Unless you’re an in-house counsel at a startup, it’s likely that someone came before you and someone will come after you (unless you’re a lifer or your business people succeed in sinking the company and in that case, by all means, go down with the ship. I hear the severance is worth it).
I overlapped with Beau for years before he left and honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a nicer co-worker. Friendly and funny, Beau was the social nucleus of our legal outings and lunches, always quick with a joke to lighten the taciturn atmosphere that attorneys inadvertently seem to cultivate when they’re together.
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When Beau departed for a higher-paying gig in the city, I missed him. Our corner of the office seemed a little smaller and a little dimmer for his loss. I missed him, that is, until I absorbed one of the departments he supported.
At first, it felt like Beau had died. The Sales team wandered into my office and huddled around my desk like it was a visitation. They regaled me with their favorite Beau stories. They waxed poetic on whether he was somewhere better now. They wanted reassurances that nothing would change. And ’m pretty sure some of them congregated in the parking lot and poured out a Colt 45 because Beau would have liked that.
And in the wake of their loss, I really, really tried to be Beau. But stuff kept getting in my way.
The first problem I ran into were my lady parts. Having lady parts cast immediate suspicion on my credentials and reduced my chances (in the eyes of my newly inherited team) that I could do the job that Beau had done. Because… lady parts.
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In those first few weeks as Beau’s old constituents made their way to my office to mourn the loss of one of the greatest lawyers ever to walk the halls, I caught more than one looking at my law school diploma to reassure themselves that it wasn’t written in glitter pen. And even though Beau and I were within spitting distance of each other in terms of age and experience, they hammered me with questions. How old was I, again? How long had I been at the company? Did I have any experience in Sales? Did I have a kid? Would having a kid get in the way of doing my job? Could I give them Beau’s cell in case they needed something?
No stranger to this kind of predictable bias, I did what all female attorneys must do when faced with older, skeptical males: I waited for the biggest bully on the team to pick a fight with me in a meeting and then I refused to back down, thereby establishing myself as someone not to be trifled with unless you wanted a very public (verbal) beat down. Sales meetings are just like being in prison. With loafers and Apple watches instead of jumpsuits and tats.
My second problem was that the Sales team had become accustomed to the dulcet tones of Beau, a southern gentleman through and through. Gifted with a golden tongue and a penchant for small talk, Beau was a Sales guy’s dream: affable, easy to talk to, and a light touch when it came to legal agreements. A handshake was always good enough for Beau, the documentation could come later.
Bless my heart, I was no Southern belle. Salty and bred from tough old New England stock, I’d like to think I was a likable all-weather blend of competence and utility. Like a Yeti or a Leatherman. Dependable if not particularly flashy. My personal, unspoken motto of “I don’t pick fights, but damn it, I finish them” probably didn’t do me any favors when it came to a team used to strong-arming their way toward their desired outcome. And of course, I was not a light touch when it came to legal agreements. I insisted that agreements be drafted and inked prior to commencing the services thereunder. I demanded that pricing and minimum order quantities schedules be finalized and attached. Because you know, I like being employed.
It seemed like the final nail in my coffin would be that I refused to bow down before the legend of Beau. Meeting after meeting, I was reminded that my predecessor would never have done that or conversely, what he would have done. Beau never got the contract wrong. Beau always let them give up an MFN. Beau didn’t care about minimum order quantities. Beau was better at karaoke. Beau once rescued the interns when the cafeteria was on fire. (I’m kidding. We don’t have any interns.)
But, try as they might, the Sales team couldn’t hold onto the legend of Beau forever. At the end of the day, I wore them down. Besides, Beau had never been much of a stickler when it came to filing and the Sales people needed me to find their agreements among the ruins of Beau’s old emails and “filing system,” which consisted of a bunch of food-stained, unstapled printouts in a bankers’ box. When it turned out I could be trusted to locate agreements, an intrepid soul begrudgingly asked for an interpretation here and a clarification there. And finally, when it was abundantly clear that Beau was not coming back, my opinion was sought. Sought and tested and eventually found to be sound. Not as good as Beau’s. But serviceable.
And while Sales slowly relinquished their grip on Beau’s ghost, I just kept showing up for them. I quietly installed myself in their group, infiltrated their meetings, examined their current practices and processes, and improved them. I turned their contracts faster than Beau ever did (and actually filed them). I even dialed down my special brand of sarcasm (for a while). And I kept candy in my office. The good stuff. A definite upgrade over Beau who couldn’t even be counted on to keep tissues in his office.
Like so many things in the Legal profession, I learned that sometimes you just have to stay the course and wait the business out. It doesn’t matter if your predecessor walked on water and crapped contractual rainbows. You’re here and they’re not. And the business needs you, even if it takes some time to warm up. If you show up for them, they’ll come around.
And finally, a word about your own legacy. Please leave your shit where the next person can find it, people. You’re lawyers. Not savages. A good filing system is all that separates us from the business.
Kay Thrace (not her real name) is a harried in-house counsel at a well-known company that everyone loves to hate. When not scuffing dirt on the sacrosanct line between business and the law, Kay enjoys pub trivia domination and eradicating incorrect usage of the Oxford comma. You can contact her by email at [email protected] or follow her on Twitter @KayThrace.