Layoffs, Notes from the Breadline, Solo Practitioners

Notes from the Breadline: To Be On Your Own (Part III)

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Ed. note: Welcome to the latest installment of “Notes from the Breadline,” a column by a laid-off lawyer in New York. Prior columns are collected here. You can reach Roxana St. Thomas by email (at roxanastthomas@gmail.com), follow her on Twitter, or find her on Facebook.

Dear Lat,

Thank you so much for the back-to-school care package you sent when I started classes at Solo Practice University! I must ask: where did you find the Wonder Twins pencil box? I absolutely adore it, and I love the Trapper Keeper (and the puffy stickers with googly eyes!) you picked out. I am also crazy about the Dukes of Hazzard lunchbox, and the note you included was very thoughtful. (I’m not sure that “Knock ’em dead!” is appropriate advice for a lawyer, but why split hairs?)
I’ll address, seriatim, the questions you posed in your enclosed letter. Regarding your first question (“What are you going to wear on your first day of class??”), I had a hard time deciding between the plaid skirt, button-down shirt, and penny loafers you helped me pick out when we went back-to-school shopping, and something a little more casual, like the Guns ‘n Roses t-shirt and holey jeans you turned your nose up at when I was modeling outfits. (I believe your exact words were “If you think you’re leaving the house dressed like that, young lady, think again,” and “If I put a 7-11 hot dog and a Slurpee in your hand, you’d look like Britney Spears – on a bad day.”)

But that, my fashion-forward friend, is the beauty of Solo Practice University: I don’t have to leave my house to go to class. Susan Cartier Liebel, the headmistress of Solo Practice University, calls it “carpet commuting,” but since, as you know, I live in true Manhattan-style squalor and thus do not have a carpet, I simply call it “convenient.” In any event (and because I also do not have an air conditioner), I opted for a tank top with a large coffee stain on the front, and shorts. Though I was certain my mother would pop out of the closet, smack me on the back of the head, and remind to “dress for the job you want,” she did not make an appearance. The cats, however, channeling her disapproval, looked at me with disdain.

As for your second question, things here at Solo Practice University, or “SPU,” as we call it on campus, are going well. The classes that SPU has to offer are – at this point – too numerous to list here, but as you know, they are divided four general areas: Substantive Law, Marketing and Management, Technology, and Work/Life Balance. In fact, the course content is so voluminous that I spent a few undignified minutes wringing my hands, uncertain about where to begin. (Again, the beauty of SPU is that no one can observe, firsthand, your minor meltdowns.)

No, Lat: there’s no need to start gathering piles of Zoloft for my next care package (although a little Valium never hurt anyone – let’s talk later). It turns out that my generalized anxieties, and the sense of being overwhelmed by the nuts and bolts of solo practice, were a valuable object lesson. Many people, Susan told me, are derailed by their fear of solo practice. One of her goals, therefore, was simply to “demystify” the reality of lawyering without a net. This led me to a minor, but useful, epiphany about one of my perceived barriers to solo practice: my fear of commitment.

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I know, I know, we’ve discussed my commitmentphobia many times, in many contexts. You always say the same thing — “Just try it, Roxana! You might be surprised!” — and I say, “I might be surprised if I found a giant sow in the middle of my living room, but it doesn’t mean I would like it.” Then you stroke your chin thoughtfully and say, “Yes, but think of the delicious sandwiches you could make!” and get a glazed look in your eyes, mumbling, “Mmm, bacon.”

My point is that, in this instance, your wise judgment is spot on. I have been apprehensive about the notion of solo practice because it seems like an endeavor that would require a higher level of commitment than I could muster. But, I realized, exploring this option doesn’t require much more than an open mind at this juncture. It’s not as though I have to quit my job search, or start buying office equipment; it’s not even like law school, where, once you commit to taking a class, you are generally obligated to stick it out for the semester. It only requires a small leap of faith … sort of like diving into a swimming pool filled with marshmallows, or parachuting onto a landscape made entirely of Nerf. In short, even if this venture turns out to be a giant sow, it will, at the very least, provide some sustenance. (Of course, I realize that my freedom to experiment is a greatly facilitated by Susan’s largesse, and her willingness to let me ‘audit’ classes, but SPU does offer affordable, low-commitment enrollment options. Prices begin at $75 for one month, although you can also sign up for a quarterly or yearly ‘term.’)

After calming my fear of commitment, I thought about the other sources of my general apprehension. First, there is the thorny issue of substantive law. As a solo, would I know enough to handle a client’s case, from start to finish, if it involved an area with which I was unfamiliar? People – individuals – typically do not present small or solo practitioners with the same kinds of legal problems that a big company brings to the doorstep of a big law firm. And, second, how the hell does this solo thing work? Specifically, other than making business cards, standing outside the courthouse wearing a sandwich board that says “Hire me please,” and sitting at your desk with a bunch of newly sharpened pencils, waiting for the phone to ring, how does one embark on a solo career?

Well, Lat, it turns out that there are no courses at SPU entitled “Reassurance for Neurotic Lawyers,” or “Answers to Your Stupidest Questions.” So I started with a class suggested by Susan, called “Personal Injury 101.” I know what you’re thinking; personal injury is not exactly in my wheelhouse. It does, however, present some interesting possibilities. Remember when we watched “Erin Brockovich”? The personal injury lawyer in that movie was practically a hero (even if Erin did do a lot of the legwork)! And, yes, I remember when we read “A Civil Action” in our book club; I know that things didn’t work out so well for Jan Schlichtmann (who lost his home and had to file for bankruptcy), but at least the people of Woburn, Massachusetts, are no longer imbibing a daily cocktail of trichloroethylene and bathing in tannery runoff.

In any event, Personal Injury 101 is taught by James Reed, a solo practitioner in Elmira, New York (the “Soaring Capital of America!”) who has been practicing as a plaintiff’s P.I. lawyer for 22 years. Reed (who welcomed us to call him “Jim,” unlike those stodgy law school instructors who make you sit in your assigned seat and call them “Professor”) assured us in the introductory lecture that he would “start at the beginning,” in order to make the class user-friendly for people who don’t currently have an injury law practice. Perfect! I thought, pen poised over a blank piece of paper, ready to take notes. Personal Injury law for dummies!

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Fortuitously, Jim quickly turned to one of the topics at the root of my solo anxiety: what to do while you’re waiting for the phone to ring. FYI, Lat: updating your Facebook status to read, “________ is waiting for the phone to ring. Call me!” was not among his suggestions. Rather, he advised “working on your systems,” which means, among other things, thinking about “how you’ll work on your [conjectural] cases, from start to finish.”

A good place to start is with your intake form, which your [conjectural] clients will fill out when they come to your office. Jim helpfully posted his own intake form on the class website, but urged us to personalize and adapt when creating a form of our own. From there, he moved on to the other forms we’d need for a file, such as written retainer agreements, medical authorization forms, and releases that allow you to get employee and student information. I have to confess, Lat: although Jim went on to explain, in great detail, how to set up an intake file, it was surprisingly non-deadening. To the contrary, listening to his lecture gave me the same feeling I had in my first year Civil Procedure class, when, despite the intricacy of the subject matter, every piece of dry minutia felt like a tool that would help me actually be a lawyer, rather than simply theorizing about “the law.” It was oddly exciting, in a dorky way.

The rest of the class was devoted to other practical considerations. Jim covered technology, such as case management systems and billing software; marketing materials, including websites and blogs; and professional resources, like bar associations, list-servs, and CLE. Finally, he talked about networking, with lawyers and “related professionals” in the health care field.

The only time I doubted Jim was when he suggested going down to the courthouse, finding an experienced practitioner, and offering to “carry his bag,” by helping out on a trial. Though my experience with such things is far from vast, the last time I was on trial I became intimately acquainted with the floor in my office (on which I often fell asleep) and the after-hours cleaning staff (who were kind enough to vacuum around me on these occasions, although one time Maria, the cleaning lady, asked me in broken English whether I “drink too much at dinner”). In other words, trial doesn’t leave much time for anything else. Who pays your bills while you’re carrying the proverbial bag?

After Jim’s class, I had an urge to go out to the quad, toss around a Frisbee, and watch stoners play Hacky Sack. Alas; the virtual campus does not afford us such simple pleasures, so I dutifully went to the gym and watched C-SPAN, like you suggested. Actually, I’m lying; I went outside and bummed a cigarette from the super, and then watched an episode of Weeds. But after that, I returned diligently to SPU, where my Jury Selection class was getting underway.

Jury Selection is taught by Anne Reed, a trial lawyer and jury consultant from Milwaukee. I must say that, if I were a juror, I would instantly be enthralled by Anne; she has a gentle, hypnotic confidence that made me want to jump up and shout “Not guilty! Guilty! Whatever she says her client is!” Her first lesson, entitled “Relax: The myth of accuracy and why you don’t have to worry so much about voir dire,” focused on the common, though misguided, tendency of lawyers to “pursue the perfect juror,” and in doing so to forget or overlook the fundamentals of jury selection. She filled us in on some of those fundamentals, gave a brief overview of basic juror psychology, and discussed the importance of courtroom ‘optics,’ or presenting yourself (and your client) to a jury. After her class, I felt markedly more relaxed, and less worried about voir dire.

Next, I headed across campus for Stefanie Devery’s class on The Basics of a Real Estate Transaction. Stefanie is a real estate lawyer in Mineola, New York, and although she assured us that real estate practice is typically “non-adversarial,” her bold self-assurance made me reasonably certain that I would not want to mess with her. In her first lecture, Stefanie covered some of the basics of real estate practice: word-of-mouth advertising, setting fees, and client relations. In the second lecture, she delved into the substance of residential contracts, including some specifics of contracts for newly constructed homes, fixtures, and mortgage contingencies. Again, I was struck by how … doable it all seemed. As I left campus, having decided to swing by Facebook before heading home for the day, I realized that Susan’s explanation wasn’t just marketing hoo-hah; the process of solo practice was, in fact, being demystified.

So, Lat, I already know what you’re going to ask: am I spokesmodeling for SPU? The simple answer is “no.” To be fair, there are things that I don’t like about it, though they are relatively minor. Not all of the course information and classes are available on demand, and sometimes the lectures are presented as slide decks accompanied only by disembodied audio; in these instances, staying attentive requires a double dose of Ritalin. I haven’t quite figured out how the study groups work, and whether they are helpful. And the food here sucks.

But, on balance, I have to say that I’m impressed. If I were to try to gather as much information about as many practice areas as are covered at SPU, I wouldn’t know where to begin. I wouldn’t know where to look for it, and I probably wouldn’t know what to do with much of it. Jim (the personal injury guy) told us in the first lecture that he had encountered a steep learning curve when he went into solo practice, and that his goal was to reduce significantly the learning curve that we, as nascent or potential solos, would face. I like learning from experienced lawyers, which conjures the old-fashioned – but effective — method of apprenticeship that legal education once was. I like the plethora of acquired wisdom, gathered into a neat package, that SPU offers, and the accessibility of the instructors. I like the sense of possibility that comes with access to the aggregated knowledge of several dozen practitioners.

I’m not sure whether I’m sold on the idea of solo practice, but I’m going to stay at SPU for a while. Hey! Here’s an idea: how about the Law Offices of St. Thomas & Lat? How does that sound? Okay, fine — Lat & St. Thomas. What do you think?

Take some time to mull it over, and we can talk about it when you come to visit for parents’ weekend. In the meantime, I’ll be waiting for the next care package. Can you include more of those cookies you made me, and another case of microwave popcorn? Also, I’d like a Bob Marley poster for my room, and a new beanbag chair. (I won’t tell you what the cats did to the one you bought me, but let it suffice to say: it’s a good thing it wasn’t filled with ball bearings, or I would have had a serious tort on my hands.) Finally, do you think there’s room in the ATL budget for your pal Roxy to get a nice massage? Learning to carry the proverbial bag is hard work, and Anne says that I should relax.

XOXO,
Roxana

Earlier: Prior installments of Notes from the Breadline

Roxana St. Thomas is a laid-off lawyer living in New York. You can reach her by email (at roxanastthomas@gmail.com), follow her on Twitter, or find her on Facebook. And check out the Notes from the Breadline t-shirt store here.

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