In 1973, when I started out as a lawyer, being a professional
seemed to me to be taken for granted. The culture was that you
behaved in a certain way simply because you were a lawyer. If you
did not adhere to that culture, there always was someone to remind
you to do so, either an older lawyer with whom you worked or some
other lawyer. Being a professional was paramount. Being a lawyer
was not just a job.
It is safe to say that culture has changed a bit over the last 39
years. Professional associations like the MBA and its affiliated
bar associations are not simply trade associations. While bar
associations sometimes perform functions similar to those of trade
associations, bar associations are and should be committed to
enhancing professionalism. A "profession" is "an occupation that
properly involves a liberal, scientific, or artistic education."
[Definition is from Funk & Wagnalls Standard Dictionary, the
dictionary closest to my computer.] The word "education" in the
definition of "profession" is important. As lawyers, we need to
continue our education, honing our craft (another interesting word,
which means generally, "skill or proficiency"). This education must
include keeping current on the law relevant to our practice areas
and enhancing our analytical skills, as well as our drafting and
advocacy.
With the foregoing in mind, I recall an earlier life, before law
school, when I worked as a copywriter for Life magazine in New York
City. I was the "cub" copywriter (the other folks in my department
put a nameplate on my office door declaring me as such) in the
circulation promotion department which functioned in many ways like
an in-house advertising agency. The other copywriter, artists and I
prepared various types of advertising and promotional materials for
Life and a number of other Time, Inc. divisions. One of my jobs
every week was to write the "teaser" cover flap copy for newsstand
copies of Life. This was not considered a top assignment in my
department and thus devolved to me as the "cub" copywriter. Every
Monday at 11 a.m. I attended a meeting presided over by Marian
MacPhail, one of Life's editors and the sister of the baseball
brothers MacPhail who ran the Yankees at that time. The meeting was
for the purpose of telling the promotion and advertising people
what was in that week's issue about to be published. Frequently,
some very notable people were present, who were to be featured in
Life. I saw Dean Rusk and Norman Mailer, among others, at these
meetings. It was a heady experience for a cub of 23. Following the
meeting, my job was to draft the cover flap "teaser" copy, which
had to be approved by my copy chief and the head of my department.
Thereafter, it had to be approved by one of the two assistant
managing editors of Life and then the managing editor. All of this
had to be done by a 3 p.m. deadline that day. I was usually done
with my drafting by 1 or 1:30 p.m., and my affable copy chief and
even more affable department head almost always gave me a
figurative pat on the head, approving my work without changes. Only
after the first few times this happened did I realize why they did
that.
My department was on the 32nd floor of the Time-Life building, and
editorial was on the 34th floor. With some trepidation, I would
head to the 34th floor to my first stop, the assistant managing
editor. There were two, as I noted, and I will not name names,
because one was - how shall I put this delicately - "less than
affable," while the other was what we might term "a prince of a
fellow." I usually had to deal with the less-than-affable fellow.
My experience with him, for those of you who are Seinfeld fans, was
a bit like dealing with the "soup Nazi." I would stand at the
entrance to his office after being allowed in for the sole purpose
of handing him the copy I had prepared. It was never acceptable.
The blue penciling was a sight to behold, with my original copy -
as approved by my department bosses - totally obscured by that
assistant managing editor's changes. Armed with those changes and
chastened by the disdain he exhibited toward my handiwork, I then
would repair to the managing editor's office, the estimable Ralph
Graves, who would proceed to change everything the assistant
managing editor had done. Like my experience with the assistant
managing editor, I would stand at the door to Mr. Graves' office,
approaching his desk only twice, once to hand the already edited
copy and then to get it back after he had re-written it. (By the
way, when I occasionally dealt with the other assistant managing
editor, he, like my department bosses, simply said nice work and
sent me to Mr. Graves' office, knowing full well that Mr. Graves
was going to re-write everything anyway.)
These writing and editing dance steps at Life magazine went on for
about a year. Those of you old enough to remember seeing newsstand
copies of Life in the late 1960s will recall the cover flaps. There
were not many words. The few there were had been massaged greatly,
as I have described. (To give you an idea of one I remember, in
particular, there was a cover story about Bebe Rebozo, friend of,
advisor to and fundraiser for Richard Nixon. I wrote - this one
miraculously survived the editing process mostly intact - "Bebe
Rebozo: businessman, bon vivant and Nixon's best friend.")
I tell this story because I believe it says something useful about
professionalism and craft. Even though I frequently did not like
the changes made to my copy, I learned much about attention to
detail and getting the words right from the perspective of the
people with responsibility for the end product. The process
involved caused very few words to get a great deal of
attention.
We lawyers cannot always devote all the time to a matter we would
like. Yet we have to make our best efforts to get right whatever it
is we are doing, even if it is only a few words. That is
professionalism. We should remind ourselves and each other that
that is what we are about.