Vol. 71, No. 3, March
1998
Out of Order
To Thine Own Self, Be True
By Nick Pro Tunc
Attorney Phineas Figby was distraught.
He had heard that lawyers were getting a bad rap. Now his fears were
confirmed in print. The National Law Journal reported a Harris poll
comparing the general population's 1977 attitudes towards various professions
with their 1997 attitudes.1 Asked to rank which
professions are of "very great prestige," the percentage of people
listing "lawyer" had dropped from 36 percent 20 years ago to 19
percent today. That was the biggest decline for any profession. The respondents
ranked (in descending order) scientist, doctor, teacher, minister/clergyman,
engineer and athlete higher in prestige than attorney.
"Well, if that's what
the public wants, I'm going to set an example and become a renaissance
lawyer or a lawyer-for-all-seasons, or whatever," Figby declared.
Figby eagerly set forth on the high road toward his make-over. Since
scientists ranked numero uno, Figby bought a large telescope for his office.
He began asking his clients whether they favored the Big Bang or Steady
State theory of cosmology. Unfortunately, his clients didn't understand
"cosmology," and thought Figby was referring to his billing practices.
It didn't help matters, either, that Figby's office lacked a window
out of which to aim the telescope.
"Science alone may not do it," Figby reflected. "I'll
try medicine next."
Figby's colleagues grew concerned about his new habit of wearing
a white smock instead of a suit. In truth, Figby was only trying to combine
the image of a man of medicine with that of lab scientist, figuring he could
cash in on both professions. Unfortunately, Figby's new wardrobe made
clients think of the man in the proverbial white coat who is coming to take
you away, ha, ha, ho, ho, not a physician or physicist.
Figby's clientele dwindled.
Undaunted, Figby sought to emulate the third profession on the list:
teacher. He figured that a college professor would be the highest in the
teaching pecking order. Figby traded in the smock for a tweed jacket with
elbow patches. He began smoking a pipe and acting contemplative. Those clients
who could handle the telescope that looked nowhere were disarmed when they
asked for legal advice and Figby merely stared at the ceiling and puffed
on his pipe. Those clients who stuck around long enough to get an answer
to their question were not rewarded with a simple "yes" or "no,"
but instead endured a discourse on the meaning of life and law.
Figby's practice continued to shrink.
Figby started to take indigent court appointments to shore up his business.
At the same time, he was convinced he just hadn't quite captured the
proper image. Perhaps taking on the trappings of a clergyman would be the
rainmaker. Figby encountered a distinct lack of cooperation from his court-appointed
clients when he addressed them as "my son" or "my daughter"
and asked them to think upon their sins. Prosecutors and public defenders
alike, fearing a ground swell of ineffective assistance of counsel claims,
pleaded with the judges to take Figby off the court appointment list. Figby
was trying to entice everyone to plead guilty and repent.
In due course Figby was destitute. He checked his list and found that
the only remaining professions ranking higher than lawyer were engineer
and athlete. Unfortunately, in his despondency over his failure to enhance
his professional standing, Figby failed to appreciate what kind of engineer
the poll mentioned. He again attempted to merge two professions into one.
Wearing expensive top-of-the-line running shoes and a blue and white striped
train engineer's cap, he dashed up and down the courthouse steps, passing
out his card, and shouting, "Chug, chug, woo, woo. I'm fit as
a fiddle and ready to sue!"
Alas, this sordid tale does not have a happy ending. The moral is clear:
Don't worry about surveys and polls, just be you, the best lawyer you
can be. Amen.
Nick Pro Tunc is still trying to figure out what
he wants to be when he grows up.
Endnotes
1 Aug. 25, 1997, at A6.
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