I was having dinner at a friend’s house last night, and one of the other guests was a retired partner from Fried, Frank, a law firm at the core of Biglaw.  He was a very pleasant fellow, and had stories to tell.  In the relative scheme of things, I was still young enough to listen to his tales of the old days without interrupting.

Foremost, he was a gentleman.  He spoke with a certain precision that reminded me of a thoughtful, yet cautious, raconteur.  There was no chance of a colloquialism inadvertently popping out.  Even speaking, you could see him dotting his “i”s and crossing his “t”s.  I was absolutely certain that no contract ever left his desk with a typo, even if it meant having it redone 12 times.  It simply would have been unacceptable.

He spoke of a time when lawyers first concern was their dignity.  They were lawyers 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and they acted like it.  They not only knew how to tie a four square, but the proved it on a daily basis.  Lawyers had an image to uphold.  They did not go out in a “t-shirt”.  That would have been unbecoming for a lawyer. 

Truthfully, it conjured up an image of refinement that, in the back of my head, seems very alluring.  I had always wanted to exude the sort of dignity that came so naturally to him.  Sometimes I tried, but I bet anyone who knew enough to appreciate it recognized me as an imposter.  My demeanor would always have its rough edges, no matter what airs I would put on.

I knew I was in trouble when our host served his “famous” barbecue ribs for dinner.  I love ribs.  But eating ribs can be a bit tricky.  I used to take dates when I was in law school to a rib joint on the east side of midtown Manhattan, because if I was going to spend money I didn’t have, at least I wanted to enjoy the meal.  It never occurred to me that eating ribs on a first date might present a problem.  I was not too bright in that respect.

So as a firmly grasped my rib, trying to be certain that it wouldn’t leap from my hand onto the hostess’ lap, I saw how a real lawyer does it.  With knife and fork in hand, he deftly stripped the rib of meat and cut off a small piece, just enough to eat without the possibility of mishap.  It hadn’t even dawned on me that you could eat a rib with a knife and fork.  What was I thinking?

As the evening went on, I learned a great deal.  I learned how the universe of lawyers to my Fried Frank mentor was made up of about 100 law firms, the smallest of which had about 50 partners and was labeled a “boutique” by definition.  I learned about how the concept of “portables” applied to all mobile lawyers, as there could be no reason to speak to a lateral if they didn’t bring a book worth twice what they were making.  The application of skills to law was a concern only for the junior associate, who had no portables and hence had to work his way into their good graces.  Somebody had to do the work, of course, but the business of law firms was still business.

And then there was the bottom line.  Regardless of all the things that we hold dear today, there was a baseline requirement that lawyers be gentlemen.  Not hold the door open for ladies type of gentlemen, but boarding school type of gentlemen.  Choate, Phillips Exeter, sort of thing.  Outsiders misunderstood that it was about race and religion, or even gender, in the old days. No, that had nothing to do with it, except of course that it was not too common for non-Wasp males to find their way into the college preps where gentlemen were trained.

I can remember my third year of law school, seeking and getting the occasional interview with a Biglaw firm.  I was embarrassed by my Robert Hall suit that marked me as a poor lawyer wannabe.  I asked my mother, can you loan me some money to buy a suit at Brooks Brothers for the interviews?  No, she said, we don’t have money to waste on such things.  Tell them that once they hire you, you’ll have enough money to buy a decent suit.  She didn’t understand.  If you didn’t know how to dress, then you would never fit in.  It takes years to learn to wear a pink shirt properly.

Criminal defense lawyers don’t belong in the hallowed offices of Biglaw.  We don’t eat properly.  We sometimes speak in plain English (or even other languages).  We laugh too loud, and usually come from public schools.  I asked where he thought a solo practitioner like me belonged in the scheme of lawyers.  He was silent for about a minute, and then said, “I really don’t know.”  He knew we existed, though he rarely came into contact with someone like me.  He understood that we played a role in the legal profession, but there was never a reason for our paths to cross.  There was no disdain toward solo practitioners, or criminal defense lawyers.  None at all.  We just had no place in Biglaw.