There’s been a bit of a discussion on #legalethicsTwitter (yes it’s a thing) about what lawyers are allowed to call themselves, professionally.
I was surprised to learn that in Texas, lawyers are not allowed to use trade names for their law firms. They can use their own names and those of active, retired, or deceased partners, and can use entity designations such as “LLC.” Married women can use their maiden names (gee thanks for expressly enumerating that, Texas).
I know a couple of lawyers who have presumed or confirmed cases of COVID-19. Happily, all of them are doing well, even if it was bumpy for awhile. None of them have posed this question to me, but I’ve seen it elsewhere as a hypothetical—what are lawyers’ duties if they have become ill with COVID-19?
I routinely counsel others on how to prepare for emergencies we don’t like to talk about—our ethical duties to our clients continue even if we become disabled, or die (though Wisconsin’s Office of Lawyer Regulation does not routinely prosecute violations posthumously, and we can be grateful for those small favors). I’ve handled more than one call from someone who ended up in the no-good-deed-goes-unpunished scenario of having a bunch of files dumped in their office from a grieving and panicked spouse with little more than a “now what?”
Pop culture makes it seem like lawyers are constantly in court, or at the very least, catching up with our attorney friends while briskly walking down courthouse steps. It really looks more like the graphic accompanying this blog entry, but with a coffee cup balanced precariously in there (and in my case, more paper despite being promised a paperless office by the year 2000, a comfortable new office chair just sitting in the box, taunting me while waiting to be assembled, and a room in dire need of new paint).
All of this tech means that most of my job, like most of most lawyers’ jobs, can be done from home.
First, I will caveat this with, dammit Jim, I’m a lawyer, not a doctor or an economist, so I’m not going to make any predictions or grand pronouncements, except, please be safe and careful and wash your hands (you can use this handy procrastination tool to make posters for your bathroom mirror). Take this seriously. We are in exceedingly uncharted territory.
When I was in law school and applying for bar membership, there were a number of character and fitness questions seeking information about substance abuse and mental health. I (somewhat shockingly, I’m a pack rat) don’t have the questionnaire anymore so I don’t remember the exact questions, but I do remember the Board of Bar Examiners asking if applicants had sought counseling or other mental health treatment. I do not recall whether the above caveats were present (though I believe we were told we did not need to disclose stress/domestic/eating disorder counseling). I remember that it felt intrusive and stigmatizing, even though I have been fortunate and I didn’t have much to disclose.
Still playing catch-up after Austin, but a couple of quick related points about ambulances and the fact we don’t literally chase them.
I learned later that I was probably suffering from vicarious (or secondary) trauma, which is the subject of a recent ABA Journal article (and other good ones in the past). To summarize briefly, lawyers can be surrounded by their clients’ traumas and sometimes internalize them, to the point where they exhibit symptoms similar to those of PTSD.
When I launched this site back in October I intended it to be a site for discussion of legal ethics. I mean, it’s right there in the title (sort of; perhaps I should add getting “ethicking” added to the dictionary to my bucket list). Disciplinary decisions, new rules, general nerdery. Some current events but “it’s not about politics, and it’s not going to be about politics,” or so I told my employer when making the pitch.
It’s January so everyone is setting goals and making predictions for the year ahead, and forgetting all about those goals and predictions for last year that didn’t actually materialize. If you are of the ilk where you have written these things down, dig last year’s out and take a look. I did that recently. My goals for 2019 were adorable.
If you’re like many lawyers in private practice, you measure (, measure) a year in billable hours, because at the end of the day that’s how you get paid (directly or indirectly, or a combination). I’m not going to use this space to rail for or against the billable hour—most of my work is hourly and there is something to be said for cold math, but plenty of my colleagues utilize contingency, flat fee, and/or hybrid agreements because their work lends itself to those arrangements.
