For most lawyers, there are only two jurisdictions with which we need to concern ourselves. Our home state and our federal circuit. We develop, of necessity, a detailed knowledge of how things work on our little piece of turf, with its local rules and, more importantly, its local unwritten rules.
When I wrote about how budding lawyers need to know what “parts” were for what purposes, the Texas Tornado, Mark Bennett accused me of speaking Flemish. To a Houston lawyer, I might as well have been. These names are hardly universal, although they are basic stuff to the New York lawyer. It’s just our local lingo, and we take it for granted though it bears no connection to the language used anywhere else.
This highlights one of the best/worst things about the practical blawgosphere. We overcome all jurisdictional boundaries. It allows us to compare and contrast, without even thinking about it. At the same time, we find ourselves getting into some nuanced discussions about everyday issues without recognition that our frame of reference is our jurisdiction, not someone else’s. We arguing apples and oranges.
Most of what we do is the same no matter where we go. As for the details of crimes and procedures, we can do a little research and learn the differences in elements, structure and process fairly quickly. Trying a case, meaning the skills needed to convince 12 people of your position, doesn’t really change much from place to place. Or does it?
I often think of myself as “Paladin”. You remember him, the lead character in an old TV show. He had a card that said, “Have Gun, Will Travel.” That image has always remained in my head He was a gun for hire, and went where he was needed. The scenery may change, but the job remained the same.
Over the years, I’ve done cases as far away from New York as Anchorage (the time change will kill you), Miami, Los Angeles. But I’ve also gone to some lesser stars in the Pantheon of metropolitan life, like South Carolina, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, New Jersey and Kentucky. I’ve never been asked to represent anyone in Texas, though I’m looking forward to the day when I can wear my cowboy boots to court.
When you travel to another state, particularly one that is fairly distant from your own, there are some special concerns to address. Obviously, you need local counsel when you’re not admitted in that jurisdiction, both to move your admission pro hoc vice and to show you the ropes. Just as you would at home, you need to assess the judge, the prosecutor and the police. You need to learn about how the police ordinarily function, and can never assume that they do things in Bowling Green just like they do in Manhattan. That’s the quickest way to show you’re “not from around there.”
You also walk into the courtroom with a big sign on your back that says “I’m from New York.” We tend to dress a little differently (everyone doesn’t ordinarily wear custom made suits, apparently). They all have funny accents (unlike you, the lone foreigner in the room, who sounds perfectly normal). But most of all, there’s a very strong chance that you have different sensibilities. What appears right and normal to you, the obvious stuff, may not be shared by people everywhere.
The trick to all of this is to remember that you, not they, are the outsider. It is up to the hired gun to blend (courtesy of My Cousin Vinny). If you fail to recognize this, you are nothing but a carpetbagger. A carpetbagger starts out in a deep hole, and the locals will silently relish watching you try to claw your way out and, time after time, lose your grip and fall back to the bottom. When the case is over, they all have a good laugh at the carpetbagger’s expense, as it proved no fancy-pants New York lawyer is any better than them.
There are two ways to accomplish avoid being the carpetbagger. The first way is to prove your worth. You need to show everyone in that courtroom that there’s a reason why the defendant brought in a lawyer from out of town, itself an affront to all the locals including the judge. After all, the judge used to be a local lawyer too, and when threatened by some hired gun, the locals will always circle the wagons.
But this doesn’t mean that you need to prove that you are better than any local. Indeed, you may find that the “hick” small-town local lawyers are really quite excellent, and every bit as good a lawyer as you, if not better. If you try to push the envelope to show that you’re the best lawyer in town, you are begging for the rest of them to cut you down to size. And you can bet they will. It’s their turf, not yours, and they have the home field advantage.
By “they”, I include your best new friend, your local counsel. Don’t ever forget that while he’s on the payroll, and he’s helping you out and showing you a little local hospitality, he’s also wondering why the client decided that he’s not worthy of representing the defendant without the hired gun. Remember, lawyers tend to be ego-bound, and we don’t defer to others easily.
This cuts both ways with local counsel. If you treat him poorly, the word will get around quickly and that deep hole you start out in will only get deeper and deeper until you can’t seek the light of day. The local lawyer, if you’ve hired well, should be your equal at worst, and should be treated as such. He can be one of your greatest assets, provided you haven’t put yourself on a pedestal.
So once you’ve established that you are not some goofball who has come to some backwater to teach them how it’s done, the next step is acknowledging why you are there. While the client may retain you because of his fear that local lawyers aren’t good enough, the real reason is the relationship of trust established between lawyer and client. The client feels comfortable putting his life in your hands. He may be right, or he may be nuts, but that’s all it means. And that’s a very good reason to retain an attorney, even if it means bringing in a lawyer from far away.
By so doing, the out-of-towner will be able to break through the resistance of local lawyers and judges to your presence. They will not accept you because you look down on them. They will accept you because of client trust. Every lawyer understands and appreciates the relationship, and this is an acceptable reason for you to get a case that they should rightfully have gotten. Remember, you’re taking money out of their pocket, and at least in their eyes, have no cause to do so by dint of skill. Trust, on the other hand, will smooth ruffled feathers. It won’t earn you their love and devotion, but it will overcome overt animosity and take you out of the carpetbagger status.
So what’s the upside of using a hired gun? First, we don’t have to worry about the next case. Getting along with others, in the sense that you fear pushing the envelope because the prosecutor or judge will pay back your next defendant for what happens in this case, is not an issue. When you go out of town, it’s a one-shot deal. You have one defendant to represent and you can go for broke without fear that you will harm a relationship that is best maintained. While many lawyers deny that this happens, it not only does but can have an insidious impact on the level to which a lawyer will go on behalf of any individu
al defendant. This is the “don’t burn your bridges” factor, and clients’ paranoia about it is well justified.
The second benefit is that you are able to think outside the box. In fact, it’s likely that you can’t help but think outside the box, since the distinctions between the practice you are used to and the local practice offer little alternative. When you try to do this in your home jurisdiction, judges will often show you the back of their hand, since you know better than to challenge custom and practice, and your efforts to do so make their life more difficult. The routine is paramount to the efficient operation of a bureaucracy, and it will resist challenges at all costs. But out-of-towners don’t know the routine, and hence are given a free pass. Rather than resist, judges will often open their minds to the possibility that there is a different approach than what they have always done. It’s really quite amazing how the undoable becomes doable when you’re not from around there.
The third benefit is that you are taken seriously. You walk into court with a mix of dread and fear, because you are the unknown. They know that they don’t want to like you, but at the same time they assume there’s something worthy about you or you wouldn’t be there. A word of caution about this, however. This benefit may be lost within the first 30 seconds if you open your mouth and stupid or offensive stuff comes out. While they may assume you’re a killer lawyer, you can put that to rest immediately by conclusively proving that you’re a moron when it’s your turn to speak. And believe me, there is nothing they would like better than to be able to laugh at you if you’re not up to snuff.
But there’s a downside to being a hired gun as well. Beyond the obvious, being away from home, family and practice for an extended period of time, lousy hotels and food, abject boredom when the you’re done for the day, your primary job is to persuade people with whom you may have few shared experiences to see things your way. Assuming that you can be charming enough, and capable of blending (without offending), that a jury won’t want to put you in jail, that does not mean that you can express your thoughts in a way that will connect and resonate with them. The most brilliant summation from an urban lawyer given to a jury whose lifestyle is agrarian will flop. Nor can an urban lawyer adopt agrarian sensibilities without coming across as false and condescending. There are certain lines that are hard to cross.
So, the old adage that discretion is the better part of valor comes into play. You need to be as harshly critical of yourself as you are of your case. Can the hired gun pull off a credible and persuasive argument to a group of people he neither knows nor understands? Sometimes the answer is that your local counsel is a better choice to sum up. Sometimes the answer is that no matter how hard you try, or how much you want to serve your client, you shouldn’t be there. But sometimes, you prove that you are up to the task and pull off a coup that could never have been accomplished by a local lawyer. It can be a tough call, but that’s what we do every day.
When I wrote about how budding lawyers need to know what “parts” were for what purposes, the Texas Tornado, Mark Bennett accused me of speaking Flemish. To a Houston lawyer, I might as well have been. These names are hardly universal, although they are basic stuff to the New York lawyer. It’s just our local lingo, and we take it for granted though it bears no connection to the language used anywhere else.
This highlights one of the best/worst things about the practical blawgosphere. We overcome all jurisdictional boundaries. It allows us to compare and contrast, without even thinking about it. At the same time, we find ourselves getting into some nuanced discussions about everyday issues without recognition that our frame of reference is our jurisdiction, not someone else’s. We arguing apples and oranges.
Most of what we do is the same no matter where we go. As for the details of crimes and procedures, we can do a little research and learn the differences in elements, structure and process fairly quickly. Trying a case, meaning the skills needed to convince 12 people of your position, doesn’t really change much from place to place. Or does it?
I often think of myself as “Paladin”. You remember him, the lead character in an old TV show. He had a card that said, “Have Gun, Will Travel.” That image has always remained in my head He was a gun for hire, and went where he was needed. The scenery may change, but the job remained the same.
Over the years, I’ve done cases as far away from New York as Anchorage (the time change will kill you), Miami, Los Angeles. But I’ve also gone to some lesser stars in the Pantheon of metropolitan life, like South Carolina, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, New Jersey and Kentucky. I’ve never been asked to represent anyone in Texas, though I’m looking forward to the day when I can wear my cowboy boots to court.
When you travel to another state, particularly one that is fairly distant from your own, there are some special concerns to address. Obviously, you need local counsel when you’re not admitted in that jurisdiction, both to move your admission pro hoc vice and to show you the ropes. Just as you would at home, you need to assess the judge, the prosecutor and the police. You need to learn about how the police ordinarily function, and can never assume that they do things in Bowling Green just like they do in Manhattan. That’s the quickest way to show you’re “not from around there.”
You also walk into the courtroom with a big sign on your back that says “I’m from New York.” We tend to dress a little differently (everyone doesn’t ordinarily wear custom made suits, apparently). They all have funny accents (unlike you, the lone foreigner in the room, who sounds perfectly normal). But most of all, there’s a very strong chance that you have different sensibilities. What appears right and normal to you, the obvious stuff, may not be shared by people everywhere.
The trick to all of this is to remember that you, not they, are the outsider. It is up to the hired gun to blend (courtesy of My Cousin Vinny). If you fail to recognize this, you are nothing but a carpetbagger. A carpetbagger starts out in a deep hole, and the locals will silently relish watching you try to claw your way out and, time after time, lose your grip and fall back to the bottom. When the case is over, they all have a good laugh at the carpetbagger’s expense, as it proved no fancy-pants New York lawyer is any better than them.
There are two ways to accomplish avoid being the carpetbagger. The first way is to prove your worth. You need to show everyone in that courtroom that there’s a reason why the defendant brought in a lawyer from out of town, itself an affront to all the locals including the judge. After all, the judge used to be a local lawyer too, and when threatened by some hired gun, the locals will always circle the wagons.
But this doesn’t mean that you need to prove that you are better than any local. Indeed, you may find that the “hick” small-town local lawyers are really quite excellent, and every bit as good a lawyer as you, if not better. If you try to push the envelope to show that you’re the best lawyer in town, you are begging for the rest of them to cut you down to size. And you can bet they will. It’s their turf, not yours, and they have the home field advantage.
By “they”, I include your best new friend, your local counsel. Don’t ever forget that while he’s on the payroll, and he’s helping you out and showing you a little local hospitality, he’s also wondering why the client decided that he’s not worthy of representing the defendant without the hired gun. Remember, lawyers tend to be ego-bound, and we don’t defer to others easily.
This cuts both ways with local counsel. If you treat him poorly, the word will get around quickly and that deep hole you start out in will only get deeper and deeper until you can’t seek the light of day. The local lawyer, if you’ve hired well, should be your equal at worst, and should be treated as such. He can be one of your greatest assets, provided you haven’t put yourself on a pedestal.
So once you’ve established that you are not some goofball who has come to some backwater to teach them how it’s done, the next step is acknowledging why you are there. While the client may retain you because of his fear that local lawyers aren’t good enough, the real reason is the relationship of trust established between lawyer and client. The client feels comfortable putting his life in your hands. He may be right, or he may be nuts, but that’s all it means. And that’s a very good reason to retain an attorney, even if it means bringing in a lawyer from far away.
By so doing, the out-of-towner will be able to break through the resistance of local lawyers and judges to your presence. They will not accept you because you look down on them. They will accept you because of client trust. Every lawyer understands and appreciates the relationship, and this is an acceptable reason for you to get a case that they should rightfully have gotten. Remember, you’re taking money out of their pocket, and at least in their eyes, have no cause to do so by dint of skill. Trust, on the other hand, will smooth ruffled feathers. It won’t earn you their love and devotion, but it will overcome overt animosity and take you out of the carpetbagger status.
So what’s the upside of using a hired gun? First, we don’t have to worry about the next case. Getting along with others, in the sense that you fear pushing the envelope because the prosecutor or judge will pay back your next defendant for what happens in this case, is not an issue. When you go out of town, it’s a one-shot deal. You have one defendant to represent and you can go for broke without fear that you will harm a relationship that is best maintained. While many lawyers deny that this happens, it not only does but can have an insidious impact on the level to which a lawyer will go on behalf of any individu
al defendant. This is the “don’t burn your bridges” factor, and clients’ paranoia about it is well justified.
The second benefit is that you are able to think outside the box. In fact, it’s likely that you can’t help but think outside the box, since the distinctions between the practice you are used to and the local practice offer little alternative. When you try to do this in your home jurisdiction, judges will often show you the back of their hand, since you know better than to challenge custom and practice, and your efforts to do so make their life more difficult. The routine is paramount to the efficient operation of a bureaucracy, and it will resist challenges at all costs. But out-of-towners don’t know the routine, and hence are given a free pass. Rather than resist, judges will often open their minds to the possibility that there is a different approach than what they have always done. It’s really quite amazing how the undoable becomes doable when you’re not from around there.
The third benefit is that you are taken seriously. You walk into court with a mix of dread and fear, because you are the unknown. They know that they don’t want to like you, but at the same time they assume there’s something worthy about you or you wouldn’t be there. A word of caution about this, however. This benefit may be lost within the first 30 seconds if you open your mouth and stupid or offensive stuff comes out. While they may assume you’re a killer lawyer, you can put that to rest immediately by conclusively proving that you’re a moron when it’s your turn to speak. And believe me, there is nothing they would like better than to be able to laugh at you if you’re not up to snuff.
But there’s a downside to being a hired gun as well. Beyond the obvious, being away from home, family and practice for an extended period of time, lousy hotels and food, abject boredom when the you’re done for the day, your primary job is to persuade people with whom you may have few shared experiences to see things your way. Assuming that you can be charming enough, and capable of blending (without offending), that a jury won’t want to put you in jail, that does not mean that you can express your thoughts in a way that will connect and resonate with them. The most brilliant summation from an urban lawyer given to a jury whose lifestyle is agrarian will flop. Nor can an urban lawyer adopt agrarian sensibilities without coming across as false and condescending. There are certain lines that are hard to cross.
So, the old adage that discretion is the better part of valor comes into play. You need to be as harshly critical of yourself as you are of your case. Can the hired gun pull off a credible and persuasive argument to a group of people he neither knows nor understands? Sometimes the answer is that your local counsel is a better choice to sum up. Sometimes the answer is that no matter how hard you try, or how much you want to serve your client, you shouldn’t be there. But sometimes, you prove that you are up to the task and pull off a coup that could never have been accomplished by a local lawyer. It can be a tough call, but that’s what we do every day.
Discover more from Simple Justice
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Great post.
You have cowboy boots? I mean real ones, not the pointy, metal-capped toe variety on Canal Street.
Of course, wiseguy. I got them from a capo with the Luccheses.
Do you ever write anything shorter than 35,000 words?
Geez. Damn verbose New Yawkers.