Old Dogs

When I was a young lawyer, they were called old dogs. These were the older lawyers who could be seen every day, hanging around the courthouse. I didn’t invent the term “old dogs” but it certainly seemed to fit.

These old dogs had a certain look to them. Later I would find out that these “old dog” lawyers were not as old as I thought they were. Instead I learned that almost all trial lawyers look older than their chronological age.

The old dogs shunned the spotlight. Or perhaps they once sought it but gave up on the search. In any event, the old dogs were different than the prima donna lawyers of the trial world. The prima donnas operated from large luxurious offices, had publicists and huge staffs. The prima donnas also hired associate lawyers who would cover most of the court calls. In fact the appearance of a prima donna lawyer in court was a rare event, usually associated with a trial and a high-profile one at that.

And so if one wanted to spot a prima donna lawyer, the best place to do so was at an expensive restaurant at lunchtime. In contrast, the old dogs could be found in the courtroom cafeteria during the late morning hours. Usually they were having coffee with other old dogs.

The old dogs were not incompetent. To the contrary, they were journeymen. Unlike us young lawyers, they had been around the block again and again and again. On the other hand, they didn’t seem to be cutting edge.

The old dogs also seemed to care less about their appearance than the younger lawyers. They were not slobs, but they were not slaves to fashion either. And when an old dog removed a file from his briefcase, it usually consisted of a tattered manila jacket jammed with papers. Sometimes the volume of documents crammed into the file would cause the jacket to tear open at the side. But instead of transferring the documents to a new folder, the old dog would simply repair the side of the jacket with tape. Often the old dog’s name and address were preprinted on the folder, usually in the middle near the bottom. I always figured that if an old dog lost a file, this was how he would get it back.

Most of the old dogs represented personal injury plaintiffs. And because I was a young insurance defense lawyer, I had occasion to visit many of the old dogs at their offices when I presented my clients for depositions. Typically the old dogs would locate their offices in old buildings not far from the courthouse. And the old dogs tended to be sole practitioners. Yes they might have an assistant, but otherwise they worked for themselves.

Sometimes the furniture in an old dog’s office looked like it had been purchased from the Salvation Army. Their bookshelves were frequently filled with paperback advance sheets because the old dogs saw no point in wasting money to buy hardbound volumes that contained the very same cases. And the pictures that hung on their walls were old, dated and often had some kind of legal theme.

At times it seemed like the old dog lawyers had boarded a train that just wouldn’t make any stops to let them off. I say this because the old dogs never seemed to retire. But they did die. This would usually be followed by a pleasant obituary for the old dog in a legal newspaper that only other lawyers read. I always wondered what happened to the old dog, now dead dog’s tattered files. I assumed that they eventually worked their way over to the office of another old dog.

The judges treated the old dogs differently than us young lawyers. We pups were constantly being yelled at for our incompetence. But the old dogs were treated with tolerance and even a certain level respect. Maybe this was because many old dogs were older than the judges who heard their cases. Or perhaps the judges feared that a tirade might give an old dog a heart attack.

Next year I will have been practicing law for 34 years. I am a solo practitioner. I have no partners, but I do have an assistant. My office is in an old building across the street from court. I have now commuted, by train, to and from downtown Chicago on over fifteen thousand occasions. I refuse to buy a PDA. I am older than many of the judges who hear my cases and they treat me with respect. I am a journeyman and I know what I am doing. So have I become an old dog? I don’t think so. Times have changed and things are different now. But I can’t quite put my finger on why.