I admit it, I am an old lawyer. I used to acknowledge the fact reluctantly, but it is far from escapable these days.  The mirror tells me, my wife tells me, and the Boy Scouts trying to help me cross the street tell me, albeit unintentionally.

One feature of being an old lawyer is that most of my friends are old lawyers too. We have known each other for decades and have either shared cases or stories. The stories are the most fun but they usually come from the cases we tried, together or against one another. Old lawyers are known for telling stories. The other thing they are known for is dying. My friend Jerry was an old lawyer and died recently.

Jerry was an interesting cat. He was almost 90 but you couldn’t tell it by looking at him. He was nattily dressed and worked like a rented mule. He signed a five year lease on his office space a couple of years ago. We told him he was nuts, but he was already talking about renewing at the end of his term. He called me a week or two before his death to give me advice on a case I was handling. He mentioned that he wasn’t feeling well and he had just gotten over some bug. Still, he was upbeat and offered any help I might need.

Jerry was quick to offer advice. Never in a know-it-all way, but cheerfully and with the best of intentions. It wasn’t limited to legal advice either- stocks, golf, home remodeling were all on the table. We talked every month or two and I was always glad to for the chance.

On the day he died, Jerry was getting dressed to go meet new clients when he said that he wasn’t feeling well. His wife insisted that he go to the hospital. I am willing to bet money that he stopped at the office first.

I don’t go to many funerals, but I went to Jerry’s. Add “goodbyes” to the list of things I do poorly.  The weather was cooperative and the cemetery was full. I saw lawyers from across the state there,  most of them older than I.

During the service, several of the speakers commented that “Jerry loved the law.” That statement has bothered me ever since. I am pretty sure no one will say that at my memorial. I treat the law more like a distant cousin than a close friend.

 My relationship with the law is more of a companionate marriage where both spouses want out but neither is willing to expend the effort to leave. We grunt at each other in the hallway and that is as acrimonious as it gets. Maybe it is more accurate to say I still love the law, I am just not in love with it.

I remember being in love with the law, a long while back. Several of my law school friends and I were arguing loudly in the common area of the law school when we were 1Ls. When we noticed that we were both loud and not alone, we slunk off. We were excited to be lawyers.

I still feel that first year fire occasionally.  I tried a case recently and got animated during closing arguments when I felt that my opponent had insulted my client.  I get hung up doing legal research and writing a brief from time to time, only noticing how late it is by the clock and quietening of the traffic outside my office.  I feel almost giddy when this happens. Or maybe it is low level nausea, I am not sure.

I still come in to the office most days and putter through my chores. There are still clients and cases that I passionately want to do right by. Losing a case still feels like a kick in the stomach. As I’ve gotten older and fatter though, the kicks hurt a little less than they once did.

Perhaps loving the law forever is too lofty of a goal. After three decades, I don’t hate it. That may be all I can muster at the moment. I am glad for the Jerrys of the world, and they will be missed.

P.S. The photo is NOT Jerry…but I see why you might think that.

©2024 With All Due Respect. Spencer Farris is the founding partner of The S.E. Farris Law Firm in St Louis, Missouri. He is not dead. Yet. Comments or criticisms about this column may be sent c/o this publication or directly to him via email at farris@farrislaw.net.