This year it was especially wrenching to read the results of our midlevel associates survey. With some obvious exceptions, the respondents exude an air of loyalty and satisfaction that can't be missed. And well they should, I suppose, given the economy and the circumstances that many of their college classmates find themselves in.
But that's little comfort, because I know how this story ends. Most of these third- and fourth-year associates will be gone within just a few more years. Though the recruiting brochures tend not to dwell on this, the fact is that big-firm associates are hired as the best available talent and then, predictably, turn disposable.
We can debate elsewhere whether it makes sense for law firms to play by NFL rules. For one thing, with the advent of computerized research devices, fewer associates now suffer concussions at the hands of impatient partners flinging hardback volumes at their heads. But for these purposes, let's accept the washout process as an immutable fact. Given that, how best can it be managed?
For the firms, those young lawyers walking around the office with targets on their backs will soon be carrying your reputation into the larger world. Fair or not, they will be known in their next job, at least for a while, as the new one from Able, Baker. If it turns out that Able, Baker hasn't bothered to teach them how to conduct a deposition or draft an error-free indemnity clause, or not to put their feet on the conference table during a client meeting, then someone's going to notice. And it's going to reflect badly on you. So the next time the partners decide not to expand the training partner's budget, or to gut the mentoring program because it's a big waste of time, remember that kid down the hall who is wearing a signboard reading "Able, Baker: One big firm, one big bunch of blunderers."
Even worse, some of these young lawyers will grow up to become clients. How they're treated today may affect their judgment of whom they hire in the future. As they like to say in Providence: Remember, the foot you step on today may be connected to the butt you have to kiss tomorrow. It's an arresting, tasteless image but it might help tame high-handed partners.
It's long surprised me that more firms don't have active alumni associations. These are networking opportunities waiting to be connected. You're running CLE sessions anyway--why not include the alums? Instead of inviting strangers to annual office marketing receptions, why aren't you inviting those whose law school loans you helped pay? This is one part relationship building and one part reputation protection. Think of it this way: "Able, Baker: Now and forever."
There's one group of associates who can't leave soon enough, except that in this market--especially in this market--they may not know it. Roughly 36 percent of our record 4,070 respondents described themselves as litigators. Some look forward to distinguished careers as negotiators and tacticians. But more than a few aspire to talk to juries for a living. And to do that, many need to find new places to work.
That's harsh but true. It's one thing to be the trial practice champ in law school. It's another when the closest you get to a witness--to say nothing of a jury--is a play-acting paralegal in a firm-sponsored moot courtroom. This is on my mind because I'm still reading the Litigation Department of the Year submissions. (Winners will be announced in January) As a whole, they're impressive, but at some firms, going to court is like visiting the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge: a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Actors act. Writers write. Surgeons operate. Trial lawyers try cases. Kids, look around. If you can't find a trial lawyer role model in your office, it's time to find an office where you will.
Aric Press
Editor in Chief
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