Two posts went up at two blogs yesterday, apparently without knowledge by either writer that the other would be writing on the same subject. One was by Jordan Rushie at Philly Law Blog. The other was by Leo Mulvihill at the Puddle. Put Jordan and Leo together and you’ve got the Fishtown Lawyers.

Both Jordan and Leo’s posts were motivated by a post by another baby lawyer,  Josh Camson, who announced that after 18 months of practice as a criminal defense lawyer, he was going to hire an associate. 

Amazingly, my partner and I have been up and running for about eighteen months now. We haven’t killed each other, we haven’t been disbarred, and we have kept the lights on. And now we’ve decided it’s time to expand. This summer we will bring on an associate attorney and get some real health insurance.

It’s rather hard to assess where exactly Josh’s two-man firm has been or is heading, as he gives up few details about his practice. Is he living on appointed work, with maybe a retained client here and there to fill up the time?  Is he just making ends meet, or did he put in the order for a new Porsche? Does he want an associate because he’s undertaken lucrative work beyond the hours of the day available to him, so that the associate becomes a profit center to his firm? Or will he send the associate in to cover appointed work and plan to pay the new kid a fraction of what he will bill for his representation?

The aspect of Josh’s post, and the aspect of most posts at the Puddle, is that they purport to offer advice to n00bs that neglects all the salient details and considerations that go into an reasonably intelligent person making a reasonably intelligent choice. It’s the Puddle’s primary virtue, that no one ever gets a headache thinking too hard about any advice posted there.

Jordan, a raconteur by nature, tells the story of his growth as a baby lawyer through analogy, using his experience to highlight the potential pitfalls of blindly rushing into things without appreciation of the potential for disaster. Unlike most newer lawyers, who know with absolutely certainty that every idea that pops into their head will turn out splendidly, more experienced lawyers have seen otherwise fine ideas crash and burn.  We tend to recognize that the details matter, and are usually the difference between success and failure.

Jordan is not shy when it comes to calling up an older lawyer and asking for his thoughts. He calls me sometimes. He calls some others as well, trying to get a more diverse perspective. He loves it when we all tell him the same thing, except when that thing is “you’re an idiot.” He doesn’t start to cry, but he does make this sad puppy-dog face sometimes. 

Yet, he comes back for more with his next question. He can take a punch. On occasion, Jordan will later tell me that advice saved him from disaster, that he didn’t see at the time but, after the excrement hit the fan, realizes was sound.  I’m glad to help.

The fact is older lawyers do the same. When we’re thinking about doing something different, we call each other and talk it out as well. We know all too well that we can get an idea in our head that takes on a life of its own, and we’re no longer able to decide from a detached perspective whether our thought is good or awful. So we ask someone else. It’s really no different than a new lawyer seeking a mentor’s advice. And while I won’t give up names, you would be shocked to learn who talks to whom about what. From the biggest names to the smallest, lawyers talk. The only criteria is mutual respect. Think about that for a moment.

In contrast to Jordan, Leo makes his point through the metaphor of luck.

As I approached my graduation date in spring 2010, I faced a situation similar to many of my classmates: no jobs.

After graduation, while studying from the bar, I still faced that same situation:  no jobs.

After taking the bar, while awaiting the results: no jobs.

This was terribly frustrating.

But then, in fall 2010, just as the bar results were to be released, I received a call from a Judge whom I’d volunteered time working for back during my 2L year. He needed a clerk. He needed that clerk to start soon. He wanted that clerk to be me. So I took the job.

Luck: The judge needed me exactly when I was looking for a full-time job.

Making the best of that luck: While working for the judge, I read countless motions and pleadings, honed my research and writing skills, and sat in on several trials. Because I sat in on as many trials as I did, I met the attorneys who were regularly trying cases in our court. I’m still in touch with many of those attorneys today, who serve as referral sources and mentors. Furthermore, my judge was in the last year of his tenure before retirement. When he retired, he gave me most of his law books, which jump-started my firm’s legal library.

But I only got the job because I volunteered my time during my 2L year.

The saying is that “luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.” There’s no guarantee that you will get lucky, but as pro golfer Gary Player said, “the more I practice, the luckier I get.” That’s how it happens. Nobody gets lucky in the practice of law by doing and thinking the least possible, hoping instead that the certainty of youth that things will work out will get you over the hump. 

Marcus Schantz found that out the hard way, when the success of his first two years of practice led to the red ink of his next two. And Josh Camson is only 18 months in, just like Jordan and Leo, but shows neither their humility nor desire to prepare so that they can get lucky.

* Many tell me that they hate the obscure references of some of the titles I give my posts. That’s a shame, as I find them amusing.  But this title, “Idiot Wind,” may prove particularly obscure, so I thought it might be fun to make it a contest, with the first person who can explain what it has to do with this post winning a copy of  Nathan Burney’s spectacular book, The Illustrated Guide to Criminal Law.

Here’s a hint: