Presented at the University of North Dakota School of Law, May 10, 2008
Presented at the University of North Dakota School of Law, May 10, 2008
I want to be the first, well if not the first, at least the next, person to congratulate all of you on a job well-done. Sometimes, I'm sure, you weren't at all certain that you were going to make it to this point. Indeed, up until about a year before I graduated, I wondered whether or not it was even desirable to have a law degree. And so, congratulations.
Congratulations for having run the long race, for having survived the dark night of the soul that is first semester first year finals. I mean if there had been a Marine recruiter sitting outside of our first semester con law final, I am fairly certain our class would have shrunk by at least 10% and I would have been the first person in line.
And so we've gotten this far together. Now what?
Now what, indeed.
When I started to think about this speech I got the bright idea that I should talk to a bunch of lawyers and ask them about their graduations. I heard plenty of stories about family, about parties in University Park, and even about time spent in the Down Under Pub. But I was completely shocked by what they said about the graduation ceremony itself.
First off when I asked this question: Who spoke? The most common answer was: "I have no idea." The ones who did remember all had sort of "unique" speakers. I mean, everyone remembered if a member of the U.S. Supreme Court gave their address. I immediately crossed Clarence Thomas and Harry Blackmun off of my inspiration list. I mean give me a break: is there really any reason to believe that their experiences would parallel mine?
But people also remembered Gerry Spence. Now, I graduated in that class and I can tell you why they remember him. He started off by pointing at the dean and the faculty and saying "You (expletive deleted) are not going to like what I have to say." Now, I know that one of the surest way to get at least some students interested in what you have to say is to insult all authority figures in sight. Alas, I am one of the authority figures in sight, and I know that insulting them deceives you and degrades me, and so I will not go there.
The second thing he said, which struck me at the time as being really profound -- not realizing that it was a line that he had stolen from Clarence Darrow who had started saying it some 80 years earlier, that is: "I represent only real people: not banks, or insurance companies and you should too."
Now as I've gotten older, watched a lot of trials, and seen all sorts of lesser lights use this sappy line. I can tell you three things about it: (1) it's a line used mostly by intellectual lightweights who are trying to appeal to the emotions of people who are predisposed towards class warfare; (2) it only works if the opposing lawyers are afraid to stand up and tell the jury that it is a tired old line used by people who are trying to manipulate them into forgetting their common sense and good judgment; and (3) whenever you hear it we should all hold onto our wallets because the number that's coming after that line is going to be followed by a mighty large number of zeros.
Now, if you protest that I am some sort of lackey for insurance companies and banks, I would note that I can fairly claim that I only represented "real people." I can count on one hand the number of times I represented banks and corporations in court. But the truth is, corporations are made up of and owned by real people, all of whom deserve to have their cases decided on the merits and not emotion.
The final thing that I remember Gerry Spence saying is this: "If Gerry Spence can do this, any damn body can." And that my friends is about the only true thing that Mr. Spence said that day.
Now, there is a third group of people who remember who spoke at their graduation. And that's a class that graduated three years ago: that class was addressed by former N.D. Supreme Court Justice Beryl Levine, and she started her address by telling the graduates that she didn't remember who spoke at her graduation and that her major task was to get them to remember that Beryl Levine was the speaker. In fact she made it sort of a sub-plot of her address, which is clever, kind of cool, but in my mind sort of cheating.
So here's what I know: four years from now 5 percent of you will remember that I spoke. The rest of you are the ones who actually will have a life.
Here's another thing I know: the only attribute that exceeds the interminable length of graduation addresses is their inherent ability to induce sleep.
And so I set for myself two goals: (1) Don't be too long; and (2) When the first person falls asleep quit boring. So here's the deal. I'm going to talk for awhile, and the first time you notice anyone has fallen asleep raise your hand and I'll think about stopping. Really, I mean it. I'd like to promise to stop: but like you now, I'm a lawyer and sometimes the siren song of hearing my own profundities is irresistible.
Now you may recall that we had a chance to speak at the beginning of your quest for the holy grail of academic success: a UND Law Degree.
At that time I gave you some advice to help you get through law school.
Now, I don't know that anyone of you even recall what I said, but here's what I'm telling you now: I remember the most important advice I gave you on that August day, three long years ago, and it bears repeating today.
Call Your MOM: Because she worries about you. That's still the most important thing to take from this speech. You think I'm kidding. I'm not.
Your Mother loves you, wants the best for you, and worries about you day and night. She gave you life: the least you can do is give her a few minutes of your time every week. I'll also let you in on a secret. The day will come when you will be willing to give all that you have to have a conversation with your mom and it will be too late. So Rule No. 1: Call your MOM.
The second thing I told you was that your life was a wheel and that it was made up of various spokes. A spiritual spoke, a work spoke, a family spoke, a health and exercise spoke and a friends spoke. I told you that all of your spokes needed to be in balance so that your wheel turns smoothly. That's still really good advice. So if your life is in balance: well done. If not, you better get it there soon, because this job that you are about to embark on eats up people alive who don't understand the need for balance in their lives.
Here's another thing to keep in mind about law firms. There are law firms out there who will tell you that they expect their associates to work seven days a week, that 16 hour days are the norm, and that many of their partners have sacrificed their personal lives for their work. They often offer very attractive salaries and like to brag about their partners who've gone on to become important people, like senators, or congressmen, vice presidents, or governors, or even, believe it or not, federal judges. Don't work for these kinds of people: they don't care about you and no one can be happy in a place where people are simply small cogs in a gigantic Rube Goldberg Billing Machine. Any firm that measures success in billable hours is unworthy of your labors.
Now, don't get me wrong: if you're going to earn a living you're going to have to bill somebody because that's the nature of a service business. But we must measure success the same way our clients do: on the outcome, not on the bill. If you are going to practice law there must be a cause greater than mere fees: you must have something to fight for, something to believe in, some idea that in the end you are serving justice.
One of the questions I thought long and hard about as I was preparing this speech was what's the most important thing that I can tell these newly minted lawyers? What is it that they need to know? How can they change our world?
I puzzled over this for days. I thought about it in my shower, in my bed, and even, dare I confess, on the bench. And here's what I came to after many hours of soul-searching.
You are about to become part of a profession that isn't exactly beloved. Oh sure, most people like their own lawyers, but by and large the profession is held in relatively low esteem. People believe that we unnecessarily complicate their lives. People believe that we will say or do anything for money. People believe that we are hypertechnical, hypercritical and hypersensitive. People think that there are too many of us and that the last honest lawyer was Abraham Lincoln.
Why on earth do we want to belong to such a group? Because we know that these stereotypes are quite distant from the truth. But like some stereotypes, there is some part of them that strikes painfully close to home.
We have complicated things in court more than they need to be. We have made it too expensive and too difficult to get there. We do parse words at times in a way that defies all explanation. And so how do we change that?
How do we go about the business of creating a profession where the average lawyer would be seen more like Abraham Lincoln and less like Snidely Whiplash?
My friends, there is a poverty in the English language when we talk about emotions. In this regard English is like most of the languages of northern Europe: we have more words to describe kinds of cattle than we have words that convey emotion.
How bad is it? Well take the word Shalom or Shalam. What does it mean? If you are like most people you will say "Peace." Well that's part of it, but it expresses the real concept in a completely impoverished form. Shalom actually means: "overwhelmingly blessed, completeness, wholeness, health, peace, welfare, safety, soundness, tranquility, prosperity, perfection, fullness, free from agitation.
It is a way of urging all good things on someone: that they be fully blessed: that God's full blessing be poured out upon them in complete fullness." And yet, in English we say this equals peace. It's sort of like calling the civil war the "late unpleasantness."
We also have a single word for love: that is supposed to cover a myriad of concepts. The ancient Greeks had four separate words that we have rolled into the concept of love: Agape (in Latin "Caritas"): which really embraces the concept of cherish and respect: a deep unconditional respect for the dignity of another; Philia: which is the love between friends; storge: the love within a family; and eros: which has taken on a meaning of sexuality: but that actually meant attraction, wether sexual or not.
OK: so what in the heck does this have to do with your graduation?
You see, I'm building to the denouement of this speech, the big insight, the thing you need to take with you out there in the real world. I'm going to tell you how to change the profession, how to save the world, how to find true joy in the practice of law.
I am going to tell you to love one another. Now this is not some sort of sappy emotional thing that I'm asking of you: I am asking you to bring three concepts into your professional life. (1) the idea of Shalom, of spreading that fullness of complete well-being on all the people you deal with professionally, but especially the people you represent and the lawyers that you deal with. (2) the idea of Agape: that you will have a deep and undying respect for others, especially your clients, other lawyers, the jurors and even the court. (3) Finally, I am asking you to bring the idea of Philia to your practice. That you love and respect one another as the best of friends.
Now, I know that some of you right now think this is impossible, that somehow I'm asking you to be doormats. Nothing could be further from the truth. I fully expect that you will be zealous advocates, that you will work your rear ends off to make a difference. That you will do all that is possible within the propriety of the law and ethics to advocate for your clients.
What I'm asking you to do is to avoid the "scorched earth" approach to law. When you rob a man or woman of their dignity, when you resort to embarrassing people for sport, when you feel no remorse or pain for having to cause pain in order to advocate for your client, when you lose sight of the humanity of your opponent and your opposing counsel, you diminish yourself and your cause.
The just cause stands on its own merits: it does not need to embarrass, humiliate, oppress, or destroy. This is not to say that some of your work will not be unpleasant. I mean there is no truly friendly way to call a man a murderer or sentence a man to die. But there is a way to do these things with respect. There is a way to do these things while recognizing the fundamental dignity of the person accused or sentenced.
In my day to day life, I see much pain. And all to frequently I am the bearer of very bad news. I am called upon to be an instrument that inflicts suffering on many people: often times the most innocent of people. I have many difficult moments in my life: and you will too. I receive letters from 7 year olds begging me not to put their mothers or their fathers in jail. I am not an automaton, my heart lays in little pieces many days.
This past week I sentenced a man to many years in prison after I received a letter from his ten year old daughter that said: "I have been saying my prayers every night since before Christmas that God and you will see fit to send my daddy home so that we can go to church together and thank him for bringing our family back together." Well, my duty and the sentence I imposed said that this family will not be back to together until this child is well over 40 years old, if they all live that long. And I went home, and in the stillness of the night I wept.
Sadness is our constant companion in this field. The law is a jealous mistress. It has already changed the way you think, the way you see the world, the way you analyze a question. This experience will never allow you to answer the simple question, "should we go to see a movie?" without analyzing thirteen things in your brain first. Your friends and family will see something alien in you, something that they don't understand. And that my friends, is why I am asking you to love one another.
You see, we all understand each other. We all know the pain, we share in it. You will come to share in the agony of defeat, you will come to know that the thrill of victory is fleeting, and that it becomes more and more unsatisfying with time. Rest assured, and yet, many of you, like me will be inexorably drawn to the courtroom. You will long for it, for the camaraderie of a shared struggle, for the thrill of the competition, and mostly you will long for justice for your clients. And in this search you will either love one another or you will give into the darkness that seeks to destroy, to embarrass, to humiliate and to demean.
The contrast is stark: and unfortunately, in my courtroom I see both kinds of lawyers. And what I see tells me, that those who love the law, who love other lawyers, who seek first justice: they find happiness and Shalom resides in their hearts. The others, well, they to tend to be egocentric, monomaniacal, and unhappy.
And I'll tell you a bitter, bitter truth: when they die, as many lawyers show up at their funerals to make sure that they are actually dead as to mourn their passing. You don't want to be in that group of lawyers.
And so my advice for you is plain. Love one another. Seek dignity, truth and justice. Bear each other patiently. Be honest. Be brave. Be firm. Be fair. Be bold. And remember: a victory at the cost of honor is never worth the price.
I have gone on too long. And for that I apologize. Bear with me while I sum up what I've said. You will not likely remember that I spoke here this day: But perhaps you will remember this:
1. Call your Mom;2. Keep your wheel round;
3. Love one another;
Finally, bring Shalom to all the people who cross your path. Oh yes, Congratulations on a job well done. Take time to celebrate today: you've earned it. It is tomorrow's task is to change the world for the better: I know that you can and that you will.
Shalom.
May 13, 2008