if it can help you! Trust me on this.)
Not surprisingly, an overhead view of law school classrooms would reveal a host of students text messaging, playing solitaire and surfing on their computers, doodling (good 'ol doodling!), taking copious notes with the (mistaken) idea that "I'll make sense of this later," and doing anything and everything but attending in interested fashion to the case being discussed. In my day, long before computers, gameboys, and nifty i-phones and blackberrys, we (I, certainly) would often contemplate the architecture and portraits of past professors lining Yale Law classrooms.
Not surprisingly, more and more law professors are banning laptops in the classrooms. (After law schools spent so much money refitting classrooms so as to tout their internet capabilities.) What they will or can do about i-phones, blackberrys, and the next big thing coming down the technology pike is anyone's guess.
What to do?
How about field trips to the local courthouse early in first term to watch lawyers and judges and the legal process at work? To see so much bumbling and stumbling by the professionals would surely be encouraging to a law school newbie.
Apparently a Yale family law professor does just such a thing. My (Yale) college roommate, a UConn Law grad, was the juvenile public defender for the city of New Haven for 27 years. Recently he related how a professor from Yale Law would bring her charges to his offices and courtroom to observe the proceedings, ask questions, etc. He tells me he could not believe how ignorant these students were of even the most basic aspects of courtroom procedure. Their questions were about the theory of juvenile law and proceedings, and typically far removed from reality.
These, of course, were upperclass students. Family law is never a first year course. So this example is inapposite to the problem of boredom in first year.
Perhaps a law professor could simply, on occasion, pose a question such as, "Why do you suppose the lawyerin this case chose to do such and such?" Students would at least hear the word "lawyer," and be attuned to how they one day as lawyers might think about a course of action.
A professor from small, modest North Carolina Central University School of Law in Durham, a predominantly African American institution, came to my attention in the following way. It seems this professor, unlike many, had actually practiced law for a considerable time prior to becoming a law professor. Knowing that many of his students were unlikely to be employed by law firms or corporate legal departments, but would often be solo practitioners, he thought it important to instruct them concerning the "important missing witness, Mr. Green."
Students around the country are very amused to hear my description of the meaning of "Mr. Green" in lawyer parlance. And I must confess that often I do not bring up this tidbit of practical lawyering life. My aim is to instruct how to analyze and present "as a lawyer," how to break down the problematic essay fact pattern into manageable components that reveal issues (any and all essay fact patterns!). I often don't have time for the brief detour into Mr. Green.
I may note that over the near 30 years I have conducted LEEWS programs (well over 100,000 law students!), students from NCCU Law who had had this particular professor have been the only students from any law school to ever raise a hand in response to my question, "Who has heard about the important witness, Mr. Green?" The only ones!
Here's the deal. When a lawyer has not been paid for his services, he will sometimes seek to enlist the aid of the court/judge in securing payment by seeking an adjournment of the pending matter, "while I look for the important witness, Mr. Green." There will be knowing snickers in the courtroom. Perhaps the client turns to the attorney, thinking, "Who is Mr. Green." The judge may milk the welcome diversion into humor by leaning forward and mischeviously inquiring in all seriousness, "How long do you think it will take to find Mr. Green, counsel?"
My point is that there is amusement and interesting fare to be mined in the nuances and interstices of the actual practice of law. Students come to law school to become lawyers. They are hungry to learn about such practicalities as sitting or standing when making an objection, whether oral argument or the brief is likely to be more persuasive. Do judges read briefs? Do they know the law? What is the role of a judge's clerk? The bailiff? The court officers?
Law students want to feel like lawyers -- quickly! Sure, read and brief cases. But wouldn't it help to know why one is reading a case? Where is it all leading?
Come on, law schools! Come on, law professors! Make it more real! Make it more meaningful!
No one goes to law school to continue being an academic (to become a law professor?). Law students want training as lawyers!
Stop boring law students to death!
At least point out to students that on the final exam they will be expected to sort out several normally complex and fanciful fact patterns much as a lawyer would. They will be expected to tease out and resolve "issues" "as a lawyer." They will be tested in their progress toward lawyerly competence, at least where handling fact patterns raising issues is concerned. The assigned cases introduce ("black letter") law they will be expected to apply to fact scenarios in resolving issues they have identified!
Of course, professors would then have to do a much better job introducing students to exactly how lawyers think about and analyze issues. (Reading, briefing, and discussing cases doesn't get the job done!) They would have to do a better job explaining what an "issue" is. (It's a legal inquiry -- e.g., was a battery committed?; was the contract binding? It is also a point of controversy -- what opposing lawyers contest, often the existence of a single element of a legal proposition under investigation.)
They would have to make law school more of a training experience, more of a trade school. And this they seem not disposed to do.
I could go into the reasons the words "lawyer" and "attorney" are not heard in law school classrooms. I could go into the reason law schools and law professors would do back flips not to be thought of as mere trade schools. (Aren't medical schools trade schools? What's wrong with being a trade school, especially when the trade is so admired [feared?] as practicing law?)
I could go into the question of what the real mission of law schools might be. (Training law professors? Because it doesn't seem to be training lawyers.)
I have thought long and hard about such things. Perhaps another time. |
