The Twenty-Third Edward H. Young Lecture in Legal Education: Legal Education and Professionalism in Parallel Universes

• Author: W. Frank Newton
• Pages: 04

1999] 23RD EDWARD H. YOUNG LECTURE 223

THE TWENTY-THIRD EDWARD H. YOUNG LECTURE IN LEGAL EDUCATION: LEGAL EDUCATION AND PROFESSIONALISM IN

PARALLEL UNIVERSES1

W. FRANK NEWTON2

1. Introduction

   Professionalism is composed of two essential elements: valid theoretical principles and effective application of those principles in the pra

   tice of law.3 The Colonel Edward H. "Ham" Young Lecture at The Judge Advocate General's School provides a prime opportunity for us to exhume the theoretical principles of professional conduct by asking how effectively we apply those principles in practice. Our respective systems of legal education play essential roles in both areas.

   Presentations in law school settings often focus on validity issues, an arena that is as interesting as it is elusive. The professional principles that we pursue are composed of myriad elements including moral ideals expressed in philosophy and in the rules of conduct for lawyers. Many philosophies feature components that examine the depth and weight of moral paragons. Other philosophies are remembered as a single formula, such as Kant's postulate-"Act only on that maxim by which you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law."4 Kant's "universal law" considers the aspects of an individual's freedom to act and principles of "right" and "correct" actions that coexist with the freedom to act.5

   Today's complex philosophical counterparts to Kant are rooted either in Plato and Aristotle's position on the control of truth and reason6 or in Hume and St. Augustine's concept involving the control of will and love.7 Many of us inherited a preference directed toward Plato and Aristotle through the influence of John Stuart Mill. In 1971, John Rawls offered a current version of this line of philosophy in his classic book, A Theory of Justice.8 These very Western and American philosophical views provide the framework for the American Bar Association's (ABA) 1969 Code9 and the 1983 Model Rules.10 The Model Rules are the basis of many current state-adopted rules applicable to practicing lawyers today.11 Most recently, the American Law Institute has developed The Law Governing

   Lawyers.12 These codes, or rules of conduct for lawyers, represent our commitment to the effective application of principles in practice.

   Today we will focus on professional principles in practice. Our discussion will be primed by review of several experiences I enjoyed during my brief tenure in the Navy JAG. These experiences, which are loosely historical, are designed to take advantage of what philosophers George Lakoff and Mark Johnson call "Philosophy in the Flesh."13 They persuasively argue that metaphors-word pictures-are powerful philosophical teaching and learning tools. As Aristotle proclaimed, "[T]he greatest thing by far is to be a master of metaphor[s]."14 If the metaphor is the medium, then the goal is to open a constructive dialogue between the parallel universes of military and civilian legal education and practice. We should expect to both reaffirm and enrich our respective professionalism. Certainly, that is the experience of the civilian bar in drawing on the strength of the military bar.15 This review will highlight several significant advances that should provide us both a platform and an impetus for further development. Let us turn to the first word picture to frame our dialogue examining these parallel universes.

2. Decommissioning the Admiral's Barge

   My first duty station in the Navy Judge Advocate General's Corps was the Naval Air Station at Corpus Christi, Texas. At that time, the concept of a law center comprised of thirty defense counsel and fifteen prosecutors, who were to try special and general court-martials for a several state command, was being tested. When I arrived, the process was well under way and everyone seemed to know everyone else. Except for the judges and a lone executive position, every lawyer at the law center was a Navy lieutenant. I assume that is why no one bothered to use Lieutenant- we just used last names. As I was struggling during my first week to learn

   names, Charlton came running through our offices yelling in a singsong voice, "Tilden's going to decommission the Admiral's Barge . . . Tilden's going to decommission the Admiral's Barge." En masse, my colleagues, drawn from all parts of the United States, poured down the stairs from our second floor offices and spilled out into the parking lot.

   It was four-thirty on a Friday afternoon in April. Corpus Christi was at its best. The bright sun hung in the clear sky, and a light breeze danced through the mild afternoon air. It was sixty-six degrees and the humidity was relatively low. We all looked so good-all forty-five of us in our formal khaki uniforms-as we left thirty minutes early. There were no trials in progress-a real rarity-and our lone executive, Commander Lake, was in his office practicing discretion. We piled into the nearest cars-three or four to a vehicle-and roared out of the parking lot. I had the distinct sensation that every eye on the base and every alert brain was aware that the young Turk lawyers were playing hooky. Beyond that, I was confused. If we were going to watch the decommissioning of the Admiral's Barge, why were we heading away from the bay and toward the back gate?

   In just a matter of minutes, we had exited through the back gate of the base and pulled into the mulched seashell parking lot of a low windowless concrete-block building. A sign on the flat roof, painted on plywood and supported by a simple, weathered two-by-four frame, read "Battery Ann's." As we had spilled out of our office into the cars, so we spilled out of the cars into "Battery Ann's." It was just plain dark inside for anyone leaving the bright April Texas sun. I just followed along and found myself in a roughly formed line heading toward a bar on the far wall. Halfway there the line parted where it met a short woman dressed in Levi jeans, square boots, and a tee-shirt that said "Battery Ann's." Her face suggested how the bar may have been named, although along one wall was a rack of car batteries that suggested an alternative possibility. I quickly fished out a dollar bill, following the lead of those ahead of me, handed it to Battery Ann, and followed the line that turned to the left. I discovered I had voted for two Lone Star long necks instead of two Pearl long necks. A double row of these two local brews, cold and sweating, had been lined up on the bar. Every lawyer, after giving Battery Ann the dollar due, had grabbed a beer in each fist and returned to the sun-soaked, mulched white-seashell parking lot.

   Outside, we surrounded a car I had not previously noticed-a rusted, black and white 1955 Buick two-door convertible. On each front-fender, just above the three chrome portholes, appeared "Admiral's Barge" in cur-

   sive chrome. "This is Tilden's drunk car," explained the lawyer next to me. "He drives it slowly through on-base housing and by the BOQ with "Louie Louie" blaring from oversized speakers. Lawyers can catch up on foot, scramble up the broad trunk, and jump into the car. It always goes to "Battery Ann's" and everyone ties one on." Just as I was digesting this information, Tilden emerged from the front door of "Battery Ann's" onto the seashell parking lot. He had a beer in each fist. The assembled group yelled "Tilden!" He raised the long neck in his left-hand high overhead. In turn, we raised our left-hand beers and took a drink. Tilden drained his bottle. Then, Tilden raised his right-hand beer. We raised our right-hand beers and took a drink. Tilden drained his other bottle.

   Tilden then walked directly toward the middle of the hood of the rusted, black and white 1955 Buick convertible. On one side of Tilden was Johnson, who had played down lineman at Tulane, and on the other side was King, who had played down lineman at Notre Dame. Tilden, five feet, eight inches tall and maybe 140 pounds in lead-lined shoes, was hoisted onto the hood of the Buick by Johnson and King. As the assembled crowd roared their approval, Tilden pulled out a forty-five revolver and shot through the hood into the engine block. The roar of the revolver temporarily silenced us. Nevertheless, we were quick to cheer as Tilden turned on his heels, jumped down, and motioned for us to follow him back into Battery Ann's.

   It seemed that the night before, the engine on the fifteen-year-old Buick had completely seized up and the car was a total loss. Perhaps the car sacrificed itself, or perhaps it was Tilden's habit of adding beer instead of oil to the crankcase that caused the Buick's demise. Tilden's decommissioning of the Admiral's Barge became an instant legend at NAS Corpus Christi Law Center. At every opportunity, the story was retold, which is a good thing because Tilden did not remember what happened. Tilden was an alcoholic.

   This is a lecture on legal education and professionalism and, therefore, you are fully justified in wondering what is alcoholism, and what does it have to do with legal education and professionalism.

   A. What is Alcoholism?16

   Alcoholism is a "secret sickness" that could affect anyone at any and in every level of society.17 "By definition," a former addict explained, "the addict is a person who is living secretly. The treatment is to help an alcoholic come out of that secret life to a place where he can deal with shame and guilt and anger and suffering and remorse and be open with other people."18 This "secret" is often found in lawyers, physicians, airline pilots, and professors; individuals who are all considered by society as providing the highest role models. Individuals in these role model positions are "pedestal professionals."19 Winos on skid row and crack addicts in jail are a world removed from "pedestal professionals." Certainly, lawyers, in or out of military service, are not less vulnerable than others to substance abuse. Indeed, there are several...