Quite a few years ago, when I was a young lawyer, an elder statesmen in my firm and I were burning the midnight oil on a hot summer’s eve, putting a brief in final form. He remarked to me how such newfangled inventions as central air conditioning and the photocopy machine had made the practice of law more exhausting. Before central air, he noted, no lawyer would spend hours in his or her office writing hundred page briefs because it would either be too hot or the wind from the open windows would scatter the pages with each passing breeze. When “carbon paper” was used rather than copy machines, it wasn’t as easy to make copies of zillion page masterpieces, and before there was “word processing”, correcting a page meant having to start the whole page over.
I was thinking of that long ago day this past week as temperatures hit 95 degrees farenheit in April, a feat I’d never experienced before. As I hit my battery controlled remote control to lower my Halcyon brand shades (translucent shades that allow you to see out, but filter out glare, heat and uv rays), I wondered what ol’ Jack would have thought of these radiant barrier, heat reflective, energy saving shades. I guessed he would have liked them a lot less than the small battery powered fan I had draped around my neck on a rahide strap.
Later that same day, I left my office to walk the three blocks, uphill, to court. I noticed that there were few people walking the streets, and those that were seemed notably to be lacking suit coats or ties. When I reached the courthouse, I noted the parking lot was filled to the overflow point with vehicles – some of which I recognized as belonging to lawyers who officed only a few blocks away – which proudly displayed the water drip of overtaxed vehicular air conditioning.
Once inside the aging edifice, I was happy to see the powers that be had opened another security line, causing people to move through the metal detectors more quickly. However, when they still demanded that all passersby remove their footwear, another sad reminder of the heat’s effects threatened to knock me out.
In time, I managed to make my way to the particular court room in which I was to plead my case. I noted the old fashioned, thick-materialed blinds that had been drawn low to exclude the external heat, but which served the purpose of keeping the heat from the now-necessary internal lighting system within the building as well. The judge made his way to the bench, looking even less thrilled to be there than me. His bailiff called the first case, but no one seemed to notice. All eyes instead followed the judge’s secretary as she entered from a side door and carefully walked to the bench and set a glistening pitcher of ice water before our black-robed master.
The judge slowly and absentmindedly poured himself a glass of water, while all in the court room said nothing.
I’m pretty sure I won my argument that day. By the time I had left the courtroom and had made it back to my office, however, my thoughts were focused on whether my antiperspirant had been up to the task. A partnership meeting had already begun in our large conference room, when I entered our suite, and I had to make a split second decision as to whether or not to remove my jacket when I joined the confab. I decided discretion was the better part of valor and left it on as I took my seat.
That was a mistake. Within seconds, sweat began to accumulate on my brow, and I could swear I saw some of my partners laughing. Luckily, the senior muckity muck who was heading up the gathering had decided to use a Power Point projection to elucidate his point, so when he lowered the shades and turned off the lights in the room, to prepare us for his presentation, I obtained a reprieve of sorts.
The heat is definitely not my friend. In the past, I’ve heard respected, talented, wise, attorneys referred to as “August” and had always wanted to earn that moniker. As I sat in this conference room on a hot April day, I realized that an April attorney was bad enough. I have no business being an August attorney. In August, I want to be a life guard and, if that turns out to be selfish, misguided or simply wrong, then sue me.
© 2012 under analysis llc. Under analysis is a nationally syndicated column of the Levison Group. Charles Kramer is a principal of the St Louis, Missouri based law firm Riezman Berger, PC. Comments or criticisms about this column may be sent c/o this publication or direct to the Levison Group at comments@levgroup.com.