At his Philly Law Blog, Jordan Rushie recounts how he went from self-absorbed law student, utterly clueless as to what he’d gotten into and where he would be heading the rest of his life, to lawyer.

Admittedly, I had no idea what lawyers did on a regular basis. I had only met small town lawyers in my neighborhood. Most of them seemed pretty interesting. My view of lawyers was shaped by John Grisham novels, Law and Order, To Kill a Mocking Bird, and A Civil Action. Law seemed like a pretty interesting profession. My goal was to get into prosecution, and then maybe become a criminal defense lawyer. That sounded cool.

Why, yes, we lawyers really are cool. Small children stare at us in awe, appreciating the cut of our suit as they once appreciated the rugged looks of a firefighter.  Cool and awesome. But then, what exactly is it that lawyers, well, do?

On my first day at the office, I was still kind of confused by what I was told by career services and what reality was. Mark Everhart’s practice consisted of him, a receptionist who he shared with other lawyers, and his paralegal. Although he was the “senior partner” this seemed a little different than what we talked about in law school. Mr. Everhart called me into his office and gave me some tasks: write a research memo about something, start to prepare a motion, and draft discovery. “Yes, Mr. Everhart. Sure thing, Mr. Everhart.” I was on my best, most formal behavior.

Later in the afternoon, Mr. Everhart called me into his office. “Listen, I know you’re excited about this job. And you should be. But stop calling me Mr. Everhart. It’s Mark. Once you get your law license we’re going to be colleagues and equals. Let’s grab a beer after work.”

Your mileage, naturally, may vary, but that isn’t the point. The point is that in the summer after his first year, Jordan got a job with a real lawyer, and this real lawyer showed him for the very first time what real lawyers do, at least in his office, on a daily basis.  And Jordan was smart enough to realize that this, in general, would be the way he would spend every working day for the rest of his life.

As it happens, Jordan met a good guy who not only showed him life as a lawyer, but went on to steer him well as a mentor.  And Jordan, in return, realized that the real world of lawyers, rather than the fiction in his head when he signed up for law school, was where he belonged.  All’s well that ends well.

Over at The Legal Whiteboard, Lawprof Bill Henderson, who started as a firefighter until he realized at his kid’s second grade Career Day how much more cool and awesome lawyers are, is doing his darndest to find ways to incorporate this transition into law school.

In retrospect, it looks pretty simple:  (1) find a convenient time for 1Ls, (2) provide pizza, (3) invite successful lawyers to talk about their careers, (4) have law faculty gently moderate, and (5) implement a modest attendence requirement tied to a 1L substantive course.

Why does this matter?  If students have better information and have a broader view of the profession–created through a balanced and well structured programming–they can make sense of the world more quickly and in turn make better decisions related to their own professional development. 

One might well wonder why this isn’t true of students applying to law school, when the biggest decision is made. But then, it’s not like law schools have any control over what silliness exists in the minds of their entering students, and if applicants are foolish enough to sign up for a career about which they know nothing more than what comes over the TV in a one-hour drama, who’s to blame?

Career Choice events were typically organized around practice settings (i.e., small firms, big firms, in-house lawyers, personal injury lawyers, prosecutors, public defenders, state agency lawyers, public interest lawyers, business and nonprofit executives, etc.) and substantive areas (IP, sports and entertainment law, international law, family law, bankruptcy, etc.)  An ideal panel would be one where the practitioners moderately disagree with each other — this is why we like having more than one lawyer in at a time.  When lawyers disagree, students have to engage their minds in order to make sense of the differing perspectives.

Though it lacks the depth and personal touch Jordan enjoyed, at least the diversity of opinion on the panels offers greater insight than a lone ranger, cheerleading his point of view.

When guest speakers are available to stay for dinner, the same alumnus also pays for dinners for speakers and three to five students.  Over the years, I have attended roughly two dozen of these meals.  Many times students tell me that the insights shared over these dinners are among the most memorable and fulfilling learning experiences of their 1L year.

There’s a message in here for lawprofs, that these meetings are so memorable and fulfilling.  Henderson gets it. The opportunity to connect with real lawyers, to have some insight, any insight, into the world they are paying a bundle for and will soon be entering, fills a huge gap in their understanding and experience. They need this connection. As hugely impressed as most lawprofs believe students must be when their scholarship is published in some law review, it doesn’t hold a candle to a chance to talk with real lawyers about the practice of law. Sure, it won’t help a lawprof get tenure or the admiration of his fellow academics, but it will help law students.

Can a law school program like Henderson’s Career Choices compensate for a lack of experience of a Jordan Rushie working for a summer in Mark Everhart’s office?  Henderson’s explanation of the evolution of the program provides a clue.  A few of the developmental “lessons”:

• Choice matters.  Students can have pretty fixed ideas on who is worth listening to.  This is a constraint.  But when students can exercise some choice on speakers, they show up with a positive attitude and higher levels of curiosity.  These positive experiences bring them back voluntarily –now, voluntary participation is well beyond the minimum.  The choice created the way for buy-in.

• Timing really matters.  Pizza is not enough to get students to give up a lunch hour.  The winning combination is lunch plus content plus a time period when students are not scrambling to read for class.  Moving from Wednesdays to Thursdays was huge for student participation–albeit it was less convenient for faculty.  We learned that faculty need to bend as much or more than students.

Coddle much?  Perhaps the lawprofs can give the students foot rubs to enhance their enjoyment and participation?   Practicing law is inherently inconvenient and occasionally unpleasant. If they can’t happily suffer some personal inconvenience in law school to find out what they’re getting into, it bodes poorly for their willingness to endure the hard work of being a lawyer.

• Respect student preferences. During the 1.0 version, we had four mandatory sessions at 4:30 on Thursday afternoons — and as a result, we were leaning heavily into a headwind.  A minority of students resented the imposition on their time; and this negativity affected the general mood of the students, which created an uphill battle for even the finest guest speakers.  It is easy to conclude what students “ought” to value.  But such judgments don’t improve the situation at hand.  The smart person accepts; the idiot insists.

I’ve added emphasis to the last sentence, because this reflects a distinction in how such a program can survive within a law school environment as opposed to the harsh lesson these students will learn in the real world.  No judge will acquiesce to the students desires.  No law firm or lawyer gives a flying crap about the students’ “general mood.”  What they eat, and whether they eat, will never be a subject of discussion.

It’s understandable that the program has been designed around the interests of law students, the better to get them to participate, even though practicing lawyers might feel the urge to smack these students for the arrogance.  For a lawprof, making it work trumps the expectation that snot-nosed kids grow up, take some responsibility for their choices and learn the things they need to learn. 

The alternative is to make this program voluntary, given at terribly inconvenient times and require students to bring in food, not only for themselves but for the lawyers who have given of their time to speak to them.  And to keep a role of dimes handy, to pass out to any students who fails to avail herself of the opportunity.

As much as I respect Bill Henderson’s efforts in trying to institutionally create the experience that these law students ought to “value,” I can’t help but wonder whether the good that comes from learning what real lawyers do is undermined by the collateral lesson that it comes at their convenience. 

Bill says the smart person accepts; the idiot insists.  Maybe the smart person avails himself of opportunity and the idiot goes home.  Of course, the object of our respective views is an entirely different person.  I wouldn’t be deeply troubled if Bill had to hand out the whole role of dimes. If a class was weeded down to one Jordan Rushie, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.