by
S. Sponte, Esq.
When it comes to the subject of my passing years in the law, I am usually not one to ruminate. Experience has taught that time so spent is neither profitable nor billable, and in addition, I find that whether I ruminate about them or not, the years pass just the same. Therefore, when it comes to ruminations, I have decided not to bother. So why is it, you may well ask, am I now ruminating?
There are only two possible reasons to explain this current wave of philosophical cerebrations – the onset of a terminal illness or the advent of a major law school reunion. Fortunately for me itÕs the latter that this time has me visiting the nether world of self-reflection. My time for the former will no doubt come soon enough.
So IÕm sitting here at my computer, smoking my first cigar of the morning, and ruminating. Have I really been a lawyer for twenty five years? Am I any different now than I was when first I started lawyering, but for the cigar, a couple of ex-wives and about fifteen pounds? And in all those years, have I mastered anything at all besides the art of ducking?
It is at times like these that I am most reminded of Mozart. During the first twenty-five years of his life, for instance, he wrote hundreds of magnificent musical compositions, including operas, symphonies and masses. And if that werenÕt enough, during that same time period, he only lived to be, well, twenty-five, but you get the point.
This all started when I received an invitation to attend my 25th law school reunion. Even though the school is fairly close, I havenÕt gone to many reunions in the past. I have always felt that seeing old classmates is the primary reason to attend such functions, and what with most of my class scattered all over the state, I am one of only a small cadre of my classmates likely to attend an annual reunion.
I knew however that this reunion would be different. Not only would it mark the passage of twenty-five years in the law, itself a propitious occasion, but for me and most of my classmates, it would also mark the passage of our fiftieth year. The grand convergence of two such major mortality checks is irresistible to even the most distant cynic, and so I knew that most of my class would be there.
IÕd made a great number of lifelong friends in law school, none of whom IÕd seen since graduation, and I was anxious to see them again. The first thing I did after reading the invitation was to retrieve my old class picture from the hall closet. There I was, staring back at me, baby-faced, eager, yet with an unmistakable air of erudition obvious even then. There were so many other familiar faces staring back at me, so many memories.
There was Tommy, nicknamed for his home town, Altoona the Hun, on account of his vociferously stated belief that the Governor of Ohio should not have called in troops against the students at Kent State, he should have called in air strikes. There was Bill, pretty much of a stiff when it came to the law, but whom we permitted to stay on as a member of our study group because of that wonderful thing he could do with his tongue.
I thought about them and all my other classmates and wondered – who of them had been successful and who disbarred, who had mastered the intricacies of lawyering and who was there for whom the rhythms of the profession remained a mystery? Who was fat, who was bald, who was dead or in jail? And, most importantly of all, did any of them look younger than me? Time would tell the truth, as it always does in these matters, so I sent in my reservation, marked my calendar, and made an appointment with my hair cutter to have some of the gray removed.
At the designated time, I arrived at the hotel with anticipation. I walked into the ballroom reserved for our class and there they were, the comrades and colleagues of my youth, lined up in elegant array before the open bar. My eyes landed at once upon a very familiar face.
ÒBill, how are you? God, itÕs good to see you again. Can you still do that thing with your tongue?Ó
ÒIÕm a judge now,Ó he said, offering a limp handshake in return.
ÒGreat,Ó I exclaimed, successfully representing my astonishment, Òbut can you still do that thing with your tongue?Ó
He didnÕt answer but instead turned to shake another hand. I caught a quick glance at the name badge affixed to his breast pocket and it seemed to confirm his status. He was either a judge now or he owned his own label-making company. The latter seemed more credible.
Altoona the Hun was there too, bald, bearded and overweight. He was sporting an NRA tie tack and a lapel button that said ÒDonÕt Blame Me, I voted for Larouche.Ó I waved.
In the limited time available that evening, I wasnÕt able to talk to everyone, but I did manage to gather some statistics. Of the sixty-five students in our class, sixty-four are still alive. One is a state trial court judge, one is a state appellate court judge, one is a federal district court judge, two are state senators and one a state representative. Two have been disbarred, seven have left mainstream lawyering to pursue related interests, and one, forsaking the profession altogether, is now a law professor. Between us, we have 103 spouses, 131 children, 2 grandchildren, 24 step-children, 7 kids now in law school and 3 kids who are already lawyers. Damned if we havenÕt become our own little cottage industry.
When it was time to go, I was satisfied. It was nice to visit so many memories that confirmed what I had hoped – that my life, disjointed and undirected as it sometimes seems, is really no different than anyone elseÕs. ItÕs a comforting thought at a time when my fiftieth birthday serves so well to remind me how much nearer my God I am to Thee.
Most of us had, in our own way, made our own way, and therein lies our success. Even Bill, generally regarded by our class as the least likely to succeed, has found a permanent measure of success. I donÕt mean getting elected a judge, anyone can do that. Oh, if you could only see that wonderful thing he can do with his tongue.
Copyright 1995, s. Sponte, Esq.