April 2002

Proud to Be a Lawyer
Modest Dreams

by Jeff Tolman

When I was young I was going to change the world. After I found a cure for cancer and won the Nobel Peace Prize, I would search for new horizons. The world would be a better place because of me. At 20 I knew that.

Nearly 30 years later, reality has set in. Cancer still ravages the world and peace is tentative in many parts of the planet. My dreams have come up short of reality, at least in the broadest terms. In smaller, more personal terms I'm not sure that's true. Like so many lawyers, I have on one level achieved both goals.

Often, I meet clients riddled by cancer. Though usually not the medical kind, certainly one as devastating — the cancer of a broken family or broken heart; a body ravaged by lack of sleep due to an overwhelming legal problem; the hopelessness of feeling like they are in the world alone.

After new clients have tried unsuccessfully to solve problems with the help of family and friends, they come to me. As we analyze their legal troubles, I organize the chaos and bring some order to their lives. As a mentor of mine said long ago, "Your goal with every client is the same. They must feel better going out your door than they did coming in, because you have solved their problem. Or because they now have someone to share their burden with. Or maybe they simply know there is no good news. That is how you earn your pay."

Recently a woman I knew from the community came to see me. I didn't recognize her. She had lost 20 pounds or more over the past month. On the few occasions it came, sleep was fitful. Her eyes looked bruised from exhaustion. Her mother had died, she was a wreck, and wondered what was going to happen next. I explained the probate process to her — that accounts would not be frozen or front doors padlocked; how she would receive letters testamentary and have full authority to handle the estate quickly, smoothly and cheaply.

My client looked at me incredulously for a second, then in a voice louder than I would have liked, screamed, "Well, that's b***sh*t!"

"What?" I asked, surprised by her response.

"I haven't slept in weeks or eaten in days, and in five minutes you make sense out of this! It's b***sh*t that I didn't come in sooner."

I acquired the information I needed and we began drafting papers to probate the estate. Almost immediately my client began eating and smiling again. Her worst fears disappeared and, with some certainty back in her life, she returned to the person I'd known. I had cured the cancer of uncertainty that controlled her life. Like most lawyers, I have had similar experiences with many clients before and since.

Once in a while I am asked what my greatest success as a lawyer is. The questioner expects to hear about a jillion-dollar verdict or the acquittal of a wrongly charged person. My success is neither. Here is the story of my Peace Prize.

Then I helped clients with divorces, a man came to see me. He and his wife were well-respected in the community, one of those couples you use as role models after you are married. He quietly walked into my office one morning before regular business hours.

"We need to talk," he said. "It's important. Do you have a few minutes now?"

I had a free hour, so we chatted. He was planning on getting a divorce. His marriage just wasn't like it used to be — not as exciting; more day-to-day than extraordinary; so much transporting kids to and from events; fast-food meals and living activity-to-activity; too little recreation, fun and intimacy. Life was too short to live like this, he had concluded. Would I represent him in the divorce?

Sure, I said, but first we needed to talk about a couple of things. How would he feel waking up every other Christmas morning without his kids? How would he take it the first time one of his kids inadvertently called his wife's next husband "Dad"? Certainly his wonderful wife would have men pursuing her. Had he thought of that?

We talked for a long time about marriage and the routine it can become. In the end we made an agreement. He would take his wife on a week's vacation. No kids. Warm weather. Spend a bit more money than he normally would — to see if the magic had died, or was buried by work and family responsibilities. If he returned from vacation and still felt the same, I would represent him.

I thought of this man and his wife often during their week away. Our paths crossed a couple of weeks later at the ballpark.

"How was your trip?" I asked.

"It couldn't have been better," he said. "But I'll be making an appointment to see you soon."

After a short, uncomfortable pause he continued, "Lisa (not her real name) and I need to get wills. We have a long life left together and need to get things in order."

I had been a part of finding peace in a marriage. I felt as proud (and still do) as if I had won the Nobel Prize.

My dreams and experiences aren't unique or different than many lawyers. We cure cancer and help find peace every day as part of our work. Now we need to determine what new discoveries and horizons await us.