Lex Anteinternet: Mid Week At Work: Endings.

Lex Anteinternet: Mid Week At Work: Endings.:

Mid Week At Work: Endings.

I posted this the other day:

Sigh . . .

And depicted with a horse too. . . 

Kroger retires after 35 years of service  CODY - Worland Wildlife Biologist Bart Kroger retired last month, bringing his 35-year career with the Wyoming Game and Fish Department to a close.  “Bart has been referred to as the ‘core of the agency’, meaning through his dedication and continuous hard work, he has significantly and meaningfully impacted wildlife management within his district and throughout the state,” said Corey Class, Cody region wildlife management coordinator. “Throughout his career, he has been a solid, steady and dependable wildlife biologist, providing a foundation for wildlife conservation and management in the Bighorn Basin.” Through his quiet and thoughtful approach, Bart has gained the respect of both his peers and the public. Bart is best known for his commitment to spending time in the field gaining first-hand knowledge of the wildlife and the habitat that supports them, as well as the people he serves in his district.

 Found this old draft the other day

RETIREMENT ELIGIBILITY

Vesting Requirements

After obtaining 72 months of service, you are eligible to elect a monthly benefit at

retirement age. The 72 months of service do not have to be consecutive months.

Retirement Eligibility

You are eligible for retirement when you reach age 50 and are vested. There is no

early retirement under this plan. You must begin drawing your benefit no later than

age 65.

Which means, as a practical matter, if you are to draw retirement as a Wyoming Game Warden, you need to take the job no later than the beginning of your 59th year.

Of course, if you started at age 59, you wouldn't be drawing much, if anything.

That doesn't mean, of course, that you couldn't be hired after age 59.  You'd just draw no retirement.

The actual statute on this matter states the following, as we noted in a prior thread, from 2023, quoted below:

2. Wyoming Game Wardens were once required to retire at age 55, but a lawsuit some decades ago overturned that. It, in turn, was later overruled, but by that time the state had changed the system. Since that time, it's set it again statutorily, with the age now being 65 by law.  There aren't, therefore, any 67-year-old game wardens.

Statutorily, the current law provides:

9-3-607. Age of retirement.

(a) Any employee with six (6) or more years of service to his credit is eligible to receive a retirement allowance under this article when he attains age fifty (50).

(b) Effective July 1, 1998, any employee retiring after July 1, 1998, with twenty-five (25) or more years of service may elect to retire and receive a benefit upon attaining age fifty (50) as described in W.S. 9-3-610.

(c) Repealed by Laws 1993, ch. 120, §§ 1, 2.

(d) Any employee in service who has attained age sixty-five (65), shall be retired not later than the last day of the calendar month in which his 65th birthday occurs. 

Age limitations of this type are tied to physical fitness.  But what about mental fitness?  As mentioned here before, Gen. Marshall forcibly retired most serving U.S. Army generals, or at least sidelined them, who were over 50 years of age during World War Two, and that had to do with their thinking.  We now allow judges to remain on the bench until they are 70.  Would 60 make more sense?  And can the same argument be made for lawyers, who are officers of the court?

This differs, I'd note, significantly from the Federal Government.  The cutoff there is age 37.  That's it.

Have a wildlife management degree?  Spend the last few years in some other state agency?  Win the Congressional Medal of Honor for single handled defeating the Boko Haram?  38 years old now? Well, too bloody bad for you.

Anyhow, I guess this says something about the American concept that age is just a number and the hands of the clock don't really move.

They do.

On a somewhat contrary note, I was in something this week when a 70-year-old man indicated he might retire in order to take a job as a commercial airline pilot.

He's never been employed in that capacity, but he's had the license for 50 years.  It wouldn't be carrying people for United or something, but in some other commercial capacity.  

He's always wanted to do it, and has an offer.

Well, more power to him.

I did a lot of what this lawyer is doing here, when first practicing, in front of barrister cases just like this.  No young lawyer does that now.

I spoke to a lawyer I've known the entire time I've been practicing law, almost. He's four years younger than me, which would make him 56 or so.  He's worked his entire career in general civil, in a small and often distressed town, in a firm founded by his parents.  When I was first practicing, it was pretty vibrant.

Now he's the only one left.

He's retiring this spring.  This was motivated by his single employee's decision to retire.

I was really surprised, in part due to his age.  I'm glad that he can retire, but it was a bit depressing.  We're witnessing, in Wyoming, the death of the small town civil firm.  Everything is gravitating to the larger cities, and frankly in the larger cities, they're in competition with the big cities in Colorado and Utah.  That's insured a bill in the legislature to try to recruit lawyers to rural areas.*

It's not going to work.

The problem has been, for some time, that it's impossible to recruit young lawyers to small rural areas.  The economics don't allow for it.  The economics don't allow for it, in part, as the Wyoming Supreme Court forced the Uniform Bar Exam down on the Board of Law Examiners, and that resulted in opening the doors to Denver and Salt Lake lawyers.  It's been something the small firms have been competing against ever since.

And not only that, but some sort of demographic change has operated to just keep younger lawyers out of smaller places, and frankly to cause them to opt for easier paths than civil law in general.  I know older lawyers that came from the larger cities in the state, and set up small town practices when they were young, as that's where the jobs were and having a job was what they needed to have.  I've even known lawyers who went to UW who moved here from somewhere else who took that path, relocating from big Eastern or Midwestern cities to do so.

No longer.  Younger lawyers don't do that.

Quite a few don't stick with civil practice at all.  They leave for government work, where the work hours are regular, and the paycheck isn't dependent on billable hours.   And recently, though we are not supposed to note it, young women attorneys reflect a new outlook in which a lot of them bail out of practice or greatly reduce their work hours after just a few years in, a desire to have a more regular domestic life being part of that.

I guess people can't be blamed for that, but we can, as a state, be blamed for being shortsighted.  Adopting the UBE was shortsighted.  Sticking with it has been inexcusable.  I'm not the only one who has said so, and frankly not the only one who probably paid a price for doing so.  The reaction to voices crying in the wilderness is often to close the windows so you don't have to hear them.  Rumor had it, which I've never seen verified and have heard expressly denied by a person within the law school administration, that it was done in order to aid the law school, under the theory that it would make UW law degrees transportable, which had pretty much the practical effect on the local law as Commodore Matthew Perry opening up trade with Japan.

Wyoming Board of Law Examiners bringing in the UBE.

The lawyer in this case is worried, as he has no hobbies and doesn't know what he'll do with himself.  I'm surprised how often this concern is expressed.  To only have the law, or any work, is sad.  But a court reporter, about my age, expressed the same concern to me the other day.

Court reporting has really taken a beating in this state, more so than lawyers.  When I was first practicing, every community had court reporters.  Now there are hardly any left at all.  Huge firms are down to just a handful of people, and people just aren't coming into the occupation.  It's a real concern to lawyers.

It's always looked like an interesting job to me, having all the diversity of being a lawyer, with seemingly a lot less stress.  But having never done it, perhaps I'm wildly in error.  We really don't know what other people's jobs are like unless we've done them.

A lawyer I know just died by his own hand.

I met him when he took over for a very long time Wyoming trial attorney upon that attorney's death.

The attorney he took over for had died when he went in his backyard and put a rifle bullet through his brain.  He was a well known attorney, and we could tell something wasn't quite right with him.  Just the day prior, he called me and asked for an extension on something.  I'd already given two.  I paused, and then, against my better judgment, said, "well. . . okay".  

I'd known him too long to say no.

He was clearing his schedule.  If I had said no, I feel, he wouldn't have done it, and he'd be alive today.

The new attorney came in and was sort of like a goofy force of nature.  Hard to describe.  A huge man, probably in his 40s at the time, but very childlike.  He talked and talked. Depositions would be extended due to long meandering conversational interjections, as I learned in that case and then a very serious subsequent one.

He was hugely proud of having been a member of a legendary local plaintiff's firm.  That didn't really matter much to me then, and it still doesn't.  My family has always had an odd reaction to the supposedly honorific.  My father never bothered to collect his National Defense Service Medal for serving during the Korean War, I didn't bother to get my Reserve Overseas Training Ribbon, or my South Korean award for Operation Team Spirit, I don't have my law school diploma's anymore. . . It's not that they aren't honors, it's just, well, oh well.  We tend to value other things, which in some ways sets standards that are highers than others, and very difficult to personally meet.

Anyhow, the guy was very friendly and told me details of his life, not all of which were true.  He was raised by his grandmother, his grandmother had somehow encouraged him to go to law school,  Both true.

He was from Utah and grown up there, but consistently denied being a Mormon.  His wife was Mormon, he said.  He was an Episcopalian.  As I'm very reserved, I'm not really going to talk religion with somebody I only casually and professionally know, as opposed to one of my very extroverted and devout partners who will bring it up at the drop of a hat, and his religious confession didn't particularly matter to me, given the light nature of our relationship.  As it turns out, and as I suspected, that wasn't even remotely true.  He was and always had been a Mormon.  Why did he lie about that?  No idea.

I suppose this is some sort of warning here, maybe.

The first lawyer noted in this part of this entry had suffered something hugely traumatic early in his life and never really got over it. Some people roll with the punches on traumas and some do not.  We hear about combat veterans all the time who live with the horrors they experienced, and which break them down, all the time, but I've known a couple who didn't have that sort of reaction at all, and who could coolly relate their combat experiences.  Others can't get over something that happened to them, ever.

With the second lawyers, there were some oddities, one being that he jumped from firm to firm, and to solo, and back and forth, all the time. That's unusual.  Another was that he seemed to have pinned his whole identify on being a lawyer.  It's one thing, like the retiring fellow above, to have worked it your whole life and have nothing else to do, it's quite another to have that make up everything you are.  He'd drunk deeply of the plaintiff's lawyer propaganda about helping the little guy and all that crap, and didn't really realize that litigators often hurt people as often as they help them, or do both at the same time.  Maybe the veil had come off.  Maybe he should never have been a lawyer in the first place.  Maybe it was organic and had nothing to do with any of this.

Well, the moral of this story, or morals, if there are any, would be this.  You don't have endless time to do anything, 70-year-old commercial airline pilots aside. You probably don't know what it's like to do something unless you've actually done it, but you can investigate it and learn as much as possible.  The UBE, which the Wyoming Supreme Court was complicit in adopting, is killing the small  town civil lawyer and only abrogating it, or its successor, and restoring the prior system can address that.   The entire whaling for justice plaintiff's lawyer ethos is pretty much crap.  And, finally, you had some sort of identify before you took up your occupation.  Unless that identity was what you became, before you became it, don't let the occupation become it.  It may be shallower than you think.

Footnotes:

The bill:

SENATE FILE NO. SF0033

Wyoming rural attorney recruitment program.

Sponsored by: Joint Judiciary Interim Committee

A BILL

for

AN ACT relating to attorneys-at-law; establishing the rural attorney recruitment pilot program; specifying eligibility requirements for counties and attorneys to participate in the program; specifying administration, oversight and payment obligations for the program; requiring reports; providing a sunset date for the program; authorizing the adoption of rules, policies and procedures; providing an appropriation; and providing for an effective date.

Be It Enacted by the Legislature of the State of Wyoming:

Section 1.  W.S. 33‑5‑201 through 33‑5‑203 are created to read:

ARTICLE 2

RURAL ATTORNEY RECRUITMENT PROGRAM

33‑5‑201.  Rural attorney recruitment program established; findings; program requirements; county qualifications; annual reports.

(a)  In light of the shortage of attorneys practicing law in rural Wyoming counties, the legislature finds that the establishment of a rural attorney recruitment program constitutes a valid public purpose, of primary benefit to the citizens of the state of Wyoming.

(b)  The Wyoming state bar may establish a rural attorney recruitment program to assist rural Wyoming counties in recruiting attorneys to practice law in those counties.

(c)  Each county eligible under this subsection may apply to the Wyoming state bar to participate in the program. A county is eligible to participate in the program if the county:

(i)  Has a population of not greater than twenty‑five thousand (25,000);

(ii)  Has an average of not greater than one and one‑half (1.5) qualified attorneys in the county for every one thousand (1,000) residents. As used in this paragraph, "qualified attorney" means an attorney who provides legal services to private citizens on a fee basis for an average of not less than twenty (20) hours per week. "Qualified attorney" shall not include an attorney who is a full‑time judge, prosecutor, public defender, judicial clerk, in‑house counsel, trust officer and any licensed attorney who is in retired status or who is not engaged in the practice of law;

(iii)  Agrees to provide the county share of the incentive payment required under this article;

(iv)  Is determined to be eligible to participate in the program by the Wyoming state bar.

(d)  Before determining a county's eligibility, the Wyoming state bar shall conduct an assessment to evaluate the county's need for an attorney and the county's ability to sustain and support an attorney. The Wyoming state bar shall maintain a list of counties that have been assessed and are eligible to participate in the program under this article. The Wyoming state bar may revise any county assessment or conduct a new assessment as the Wyoming State bar deems necessary to reflect any change in a county's eligibility.

(e)  In selecting eligible counties to participate in the program, the Wyoming state bar shall consider:

(i)  The county's demographics;

(ii)  The number of attorneys in the county and the number of attorneys projected to be practicing in the county over the next five (5) years;

(iii)  Any recommendations from the district judges and circuit judges of the county;

(iv)  The county's economic development programs;

(v)  The county's geographical location relative to other counties participating in the program;

(vi)  An evaluation of any attorney or applicant for admission to the state bar seeking to practice in the county as a program participant, including the attorney's or applicant's previous or existing ties to the county;

(vii)  Any prior participation of the county in the program;

(viii)  Any other factor that the Wyoming state bar deems necessary.

(f)  A participating eligible county may enter into agreements to assist the county in meeting the county's obligations for participating in the program.

(g)  Not later than October 1, 2024 and each October 1 thereafter that the program is in effect, the Wyoming state bar shall submit an annual report to the joint judiciary interim committee on the activities of the program. Each report shall include information on the number of attorneys and counties participating in the program, the amount of incentive payments made to attorneys under the program, the general status of the program and any recommendations for continuing, modifying or ending the program.

33‑5‑202.  Rural attorney recruitment program; attorney requirements; incentive payments; termination of program.

(a)  Except as otherwise provided in this subsection, any attorney licensed to practice law in Wyoming or an applicant for admission to the Wyoming state bar may apply to the Wyoming state bar to participate in the rural attorney recruitment program established under this article. No attorney or applicant shall participate in the program if the attorney or applicant has previously participated in the program or has previously participated in any other state or federal scholarship, loan repayment or tuition reimbursement program that obligated the attorney to provide legal services in an underserved area.

(b)  Not more than five (5) attorneys shall participate in the program established under this article at any one (1) time.

(c)  Subject to available funding and as consideration for providing legal services in an eligible county, each attorney approved by the Wyoming state bar to participate in the program shall be entitled to receive an incentive payment in five (5) equal annual installments. Each annual incentive payment shall be paid on or after July 1 of each year. Each annual incentive payment shall be in an amount equal to ninety percent (90%) of the University of Wyoming college of law resident tuition for thirty (30) credit hours and annual fees as of July 1, 2024.

(d)  Subject to available funding, the supreme court shall make each incentive payment to the participating attorney. The Wyoming state bar and each participating county shall remit its share of the incentive payment to the supreme court in a manner and by a date specified by the supreme court. The Wyoming state bar shall certify to the supreme court that a participating attorney has completed all annual program requirements and that the participating attorney is entitled to the incentive payment for the applicable year. The responsibility for incentive payments under this section shall be as follows:

(i)  Fifty percent (50%) of the incentive payments shall be from funds appropriated to the supreme court;

(ii)  Thirty‑five percent (35%) of the incentive payments shall be provided by each county paying for attorneys participating in the program in the county;

(iii)  Fifteen percent (15%) of the incentive payments shall be provided by the Wyoming state bar from nonstate funds.

(e)  Subject to available funding for the program, each attorney participating in the program shall enter into an agreement with the supreme court, the participating county and the Wyoming state bar that obligates the attorney to practice law full‑time in the participating county for not less than five (5) years. As part of the agreement required under this subsection, each participating attorney shall agree to reside in the participating county for the period in which the attorney practices law in the participating county under the program. No agreement shall be effective until it is filed with and approved by the Wyoming state bar.

(f)  Any attorney who receives an incentive payment under this article and subsequently breaches the agreement entered into under subsection (e) of this section shall repay all funds received under this article pursuant to terms and conditions established by the supreme court. Failure to repay funds as required by this subsection shall subject the attorney to license suspension.

(g)  The Wyoming state bar may promulgate any policies or procedures necessary to implement this article.  The supreme court may promulgate any rules necessary to implement this article.

(h)  The program established under this article shall cease on June 30, 2029, provided that attorneys participating in the program as of June 30, 2029 shall complete their obligation and receive payments as authorized by this article.

33‑5‑203.  Sunset.

(a)  W.S. 33‑5‑201 and 33‑5‑202 are repealed effective July 1, 2029.

(b)  Notwithstanding subsection (a) of this section, attorneys participating in the rural attorney pilot program authorized in W.S. 33‑5‑201 and 33‑5‑202 shall complete the requirements of the program and shall be entitled to the authorized payments in accordance with W.S. 33‑5‑201 and 33‑5‑202 as provided on June 30, 2029.

Section 2.  There is appropriated one hundred ninety‑seven thousand three hundred seventy‑five dollars ($197,375.00) from the general fund to the supreme court for the period beginning with the effective date of this act and ending June 30, 2029 to be expended only for purposes of providing incentive payments for the rural attorney recruitment program established under this act. This appropriation shall not be transferred or expended for any other purpose. Notwithstanding W.S. 9‑2‑1008, 9‑2‑1012(e) and 9‑4‑207, this appropriation shall not revert until June 30, 2029.

Section 3.  This act is effective July 1, 2024.

Lex Anteinternet: The glory of being a trial lawyer.

Lex Anteinternet: The glory of being a trial lawyer.: 

The glory of being a trial lawyer.

The dirty little secret. . . there isn't any.

One of the nice things about being in a farm community as a working travelers is that their Sunday morning Masses usually start really early, as in 7:00 a.m. in this case.

At least not like portrayed in the movies, and certainly not like the silly "whaling for justice" type of stuff that the plaintiff's bar likes to shovel out.

Recently I tried a case out of town. I've tried so many in the past three decades I no longer have any idea how many I've tried, and if I stopped to try to count them, I know that I'd be inaccurate.  When you apply for a judicial appointment, which I've done several times, unsuccessfully (obviously), you are required to count them up, and I'm sure my numbers weren't the same any time I did that, even though I made an effort to be correct.

I do know that the year COVID restrictions on the courts lifted, I tried three that year.  That may not sound like a lot, but for a civil litigator it is.  I know quite a few civil litigators who have tried less than that over decades' long careers.  One law school colleague of mine who does the same work, has never, in so far as I know, tried a case.  An ABA review I once read of lawyers who had long civil careers and then retired (which seems to be a rarity) remarked that one of the subjects was proud of her "six" trials.

Six.

Hah.

There are a lot of reason there are not very many civil trials and even fewer serious civil trials, but one reason is that trials are hard stressful work.

But I'll get to that.

This past year, dating back a year ago or so, has not been a good one for me on a personal level.  I had surgery in the fall and missed the hunting season.  It was colon surgery, and I've never completely recovered, which is to say that my digestive track has not returned to normal, and it isn't going to.  During that process, it was revealed by a scan that I had a major thyroid nodule.  Followup on that showed it to almost certainly be cancerous, so during the trial, was looking forward to a second surgery, a partial thyroidectomy, and if really lucky I won't have to take medicine for the rest of my life.  There is, however, a good chance that I will have to. 

Having  the trial to accomplish meant that I didn't have to think about it, however.

In terms of good news, it turned out to be benign. Strange, but benign.  It's basically a result of an old injury, one I don't ever recall sustaining.

Current wound status.

Hopefully the recovery time isn't really long, but it varies quite a bit for people.  

I ended up never taking a day off from the second surgery, not even the day of the surgery, which was a mistake, I'll note.

Anyhow, for about a year running now, my life has been nothing but work.  As noted, I missed the hunting season and what little I got in prior to surgery was marred by being incredibly tired.  I'm not sure what was up with that (perhaps the thyroid), but I was.  I couldn't go for big game after that least I rip my stitches out.  

I did get out for waterfowl quite a bit late in the season, mostly on Sunday's after Mass.  I'd work on Sundays but for the Commandment to keep the Sabbath holy, which I take seriously, although occasionally I find myself working on that day too.

That's mostly a reflection of my personality.

The trial in question had been from a pre COVID case and it finally rolled around to to.  Just before it did, my opponent let me know that his young female partner was leaving, and she did before the trial commenced.  I was stunned, really, as she was bailing out of a really good firm and she's a really good lawyer.  She was leaving private practice to go in house.  

No more trials for her.

Then my younger female partner let me know she was leaving. She stuck with me through the trial.

Finding a lawyer you can comfortably try cases with isn't easy.  Frankly, maybe one in ten lawyers who do trial work are really talented at it and of those, maybe only 10% anyone one person meshes with well enough to have that role.  But here she definitely did.  Her leaving is a big loss to me, just as my opponent's younger counsel leaving was a big loss to him.  I don't know, really, if I'll be able to replace her.

For some time I've frankly wondered how she does it, as she's married with young children.  When I was first practicing law, the female litigators I'd meet, and they were few, tended to be childless, often by choice.  Quite a few women started to come into the law about the time that I did, and by and large if they were married and started to have children, they dropped out of practice.  It was just too much of a burden.

This recalls the old phrase, supposedly written by Jean Little, a Canadian author:

A man can work from sun to sun, But a woman's work is never done.

There's a lot of truth to that, quite frankly.

For some reason, even in our "modern" age, the traditional division of labor in which women are burdened with raising children while they're young and keeping the household has never gone away, even when the woman of the house is a professional and its first breadwinner.  Perhaps its simply genetic, although we're not supposed to say that.  About the only relief I see them getting is from willing grandparents, really, and that too, oddly enough, is a very traditional role for grandparents.

Anyhow, juggling a household and having a professional job that requires long hours and travel. . . that's brutal.  I don't blame these women a bit for seeking something else out.

One more example of how our modern "you live to serve this ship" lifestyle makes no sense and makes nobody happy.

You always go to the location of the trial early.

On Sunday, I looked out of my hotel window and saw this:

Horses by an old homestead, still being farmed.

Sigh.

The only thing I got out to do was to go to Mass.

I like everyone to have their own vehicles at a trial.  It gives everyone some independence.  If I control things, and at my age I do, everyone drives themselves.  

This, I'll note, isn't the case with some lawyers, although it is with all the ones I know.  Those people must be the really extraverted ones who just think everyone needs lots of sharing time all the time, and therefore they make the whole team prisoners to their automobile.

Hotels have evolved quite a bit in the past thirty years.  Thirty years ago I'd look for a hotel with a restaurant and then catch breakfast.  Now, most hotels that I stay at are "business hotels" which means that they have a light kitchen with the bare minimum. As breakfast is an afterthought with me anyhow, I’m good to go with that.

I’m not good to go with these monstrosities:

I hate Keurig machines and their stupid one cup at a time system.  I always have.  I never drink just one cup of coffee bu several, and I don't want to screw around making endless little cups. To make matters worse, it's invariably the case that the person who stocks the rooms leaves you hardly any real coffee, but lots of stuff like Ceylonese Green Herbal Tea or something. 

Blech.

We always go down and get a bunch of real coffee for the stupid Keurig machine.

One thing about trials is you get to wear your cool dress shoes that otherwise would look odd in our modern era.

These are saddle oxfords.  Saddle oxfords made from buffalo hide, I might add.  

I've never worn out, I might note, a pair of dress shoes.  I have my black low quarters from basic training still.  When I was first practicing, I bought a pair of wingtips made in Ireland, just like the dress shoes my father had when I was young. They've been resoled once, but they're still in good shape.

Indeed, I only have five pairs of dress shoes, one being the aforementioned Army low quarters I very rarely wear.  I'm never going to need to buy another pair.

I do need to shine them.

Parking lot view.

One thing about doing a trial in farm country is that it always causes me to think how lucky some people are that they get to farm as a career.

I don't think they appreciate that.

I never think that about trying a case in a big city.  I've tried cases twice in Denver and wasn't envious of a soul associated with Denver. The poor judge looked like he'd been rode hard and put away wet in the second one. Denver itself, out on the street, was like a Middle Easter Dysentery Ward in the 30s.  The jurors had jobs I wouldn't have wanted.  

Grim.

In farm country you see, however, people living the way that people are supposed to live.

Restaurant view.  The field below is one I've hunted geese in.

I constantly hear people in agriculture complain about it, and by that I don't mean the weather or something, but about being in agriculture itself.  Maybe complaining is just something people do.  Pascal noted:

If a soldier or labourer complain of the hardship of his lot, set him to do nothing.

I'm not sure what Pascal was aiming at there, but I think it might have been that people just complain.  I also think, however, that a lot of people who were born into agriculture have no idea what other work is like, including working as a professional.   

I turned 60 recently as well, which of course is a sort of milestone for many people, although I really didn't pay that much attention to it at the time.  It really started to set in, however, when I attended a mule action by video. Everything was too expensive, and I didn't buy anything, but leading up to it, I got a fair amount of opposition from my spouse.  Most of it was of the nature of "you don't have time".

I don't have time, which is because I work a work schedule at the office, in this civil litigator line of country, that's very heavy.  I work a schedule that's heavier than a lot of lawyers in their 20s and 30s.  I have nobody, I guess, but myself to blame for that, sort of.  Part of it too has to do with the circumstances during which I came up in the law, and part of it has to do with my own character.

When I was young, before I was a lawyer, I wanted to work outdoors.

It's never really stopped being in a least the back of my mind.  The net effect of that is that from the exterior I'm one of the rare trial lawyers who tries a lot of cases.  I'm cited to other lawyers that way, and because of the work that comes through my door, it's pretty obvious that my reputation as a trial lawyer is impossible to escape.  But part of the reason that I can't escape it is that those immediately around me, including those closest to me, see me that way and can't imagine a world in which I'm not yoked to the plow in this fashion.

Elijah set out, and came upon Elisha, son of Shaphat, as he was plowing with twelve yoke of oxen; he was following the twelfth. Elijah went over to him and threw his cloak on him.

Elisha left the oxen, ran after Elijah, and said, “Please, let me kiss my father and mother good-bye, and I will follow you.” Elijah answered, “Go back! What have I done to you?”

Elisha left him and, taking the yoke of oxen, slaughtered them; he used the plowing equipment for fuel to boil their flesh, and gave it to the people to eat. Then he left and followed Elijah to serve him.

1 Kings, Chapter 19.

I've always thought Elisha's actions baffling.  But they are not.  He was wanting to set out with Elijah, who had just anointed him his successor.  When he left the oxen and spoke to Elijah, Elijah seemed annoyed and told him to go back.

Yoke's were expensive, and so were oxen.  By burning his wooden yokes, there was no going back.

If this seems harsh, consider the similar lines from Luke in the New Testament:

As they were proceeding on their journey someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” Jesus answered him, “Foxes have dens and birds of the sky have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to rest his head.”

And to another he said, “Follow me.” But he replied, “[Lord,] let me go first and bury my father.” But he answered him, “Let the dead bury their dead.* But you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

And another said, “I will follow you, Lord, but first let me say farewell to my family at home.”  Jesus said, “No one who sets a hand to the plow and looks to what was left behind is fit for the kingdom of God.” 

In modern American life we imagine we can always go back and most of us live our lives that way.  Had Elisha decided, well, I'll plow the field and bring in the crops and take up being a prophet later, he wouldn't have become a prophet.  Those setting a hand to the plow, and looking back, don't plow a straight row.

And so back to the main.

There's really no glory in trial work, in spite of what people like to imagine.  It's hard work.  If you win, your clients view the victory as theirs.  If you lose, it's your fault.  Everyone wins some and loses some, and moreover, wins some they should lose and lose some they should win.  It's so stressful that most civil litigators, truth be known, and this includes both plaintiffs and defendants lawyers, won't try a case.  Those who will tend to be a tiny minority, and we try lots of cases, because we will.  You get used to a lot of the things about it, but like the way Jock Lewes is portrayed in SAS, Rogue Heroes (stay tuned for a review shortly), some of that is suppression of anxiety rather than its elimination, although anxiety does indeed decrease with time.  People who run around claiming they love everything about a trial tend to be weirdos or liars, more often the latter than the former.

And, for what its worth, I've tried a minor case since this one.

Lex Anteinternet: A blue grouse opener retrospective.

Lex Anteinternet: A blue grouse opener retrospective.:   

A blue grouse opener retrospective.

 

I'm missing the weekend opener for blue grouse.

I've probably missed it before, but when I did, I was almost certainly a college student.  I haven't missed it, I think, since that time.  So this will be the first time in 31 years.

I'm ashamed of that fact.

In the earliest photographs you can find of me, as a small boy, I'm wearing a cowboy hat.  Not that this is unusual for somebody my age.  We admired cowboys.  I don't know if little boys still do, but in my generation they did.  

But it was more than a passing thing with me, like being an astronaut (which I never had any desire to be) was with some others of my vintage.  When I was first old enough to drive, and had something reliable enough to make it out of town and back, the two not being the same thing, you'd find me out in the sticks as much as possible.  Fishing in the summer, or just wandering around, and hunting in the fall and winter.  By my college years, I was about as feral as could be.

Jeremiah Johnson would have, in those years, met me and have asked "geez man, don't you ever go indoors?"

And that was the center of me.  Not career aspirations or anything of the like.  It may be a major defect in my character, but I was never concerned with high dollar careers or anything of the like.  What I wanted to be was outdoors.  Preferably hunting, if not that fishing, but if not that, anything else, outdoors.

Now, it would be dishonest to say that my interests were completely singular.  Even as a very young person, I was extremely interested in history, something I inherited from my two parents. As I've noted here before, growing up in my household was like living in a graduate level history seminar, with the study of European history from the early Middle Ages through the Renaissance the specialty of my mother, and American history and post Enlightenment Europe the specialty of my father.  The historical education was both welcome and vast.  Other things that my parents knew very well, such as French on the part of my mother and mathematics on the part of my father, I took much less to, although oddly French, which didn't particularly take at the time, has snuck back in as I've aged.  I guess I learned more than I thought I did.

And that may be the reason that in my early teens I saw myself in a military service career.  Oddly, it wasn't so much the service, as the thought, really, of participating in history, and the knowledge, although it was fairly inaccurate, that servicemen worked outdoors.

By my late teens that desire was seriously waning, probably because by that time I had a better idea what military service actually entailed.  And part of what it entailed was a communal life, which I, as a real introvert, wouldn't like.

And by that time the desire to be outdoors had gone from a strong to extreme.  It's never left me.

Which is why I'm so bothered today.

Forty years ago when I was taking those first steps out into "career" I'd openly stated that I never wanted a job where I had to wear a tie (which were much more in daily use back then than now) and I'd never let anything, not job, not family, not anything, interfere with my going outdoors.

Well, 17-year-old self, you'd be pretty disappointed in me now.

I can say that safely as 58-year-old self definitely is.

Which probably seems silly.

I've worked really hard, and by external measurements I guess, really successfully, for the past 31 years. And for the nine years, or maybe eight years, prior to that I worked hard to get there, kind of.

That path was frankly a pretty meandering one.  My initial goal was to be a game warden, which I've written about before.  Then I switched to geology, not because I deeply loved it, but because I was okay at it, and it promised an outdoor life, albeit one that wasn't focused on the wild the way wildlife biology is.  In retrospect, I should have done what I first started out to do.  

Geology didn't work out due to a collapse in the oilfield and coal economy (sound familiar) and by that time law school had already been suggested to me, although I did reconsider game warden.  Where I was at, career wise, at the time would have required me to go on for a Masters degree in geology and I knew that I really didn't want to do it.  So I went to law school instead.

Now, that may not seem like the logical choice, but it actually was, at least somewhat.  Law school had first been suggested to me by Casper College Professor Jon Brady, who taught history at Casper College but who held a JD.  I don't know if he ever had practiced in the civilian world, but he had at least briefly practiced in the U.S. Navy as a JAG officer.  

I didn't know but one lawyer, one of my father's friends, and I didn't know him all that well.  I did know, however, a lot of doctors and dentists, and they were all outdoorsmen.  In some odd way, I equated that with how things must be for lawyers.

And maybe for some it is.

I became a "trial lawyer".  That something that actually didn't occur to me until very recently.  The reason for that is that I've done almost exclusively, in litigation, the defense side of civil litigation, and somehow the plaintiffs' bar has appropriated the term "trial lawyer".  I've done some plaintiff's work as well, but not anywhere near as much as defense work. That makes me, in English terms, a "barrister".  However, I do a lot of other things, so not exclusively so.  I could claim to be somewhat of a "solicitor" or "notary" in the language of other court systems, but barrister it would mostly be.

I note that as I don't know what the life of "transactional" lawyers is like, or that of criminal defense lawyers, or prosecutors, etc., is like.  I only know what the life of trail lawyers is like.

And it's pretty hard and requires a lot of sacrifices.

Maybe a lot more than other legal lines of work.  Trail lawyers give up their own time for a preset trial schedule, work long hours, and take the cause, whatever it is, above anything else.  We like to compare ourselves with such fictional characters as Palidan, but in reality we're more like World War Two Japanese infantry.  We're going there, going to suffer, going to fight in a clever fashion, and if need be, we're going to die in our trenches or in a massed Banzai charge.

It's an all absorbing career.

Indeed, for that reason, in part, I declined to go with one of my partners out for a beer in which he had invited a lawyer in a definitely different line of work that I'm wholly unfamiliar with but which I suspect isn't all absorbing.  The invite was in order to see if the fellow might wish to join us merry band of barristers, maybe.  But what am I going to say to that fellow?  My partner was clear what he was going to say.  He might make more money with us, rather than doing what he's doing.  And he was likely hoping that I'd regale the fellow with war stories, as that fellow isn't a trial lawyer either.  And every trial lawyer has a lot of war stories, myself included.  The problem is, of course, that war stories come from war, and watching Saving Private Ryan might be real entertainment, but actually landing in Normandy in June 1944 likely wasn't.

And indeed he might make more money as a trial lawyer than doing what he's doing, and he might live every freakin' second of it.  I have no idea, as I don't know him.

And he might, in a trial season, such as I am now in, work seven days a week, ten hours a day, with all that entails and implies.

Or, in other words, he might miss the opener of blue grouse season.

I know what 17-year-old Yeoman would think of that, and what he'd think of somebody who would do that.

I can't say he's wrong.

Mr. and Mrs. Mitty early in the day.

He was facing another bad day at work.  A day full of problems, endless problems.  Way too much to do, not enough time to do it in.  He was a victim of his own success that way.

Not that he ever thought this would occur.  He'd never wanted a "career" the way other people do.  He just wanted a job that let him go outdoors a lot. The first ideas didn't pan out, and the career was the one left.  He pursued it.

He was good at it, people said.  

By now, he didn't care.  He wanted away.  He told his wife, his close friends, he sent the signals.  "Just hold on" they'd say.  You are just stressed right now.

The big event was the following week. As he approached it, he knew that he was becoming more and more unstable.  He was scaring himself.  "Why doesn't God just take me now" was both his thought and his plea.

Then it occurred to him.

He came home early, even though he didn't really have the time to spare . . .if he was going forward with the big event.  

But he wasn't.

He hadn't said anything.  He loaded his truck with what he needed. . . and drove off.  He didn't take a cell phone, and he took out enough cash to get rolling.

He drove to Alaska.

He sold the truck, took the cash, hiked out to the woods, and built a small one room cabin.  

And there he was.  Alone, in the wilderness, with his thoughts.  Lonely?  

Not at all.  

And then his wife came upstairs and he mentioned fleeing to Alaska. The suggestion was not well receivd.

And off to work he went.