Disgruntled lawyer flees doldrums of6 Real World’grind
Why I left the Real World
Sam Kepfield
By now, I’m used lo the funny,
almost disbelieving looks that I get
from people when I tell them that I
used to be an attorney.
A real, live, honesl-to-Godgentle
man of the bar sits in their midst —
in the history classrooms — as a
graduate Student in the first semes
ter of his master’s program.
“Why are you here?” is the inevi
table query. “Couldn’t handle the
Real World?” Or, “Ah, you’re a pro
fessional student. I get it.”
People have this image of law
yers that they’ve garnercdfrom “LA.
Law” or any of the other myriad
shows about the profession now
on the air. (I, by the way, watch
none of them.)
You ’ re ex peeled to be some pi le
driving, go-getting aggressive au
tomaton who pursues justice or a
fee with single-minded intensity.
You have to own a fancy new car,
dress in suits every day, be impec
cably groomed and speak every
other word in Latin.
I have friends who fit this mold.
They’re well-off, but they’re also
miserably overworked and
underappreciated. Most hate their
jobs, and would give anything to
leave, if it weren’t for those damned
student loans to pay back.
I don’t fit the mold. But neither
am 1 a dropout who broke under
the pressure, nor am I a profes
sional student.
I left law school in 1989, passed
the bar in Kansas, and promptly set
to work as the assistant Finney
County (Kansas) attorney. 1 was in
charge of appeals to the Court of
Appeals and the Supreme Court. It
was not a glamorous job, being
placed out in the middle of no
where (find Garden City, Kan., on
a mapifyou need convincing), and
with abysmally low pay. Fvcn
— LL -
was in a little turf war with the
county commission. The smallest
mistake could mean a lower bud
get, or other incursions on his of
fice. I began to feel like I was
walking on eggs all the time.
It finally got to be loo much. I’d
been t h i n k i ng a bo u 11 ea v i ng a 1 mos t
from the day I arrived and figured
out what the score really was —
build a decent record there, then
after a year go to some middle-size
firm in Topeka, or Wichita, and
build a private practice.
But this left such a bad taste in
my mouth that after I left, 1 decided
I’m free to be myself and not just another clone in
pinstripes and wingtips.
though I told myself I wasn’t in it for
the money, "I HAVE to be worth
more than this,” wasmyrefrain at
payday.
Things went to hell in a handcart
from there on out. My boss was a
typical anal-retentive obsessive
compulsive, with no social life of
his own. Therefore, since 1 wasn’t
married, I wasn’t entitled to one
either. Ergo, I was expected to put
in at least 60-70 hours a week.
On top of that, my every move
had to be watched, since my boss
¥ ¥
lo take a break.! spent the next two
years drifting around, doing some
Heavy Thinking on my future.
I discovered some things about
myself. I’m not a “suit,” I don’t have
that eight-to-eight mentality that
drives lawyers to bill (and therefore
charge you, the client, for) as many
hours as possible. I chafe under
close supervision — I believe that
I’m competent enough that, given
certain parameters, I can complete
an assignment on my own without
anyone breathing down my neck.
About 1 1/2 years ago, 1 finally
put it all together, and decided
graduate school was the way 1
wanted logo. Law held litlleappeal
for me. 1 had always thought, espe
cially in those dark, hopeless days
in law school (usually during fi
nals) that what I RKALLY wanted to
do was leach. The world hasenough
damned attorneys. What they need
is some more good teachers.
And here 1 am.
I haven’t totally divorced myself
from the law; all my papersduethis
semester are on some aspect of
legal history, and that will likely be
my specialty.
My legal experience has also
given me an edge. Having*" been
through law school, where three or
four hour tests are the norm, and
your whole grade for the year rides
on that one test — and the bar
exam, where your whole career
depends on the outcome of one
grueling, two-day marathon of es
say and multiple-choice, there isn’t
a test that anyonccan comeup with
in the history department that’s
going to scare me.
Th e re wa rds? Y ou ’re pretty ("nu ch
your own boss, lord of your own
time. I can get up at 7 a m., go to
class ‘til noon, come home, do
lunch and listen to Rush Limbaugh,
sleep for an hour to recharge, and
then research like a demon ‘til mid
night, with maybe an hour tucked'
away for a good, hard six-mile run.
To a former eight-lo-fiver, it’s para
dise.
On the other side, doing re
search on the graduate level re
quires a great deal of ingenuity and
originality. It’s not easy being bril
liant and thinking Original
Thoughts, then going out and do
ing the archival work to back it up.
Quite a change from the la w, w here
originality is discouraged, and hoary
precedent is enshrined. I’ll lake
originality every time.
The atmosphere, though, is what
really drew me back. I got tired of
the stuffiness, the constant need to
conform, to be proper, to mouth all
the right things, and suck up to all
the right people. Here, I pretty—
much do what I damned well please.
Some may be offended, but it’s
more or less a free environment.
I’m free to be myself andnotjust
another clone in pinstripes and
wingtips. That, to me, is the most
precious thing of all, and it’s why
I’m in academia for good. You
couldn’t pay mecnough to go back.
Ever.
— Kcpficld is a very contented gradu
ate student in history, a disgruntled (but
damned good in his day) former attor
ney, and a Diversions contributor.
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