My First Trial

• Author: Kenneth P. Nolan
• Pages: 109-113

My First Trial

109

I never wanted to be a lawyer, but I went to law school anyway.

After a few years of studying Palsgraf, the Uniform Commercial

Code, the Rule against Perpetuities, and other otherworldly triviali-

ties, I decided I needed some experience—especially since I had

never even been in a law office. I taught high school English and

attended law school at night, so one hot summer I volunteered at

Legal Services in downtown Brooklyn where I could meet real law-

yers, clients, and maybe a black-robed judge or two.

With shoes shined, I climbed the steps to the Legal Services worn

and tiny offices and was assigned to assist a soft-spoken lawyer who

looked like Al Pacino in Serpico without the white mouse. Given a

perfunctory nod, I sat and watched as poor, mostly helpless blacks,

Hispanics, a few whites told painful tales of cruel landlords and filthy,

dilapidated tenements. These heart-wrenching stories nearly made

me cry but were met with businesslike questioning from the lawyer.

No “How ya doin’?,” no “Sorry for your troubles,” which were part

of my DNA. Simply: “What can I do for you?”

And he didn’t help everyone. Some were callously told “Sorry”

and dismissed with a wave. If he could help, he’d fill out a form and

send the weary client to another who would hear the entire lament

and begin the paperwork to fight the evil, ruthless landlord in filthy,

dilapidated Civil Court a few blocks away.