The path from the first day of law school to an aspiring lawyer’s first job is an increasingly precarious journey, with a shrinking margin for error. I like to think others can learn from my mistakes, which is why I am going to describe the dumbest thing I did when I was in law school. (I also continue to be inspired by Jordan Rushie’s brutally honest post on the Philly Law Blog specifically on the topic of hubris.)
Like every law school, Loyola (Los Angeles), where I attended, offered classes in Trial Advocacy. Believing I wanted to be a litigator, I took “Trial Ad,” and had a fabulous adjunct professor (John McNicholas), who is a gifted trial lawyer and extremely successful fellow Loyola alum. I received a great education about how to try a case. The only problem is that the nuts and bolts training I received was not done in an actual courtroom, but in a posh new classroom constructed (at students’ and alumni expense) to look like a courtroom. Other members of the class served as judge and jury.
While I learned how to introduce evidence, lay a foundation, examine and cross-examine witnesses, object, respond to objections, etc., there was none of the extreme pressure, i.e., fear factor, that comes with trying to introduce evidence, examine a witness, etc. in a real court of law, in front of a real judge, with real facts, real victims, real defendants and real consequences. Plus, even though I “tried” a theoretical case during class, there were no bragging rights that came with completing my Trial Ad class; I couldn’t tell prospective employers in an interview that I had any real courtroom experience because, like most law students, I had no real courtroom experience. But imagine how impressive I could sound during an interview if I could say I’d cross-examined a witness in a preliminary hearing!
As it happens, one of the professors at Loyola (at least at that time) had created a special program in conjunction with his connections at the LA City Attorney’s office. Instead of one semester, this trial advocacy class was a full year, the first semester being classroom training much like I received, and during the second semester students would spend a day or two (I can’t remember which) “embedded” in a City Attorney’s office and acting as a prosecutor for criminal preliminary hearings. The cases weren’t all that sexy or complicated–drug possession, perhaps prostitution–but this was the perfect training ground for a future civil litigator or criminal lawyer to develop crucial skills, only with real victims, defendants, witnesses and judges. Even better, while the professor would determine students’ grades for the first semester of classroom training, it would fall to the Deputy City Attorneys to propose a participant’s grade for the second semester. (I never heard about anyone getting below a B, and As were the norm.)
The catch? Of course the program was only open to a limited number of students, and a student who wanted in had to interview for a spot. You know the rest of the story, right? You’re thinking I signed up, totally choked on the interview and didn’t get invited. Or that I missed the deadline to sign up. Or I got in but was kicked out for some ghastly reason or another.
Nope. It was none of these. Instead, even though I recognized it was a great opportunity, I purposely let the time come and go to sign up and interview. Why? Because I was insulted by the fact I was required to interview. I thought it was ridiculous–a needless imposition. It seemed to me that, if I was paying the same tuition as everybody else, I should automatically be allowed to take the class.
In other words, I let some lame, unrealistic expectation stand between me and an opportunity I knew even then was a golden one. Of course my law school girlfriend signed up, interviewed and got in. And she loved it. Learned a lot and had a blast. And she got an A both semesters.
Hear this: I made this mistake so you don’t have to. Don’t do it. Whether it was immaturity, hubris, unconscious fear of rejection (or fear of success)–whatever the reason–don’t let something stupid hang you up and prevent you from seizing a golden opportunity. Don’t disappoint me; I’m watching.