What is the most important tool in the lawyer’s arsenal? Is it the suit? The favorite tie or scarf accessory? The cool sportscar or the beat up sedan? Is it the ability to speak clearly, to audiences of any level? Is it the ability to draft concisely worded letters, or obtusely complex documents? Is it the ability to smile in the face of disaster, or to rant when not actually upset? Is it to be part actor or actress and part teacher or parent? Or is it simply the ability to put two thoughts together and to focus on a concept, for better or for worse?
It turns out this last, simple, offering might be the answer. Forget about all the hoopla and fanfare. Forget about what makes a lawyer a “good” lawyer. Forget what makes learned counsel, well, “learned.” What is it that we absolutely NEED to simply be able to do what we do? I submit, dear reader, it is the ability to follow one thought onto the next, in simple, deliberate, linear fashion.
Last week I woke up a little light headed, with a bit of a scratchy throat. Thinking little of it, I dressed, grabbed a coffee and headed to the office. Once there, I grabbed my files and headed to Court. I had two hearings scheduled back to back, so I’d asked an associate to handle my second matter, but was hoping to swing by anyway. The first case involved discovery issues in a case that should have settled before it was ever filed. I hate those. The lawyers for all sides arrived and we killed time chatting before eventually deciding it was better to work out our beefs than wait for the judge to arrive. Consent order drafted, I wandered down the hall to the second courtroom of the day.
As I wandered down the hall, however, I began to feel less and less comfortable in my skin. I could hear myself breathing as my chest shrunk to half its normal size. My neck began to tighten, and my skin grew warm. As I opened the courtroom door, my associate arrived. Seeing I had made it on time, he began to make leaving noises, but I stopped him in his tracks. Something told me it might me a good idea to have him make the argument anyway. Over the next five minutes, the light in the courtroom seemed to dim and my sense of humor seemed to dissolve. I sucked it up, and Joe and I ventured in to see the judge together. Securing victory (always easier when the other side doesn’t show up), we talked about the next stages in the case, as we headed out the door.
I realized Joe was looking at me with a different kind of look, and when I asked if he’d like a ride back to the office, he ventured that he would rather just walk the 10 blocks a bit to quickly. I would have been offended if I hadn’t been preoccupied by the chills that were now invading my essence.
I got into my car to head to the office, but suddenly realized driving might be a daunting task. Figuring it was now or never, however, I turned the ignition. Rather than heading to work, however, I headed back home. I figured a glass of Orange Juice, a couple hours sleep, and some Tylenol would dispatch the blackness from my sole.
I was wrong. The chest congestion congealed. My head fogged up to a point where thought was impossible. Thoughts of working from home never got past the “where was I just going?” stage. Fever lead to sleep, which lead to mucinex, which lead to decongestants, which lead to antibiotics, which lead to antivirals, which lead to a long, dark tunnel of fog.
I am told that I spoke to several people and even hammered out some emails over the next few days, but I have to take their word for it. The reality is that I was hit with the worse case of the flu I’d had in recent, or ever, memory.
As deadlines came and went, and work piled higher and higher, I realized I literally simply could not work. I could not think. One thought did not flow to the next. It was not a lack of desire to work from home, but a lack of ability. Literally. I could not do any lawyering. The crucial tool, the brain, was awol.
Yesterday, five days later, the fog finally broke and health returned. By eight pm I was feeling 100 percent chipper. I was in bed by nine, to ensure a good night’s sleep and continued health. I woke up this morning feeling fine, until I attempted to speak. All systems were go, except my voice. It is now totally gone. Yet, today I am at work, plowing through the pile of emails, faxes, letters, messages and documents that awaited me. You see a lawyer may be a “mouthpiece”, but a voice is not the oil that keeps the engine humming. I think, therefore I am.
©2012 under analysis lc. Under analysis is a nationally syndicated column of the Levison Group. Charles Kramer is a principal of the St Louis based law firm Riezman Berger, PC. Send comments to the Levision Group c/o this paper or direct via email to comments@levisongroup.com.