Few criminal defense lawyers give a hoot about the demise of the once-glorious white shoe law firm, Dewey Ballantine (whose name was changed in 2007 to Dewey LeBoeuf to make it sound more international).  Biglaw’s problems aren’t ours, right?

Putting aside the schadenfreude of another Biglaw collapse, coupled with the salaciousness of watching wankers scramble for a new corner office in a down market, there was a paragraph in this  New York Times op-ed by James B, Stewart that’s worth some thought:

When I was a young associate at Cravath, one of my tasks was to compile the detailed billing records, organize them and submit them to the senior partner. What emerged for the client was a one-sentence bill in calligraphy on beautiful stationery: “For professional services rendered,” followed by the time period covered and a large number with a dollar sign. So far as I know no client ever objected or asked for a more detailed explanation, and had they done so, I suspect the senior partner would have deemed it a grave breach of trust.

Most of you will read this and think, what an archaic notion, a one-sentence bill in calligraphy on beautiful stationary.  You likely imagine some wigged barrister in a waistcoat with a quill pen too.  How quaint. How out of touch.  How old-fashioned.

Welcome to the new normal you’ve embraced with such vigor.  There was a time when lawyers were trusted. There was a time when lawyers earned that trust, and a lawyer’s integrity was his most valued virtue. 

The reason it all seems so antiquated, so absurdly archaic, is that we’ve become “new and improved” laundry detergent.  Dewey’s case shows the problem. They enticed “rock star” lawyers to come aboard with fat salary guarantees that exceeded their production. Existing partners wanted big money as well, so they guaranteed it to themselves. They financed the payment of these guarantees with debt. When the money coming in failed to cover the money going out, the firm collapsed.  

The futurists, marketers and schemers say that the problem with the practice of law today is that it’s a business.  Dewey ran itself as a business. And like many a business, it failed. This is what you’ve all been asking for, the business of law. This is what you get.

And this isn’t a Biglaw problem by any means, but a law problem. Solos embrace the lie even more quickly than Biglaw, that this is just another business and we should do anything we can to make money.  Whether it’s false claims and puffery, or concealment of the fact that you’ve only been a lawyer for a couple of weeks, or hints that you’ve never lost a case and every client wins millions of dollars, lawyers have been told they better get on the train to success in the business of law before it’s too late.  And they have.

It’s not an “all or nothing” proposition. To run a law practice, one needs to know the basics of business.  But that aspect of business isn’t terribly difficult to master. Earn more than you spend. Don’t squander money on silly things.  Every penny you spend on gold-plated legal pads comes out of your pocket, and unless your clients demand gold-plated legal pads, it’s not worth it. 

But there was a time, not too long ago, when there was a dignity to the way lawyers conducted themselves.  It’s not that we lacked the opportunity to puff ourselves in order to induce the next client to hand over his money.  It was there. It’s always been there. Rather, we refused to indulge in the impulse to to do so.

We were lawyers. We chose not to lie. We chose not to deceive. Our integrity mattered, to us regardless of whether it mattered to anyone else.  The idea is that integrity is what we do when no one is watching. 

There are days when I feel as if I’m about a thousand years old, talking in long sentences to kids who can’t comprehend anything beyond 140 characters.  How can my message be understood by lawyers who have never experienced a profession where integrity was honored for its own sake?

Why bother with a curmudgeon who speaks of dignity and integrity when there are thousands of other voices promising overnight wealth and prestige for the price of some SEO and pink hot pants?

Because there was once a time when a lawyer could send “a one-sentence bill in calligraphy on beautiful stationery” and clients would trust their lawyer enough to simply pay it.  That’s what it once meant to be a lawyer.