Having been a litigator throughout my legal career, I don’t feel competent to assert that this is true of all lawyers, but I can tell you that almost every trial lawyer I’ve ever known is vain.  It’s perfectly understandable, as a component of putting ourselves on the line for a cause in front of a bunch of other people whose purpose is to make us look like wrong at best, idiots at worst. 

We must believe in ourselves or we couldn’t stand up and face the judge and jury.  It’s not that we don’t have self-doubt.  In fact, we have quite a bit at times, but can’t afford to let it show.  Thus, it should come as no surprise that validation of our belief in ourselves is something we desire.  It’s palpable proof that we exist, we are worthy, we can do it.

The other day, Deven Desai at Concurring Opinions wrote about “Who’s Who.”  It’s one of those seemingly harmless things that validates us.  It sounds impressive, to tell others that you are in “Who’s Who,” though I’m unaware of anyone who has ever actually referred to “Who’s Who” to figure out who’s who.

Deven, however, raises some concerns that makes it appear less benign than assumed.

In a world where people develop online reputations, being included in a database such as Who’s Who may not be desired. I always thought of the publication as one requiring payment for inclusion; that is apparently not so. Still that image persists in my mind so I don’t like being in the database.

When I received my first “Who’s Who” inquiry, it was by snail mail.  There was no internet yet, and certainly no email.  The mailing certainly made it seem as if it was a come-on to buy the book, touting the special insider rate for those worthy of inclusion. But I did go along with being included, though the come-on suggested that I was only being “considered”, with no guarantee.  Unless, perhaps, I bought the book?   I passed.  I knew who I was and didn’t need a book to tell me.  Especially one that costs more than $100, which was a princely sum at the time.

Over the years, I received notification from the publishers, Marquis primarily but a few others as well, of my honor.  I was in Who’s Who in American Law.  Later Who’s Who in America, and then Who’s Who in the World.  I could understand being in the one about law, but never really understood why anyone in the world would be interested in me.  Still, who was I to disagree with the sound judgment of whoever made such decisions?

With the letters came a biography of me.  I never gave them any information, and yet they had quite a bit, ranging from stuff about my parents to details about my children.  That was shocking.  Where did these guys get all this information about me?  Remember, there was no internet then, and the idea of Googling someone wasn’t even a twinkle in their eye.  Yet they had it, and published it.  I still assumed that while it would appear in book after book, I was safe since no one would ever bother to look me up and see it.  There’s safety in being buried in the “G’s”.

Things are different now.  Deven’s concern is real, given that personal information, usable for a plethora of dastardly purposes, is readily available to anyone who bothers to look.  And what was once a harmless vanity is now a source of personal data that could fuel an attack upon privacy. 

A couple of years ago, I was rummaging through a church used book sale and came upon a Who’s Who in the World.  I couldn’t help myself, I had to look.  It was a huge book, a monster.  And only one of a series of huge books.  It was big enough that one might assume it listed everyone in the world who had the wherewithal to buy the books.  It appeared untouched by human hands, what people on eBay refer to as mint.  I ruined that by shuffling through the pages until I came to the place where my name should be.

There is was.  I was in it just like they said, even though I never spent a dime.  Me and a few gazillion similarly situated folks. 

I turned to my wife and said, “You wanna buy this?”  It was only a quarter.  She looked at me square in the eyes.  Her passion in our household is to counterbalance any pretensions I might have of importance.  “Why?”  That was all she needed to say to take the wind out of my sails.  Why indeed? 

Lawyers, at least litigators, are always searching for some honor to put on our wall to make us believe that we are as good as we want to believe we are.  The validation for which we strive in the privacy of our own minds.  Some pay for the privilege.  Some wait for someone to send us notice that we are the recipient of some “honor”.  It’s not like we build a beautiful house that we can point to with pride as an example of our worth.  The closest we come is the “ego wall” that holds the many certificates that come with bar and association memberships, which may impress some clients but which we know to be the product of mailing a check with sufficient funds behind it. 

The only real validation we receive is the knowledge that there are people walking around, families eating dinner together that night, who wouldn’t be but for our efforts.  It should be enough.  And yet we willingly sacrifice our privacy and risk financial ruin to allow our name to be published in a meaningless book.