Law office boardroom, Source https://www.htwlaw.ca, Author Tony Wong (Free Use)
“Behold, I will do a new thing, Now it shall spring forth; Shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness And rivers in the desert ” (Isa. 43: 19).
Kite flying was something I did not do well as a child. Still, I tried every summer to make a successful kite, one that would soar overhead.
I was aware that kites could be purchased at the local five and dime, but did not think to ask for one. It was clear such frivolities were beyond the family’s means. Instead, I constructed my kites of the materials at hand: loose-leaf paper and cardboard, bakery string, and rags.
The kites did rise briefly, but never very high, resolutely though I ran with them down the hill in front of our house. I dreamed occasionally, myself, of flying — capable in dreams of rising effortlessly off the ground, like a bird, whenever I wished.
I was not very adept at sledding either. Snow did not fall often enough in the Bronx to allow much opportunity for practice, and the hill in front of our house was not particularly steep. I did not view these conditions as bearing on my sledding abilities. Despite them, I persisted.
Emotional Transparency
The situation was much the same at the first legal firm at which I worked. This was a medical malpractice firm. I had not heard of malpractice before; knew only that I wanted litigation. Suddenly, the biology major I had pursued made sense.
My first firm specialized in brain-damaged infant cases. These are among the most serious and difficult, with large monetary value. Because of that, trials in this specialty are hard for a young attorney to come by. One of the first principles driven home to me was that the attorney’s ego must be secondary to the clients’ good.
Trial work here was the Holy Grail, the measure of an attorney, but always something mysterious, as well. As young attorneys, we jockeyed over the few available trial opportunities. Little by little, we acquired the necessary skills.
I, however, made a fundamental mistake. I let my feelings of insecurity show at the office.
Fear is a natural component of trial work. Those who have done it for any length will confirm this. We carry the responsibility of the clients’ welfare. The full force of risk falls upon us.
We have high rates of alcoholism and substance abuse; are prone to depression; die of heart failure and stroke, sometimes in the courtroom.
We are an irreverent bunch. Some of this is due to the fact our jobs require us to push the envelope. Some of it is a reaction to the stress — a response that, as children, my sister and I used to call “laughing in the face of death.”
Unfortunately, my emotional transparency (a consequence of boundary violation) was viewed as a vulnerability. No matter how hard I worked, I was passed over.
As young attorneys, we often had to request the rescheduling of trial dates by the courts. We joked that our cards should read, impressively, “Adjournments in All Courts.”
With litigation as common as it is in this country, court calendars are heavy. Judges are impatient to move cases along. Adjournments were not always easy to secure.
On one particular occasion, I was instructed by the Office Manager to obtain a short adjournment on a case already marked “final.” On the way to court, I had an accident on the parkway.
It was a rainy day. Traffic was heavy, but moving. A vehicle entering from the right caused the driver ahead of me to stop suddenly. I slammed on the brakes in order to avoid a collision, and went into a spin on the wet pavement.
Time seemed to stand still. A huge truck came into view. I closed my eyes and gripped the wheel, anticipating impact. Expecting to die.
Instead, my vehicle came to a soft stop. I opened my eyes to find I had spun 180 degrees and was facing the vehicle originally behind mine, our bumpers barely touching.
None of us in the vehicles involved had been injured. The police took a report, but we decided as a group to go on with the day. As far as I know, no litigation ever resulted.
My concern at that moment was getting to court on time. I got back in my car, drove the rest of way, and managed to get the necessary adjournment.
To my dismay, the Managing Partner was unhappy with my efforts. Though my inadvertent mentor, he accused me of having manipulated the situation, so that no other attorneys would be available on the adjourned date, and I could try the case.
I was stunned. Thankfully, I could point to the Office Manager’s written instructions.
I never mentioned the accident. There seemed no point.
Things reached such a level of frustration for me at the firm that I found myself crying in the office bathroom one day. As I sat on the edge of the tub, it suddenly dawned on me that I deserved better. I dried my tears, walked out, and gave notice. Continue reading
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