One L (20 page)

“After three thousand for tuition,” Stephen would say, “how can you worry about six bucks for the Criminal Procedure
Nutshell
?”

I would agree. After all, I could sell it next year in the law book thrift shop. I must have spent close to $100 that way.

The faculty did what little they could to lessen our obvious uneasiness. Both Mann and Zechman described in some detail the tests they were planning to give. Mann's would be an eight-hour affair which could be taken at home; it would require us to relate a fact situation to the Model Penal Code and to delineate the procedural issues. In Torts, the test would last only four hours but we'd have to take it in school, together, with proctors. Each professor tried to give us some advice on approach. Mann passed out a model answer to the previous year's exam. Zechman put off the start of one of the final classes for nearly twenty minutes while he offered suggestions on how to review.

Yet no matter how well-meaning the advice, we still had to live through the exam process ourselves. In the meantime there would be strain, and the evidence of it was increasingly visible to me, most noticeably in the study group, where relations were rapidly deteriorating. Aubrey was upset with the disorganization of the afternoon discussion sessions and had ceased attending, believing that his time could be more profitably spent alone. Stephen was miffed with Terry, who he felt was doing a shoddy job on his portions of the Criminal outline, and Terry, devoted to doing things his own way, was angered by the criticism. I was generally aggravated with the outline, and especially by the stiff standards Stephen seemed to have set for it. Racing to finish my portions before the end of classes, I felt as if I was little more than Stephen's employee. “Beef up the case summaries,” he had snapped when he saw my first section. I considered the outline itself an albatross, not worth nearly the energy that had gone into its preparation. What we were doing for the most part, it seemed, was soothing Stephen's nerves. With exams approaching, I could see better uses for my time.

Whatever the tension between the four of us, it was mild in contrast to what we were feeling toward Kyle. From the start Kyle had been somewhat isolated from all of us because he was younger and straight out of college. He resented the distance. On occasion he would complain to me about being treated as “the kid.” I think the rise of Section 100, which none of us had joined, had convinced him that there were more sympathetic personalities among the Guild membership.

In consequence, he had become personally remote, and after the start of December he also withdrew from most of the activities of the group. He announced first that he would attend none of the study group sessions because he'd fallen too far behind in his work during the course of the Incident. We knew that was true and the four of us took his absence without much complaint. But as it became apparent that Kyle was not going to finish his work on the outline on time, we became less generous, particularly since Kyle had already happily accepted what the rest of us had produced.

We drew straws and I was dispatched to find out whether he was going to do the work at all. In his desperation to catch up, Kyle was barely in school and I had to reach him by phone. He assured me that the outline would be done. By the middle of the last week, however, he had to concede that he'd never finish before we all left for the Christmas break. He said he'd have to mail the portions to us.

When I brought that word back, the four of us shared our bad feelings. Terry said aloud what we all were thinking, that the outline would never arrive; and Aubrey, though milder, was also displeased. Kyle, he said, had gotten a little impressed with himself, had stopped caring as much as he normally would have about his responsibilities. Stephen was angriest of all.

“Next time you talk to him,” Stephen told me, “you tell him to kiss my crack.”

Yet within a day or so, Stephen too had announced that he was not going to be able to complete the final portion of his outline before we left. He had set a standard of detail in the work too elaborate for even him to match in limited time. At that word, Terry had fumed. He'd taken off the last three weeks of Criminal class in order to scour the commentaries and review articles on the Model Penal Code and he'd presented the research to the group. In return, he'd expected the last few days before vacation to be spent on some mutual effort to clarify Torts, a subject which still mystified Terry. Now that he realized that we were all too busy with Criminal for anything like that to occur, he felt badly outdone and held Stephen to blame, since he'd designed the study project in the first place.

“He sure expects a lot, I'll say that,” Terry said to me. “Sometimes, I wonder, man, where he gets off.”

With Terry I agreed that Stephen was terribly demanding. To Aubrey I complained that Terry had not done all he'd promised. I can only imagine what they said about me.

It was late December at Harvard Law School. Fa la la la la, la la la la.

12/21/75 (Sunday)

Classes are finished and everybody's headed away for home and vacation. At HLS they'll soon turn off the heat. Wednesday Annette and I fly to Chicago, where we'll spend the holidays with our families.

Despite the atmosphere of rancor and tension, the final events of the term came off neatly. Last Thursday, Legal Methods concluded with the “trial” of
Katz
v.
Grueman
. Jack finally got justice. All quite authentic. The proceedings were conducted in the Ames Courtroom on the second floor of Austin, a huge chamber with oak paneling and flying buttresses and banks of judicial benches. A real judge from the Middlesex County Superior Court presided over the trial, and two Boston lawyers went through the case step by step. Katz was played by a gruff, hefty tax attorney from the city who fenced questions nimbly on cross-examination and who won not only loud applause from the assembled 1Ls who've been rooting for him so long, but also a verdict for $231,000, when the jury composed of Harvard undergraduates returned long after midnight. The trial was sparsely attended, most 1Ls being too burdened by the work of approaching finals, but the reaction of those who did come was instructive. Most were bored. Many of my classmates have never been inside a courtroom and couldn't believe that a real trial would move so slowly. In a way, that's the problem the Methods course has faced all term, convincing us that the lawyer's job is usually more drudgery than Perry Mason.

The two classes which ended this week also closed nicely. Mann managed real grace as he left. This term, for the first time at HLS, student course evaluations were circulated. Mann was bitter when he saw the results. Graham Heller had lunch with him last week and reported that Mann had reminded the students of how much he could be making practicing corporate law. By today, he'd cooled. He admitted the course had gone badly, said that he'd tried to cover too much, that he was disturbed that he hadn't made clear how much he cared about the issues in criminal law.

“But I want you to know that I respect you,” he said to the section at large. He praised our intelligence, even “the fierce mutual protectiveness you show to each other,” an apologetic reference, I guess, to the many occasions on which he'd been hissed for smart remarks or short replies to sincere questions. When he made the traditional exit ahead of his students, he received a rousing hand.

But the greatest warmth was reserved for Zechman on Friday. Almost all of us have moved beyond the point of mere interest in the course and have become engrossed, fascinated. The middle of the term was absorbed with the study of what Zechman called “the heartland of Tort”—the concepts of negligence and fault, and the kinds of recompense available for unintentional injuries. Zechman taught fault as an idea of utility combining philosophy and economics. If precautions against injury are less costly than the likely toll of possible losses, then we say that the person who failed to take those precautions was negligent and must pay for the harms suffered. For weeks Zechman persuaded us to endorse that idea and all its ramifications, then in the final nine or ten classes he engaged in extensive criticism of the fault concept. At the end he was asking why we don't hold people responsible for whatever losses their actions cause, precautions or no. As usual, there was no way to read him, to figure which set of ideas he himself subscribed to. For each he offered the same unencumbered advocacy. Yet with that kind of poker-faced rationality he managed to show us the exciting breadth and play that exists in legal ideas.

Yesterday was an uninhibited showing of the class's gratitude and goodwill. As Zechman was about to begin, a student stood and announced, “Professor Zechman, Section 2 presents ‘A Tort.' ” There followed an enactment, with ten or twelve players, of one of Zechman's crazy hypotheticals, replete with rifles and hunters and meteors and other strange things falling from the sky. Zechman was then presented with a series of gifts, including a frozen duck. But what was probably the warmest moment came when Zechman's relentless formality finally eroded. After the skit, he started his lecture. Suddenly he paced away from the podium, turned fully about and spread his arms.

“I'm just lost,” he declared. The class applauded wildly. When he left at the end he went out to a roaring ovation with all of us on our feet.

12/28/75 (Sunday)

Christmas vacation at home. A few days of eating, drinking, seeing friends. A chance to be the fair-haired boy from Harvard.

Today I began to study for exams. I'll do it five, six hours a day while we're here, leave the mornings for sleep, the evenings for friends and family. I feel only mild and occasional pressure. For the most part, I'm relaxed and whole.

Away from the law school, I marvel at the frenzy of pressure and learning and intellectual stimulation in which I've been embroiled. The law, the law. I've probably not been as thoroughly taken by something since I hit puberty. Still, listening to the conversations of friends, it is hard to believe all I've missed while so absorbed: the football season, television shows, political doings, many recent movies. When people ask how we like the Boston area, I tell them to speak with Annette. I have seen only the two-mile stretch which runs from the law school to our apartment.

I've also found it difficult to describe HLS to others. They regard it as talismanic and often seem disappointed or confused when I tell them that some things are wrong there. Frequently, I find myself hard-pressed to describe quite what the problem is. My inclination is to say that it's not a human place, and yet I know that what's difficult there is that everyone is so full of feeling, all of us tortured by our little agonies of doubt and incomprehension and concern.

1/2/76

Happy New Year.

Late this afternoon, we head back to Massachusetts. I felt the first threads of exam anxiety weaving through me last night and did not get much sleep. I'm trying now to study Torts, but I'm really too bleary to do much. I will be grateful if in the next couple weeks, I can keep myself under control.