Dear Editor:
The 30th Circuit Presiding Judge, the Honorable Theodore B. Scott, is retiring this year after 31 years on the bench. As a strong advocate of juveniles, Judge Scott ordered and supervised the building of 30th Circuit Youth Services (TCYS) Detention Center and Emergency Care Shelter (the Center). The TCYS is an innovative program providing detention services for juvenile courts and state social service divisions in addition to emergency shelter services for abused and neglected children (see the TCYS web site at www.positech.net/~dcourt). The Center is certainly one of Judge Scott's greatest achievements.
We are proud of the service this facility provides our community and wish Judge Scott to receive recognition for his courage and commitment to the program, and his compassion for our troubled youth. Thank you, Judge Scott.
Sincerely,
Randolph L. Blosch, J.D., LL.M.
Bolivar
Dear Editor:
In recent months I have been examining the practice of law and the effect it has had on my life. This examination was prompted by my recent involvement in a piece of litigation in which there were in excess of 50 lawyers involved from all over Missouri and several other states. With that large a group of practitioners, the management of the litigation was cumbersome and professional courtesy was often challenged. I found myself examining my own conduct, both personal and professional; and evaluating the performance of my staff with respect to their dealings with the diverse population of those involved in that lawsuit. I also found myself perplexed by some of the conduct of other attorneys towards various persons involved. Needless to say, self-scrutiny, and comparison of my own ethical and professional courtesy choices, combined with glaring discourtesy of others, left a somber taste in my mouth. Sometimes we did the right thing, sometimes we didn't. Human yes, perfect no.
From this introspective position I returned, at the close of that case, to my "normal" practice dealing with "normal" clients in family law, minor civil litigation, and the humdrum troubles of daily life. My eyes are now open, though, and I see the bar as non-lawyers have seen us for years. One lawyer recently proclaimed with self-righteous indignation, when I complained to him about setting six different hearings in a single case, without consulting me or my calendar, that he had been practicing law for thirty years and nobody ever complained before I did. I couldn't help but think – and almost responded – that just because nobody ever complained doesn't mean he wasn't a jerk.
Lawyers tend to view ourselves as somehow special, somehow above reproach. I think inside of every lawyer there must be a tiny voice like the one in that car commercial, saying, "I'm better than you are, I'm better than you are." It is no wonder that lawyers are the butt of so many jokes. The unpleasantness of arrogance can only be minimized through humor.
Anyone who has dealt with me knows that I am sometimes less than courteous. I like to excuse my remissions by reminding myself that I do, after all, have a fairly serious, painful and inconvenient disease that at times looks as though it might just beat me in the race to live forever. But I remind myself of something my mother taught me before she died: Even terminal cancer is no excuse for gratuitous rudeness. And I am humbled. I run around apologizing, being extra nice to court clerks, being gracious to opposing lawyers and clients, hoping I can do some small repair to the damage I have done by succumbing to the arrogance that plagues the legal profession.
And then I come up against the lawyer who doesn't seem to be in tune with the genuine need for courtesy – the lawyer who says, "When your client stole – I mean sold the marital property – sorry, Freudian slip," with my client standing right beside me; the lawyer who talks loudly with his client about how lousy a parent my client is, within the hearing of the judge who hasn't quite left the bench; the lawyer who slams the door in my face at the end of an unsuccessful settlement conference. I close my eyes and try to remember all the times when I behaved as badly, and, true to my cradle Catholic tendencies, I exchange the unpleasantness of these encounters to atone for my past transgressions of similar ilk. And through it all I think: When did the practice of law get to be such a distasteful thing?
I suppose I am a Pollyanna. I like my profession, and I try to be good at it. I am not rich, by any means. I have had more than my share of adversity, reminding me of another of my mother's saying: God only gives you as much as He thinks you can bear, and evidently he thinks the Corleys are pretty strong. I am probably not a role model for a young lawyer wanting to make his way from the wilds of the inner city to the manicured lawns of Johnson County. Having said that, I will also say that I sure would like to drive a fancy car and move to a bigger house, but I am increasingly convinced that doing so is not worth the nausea I experience when I watch cut-throat lawyers slash their way to victory. I guess I need to look around for new role models: successful lawyers who are well-loved and cherished for their kindness and sincerity. But that type of practitioner is hard to find – probably because they are so darned humble.
I hope I am not stretching my own humility mandate by writing this letter. Its purpose is to share with other practitioners the hope that they will recognize that it is possible to be both gracious and financially successful. (Of course, I myself am still working on it, but that doesn't mean it can't be done!) And if I am extra crabby with you one day, or do something that offends your clients or makes you stand up and say, "Geez Louise, what is this profession coming to??," just fax me a copy of this letter. No more will be necessary. I'll understand, and the next batch of people who encounter me will wonder why I'm in such a good mood.
Respectfully,
M. Corinne Corley
Corley Law Firm
Kansas City