The Nitty-Gritty

Up until now, I've been painting sweeping strokes of law school life. Today I'm going to get uncomfortably close to the minutiae.

I'll start with an overview. My esteemed educational institution has two moot court programs. One is large and well recognized; there is a well-governed format for membership that must comply with bylaws as enforced by the Moot Court Board of Governors. That Board is headed by three student Chairs of the Board, and they are guided by a faculty adviser. They have a large group of participants who are sent to various nationwide competitions. The Philip C. Jessup International Law Moot Court is a separate team, and much smaller. Rather than having more than one moot court team, the Jessup team is limited to 5 students and an adjunct adviser. It also focuses exclusively on international law. At my school, the larger program is considered an academic team; whereas the Jessup program is viewed as a club.

But wait just a minute; you say: what is a moot court?

If you want the complex answer, visit the hyperlink. The simple answer: oral arguments about an invented case. It's a competition for law students to hone their skills in advocacy.

* * *

Last year, I participated in the Jessup team. It was amazing. I absolutely loved it, and would love to do it again. We competed at George Washington University in downtown Washington D.C., and we beat numerous teams that included some of the Ivy League. We made it as far as the semi-finals, where the #1 team knocked us out. The school down the road eventually took home the world championship in the arguments, but we were still thrilled to have gotten that far.
I think the qualities that really made our team excellent, despite perhaps not being a team of inherently brilliant advocates naturally, was our teachability and dedication. We were all there for pretty much every one of our numerous practices; we listened to criticisms of our styles, our presence, and our knowledge. We spent days honing our work. We took nothing for granted, and we had many guest judges that all pointed out different ways we could improve. By the time we'd met our matches in competition, we were so solidly prepared and unshakable that NOT making the semifinals would have been a surprise to me.

We were thrilled.

* * *

Unfortunately, despite the rigorous academic grind the team involves, a student can only get academic credit for participation once. Thus, at the encouragement of a professor I am close with, I am trying out for the larger, school-touted team which has no such limitation. Recall that I said TRYING OUT only.

The tryouts alone for these teams are exhausting. The written component involves composing an appellate brief, which requires researching and synthesizing the law on at least two issues. The oral argument tryouts, the second stage, are available only to those who submitted a good brief. Those arguments involve a weeks worth of after-work practices that are judged; and plenty of integration of judges comments and new research. It is basically a mini-competition in and of itself.

When my peer mentor told me last year that he thought the tryout process itself was an extremely good learning experience, I thought he was saying that to console himself for an unsuccessful run. I now know that what he went through simply trying out for the team was probably about a quarter of the work I had to do all semester once I had made it ON to the Jessup team. Once again, he was correct.

I sure hope I make this team; it's been quite an investment of time, and it's completely dominated the weeklong break I had before the summer session of classes begins.

The Lawyer-Mobile

Families show love and support in so many different ways.

Some families throw wads of money at their student wards, giving them living-expense stipends or paying their rent where able. Some offer a place to stay, home-cooked meals, laundry services, and the like. Some babysit for their children's children during class hours or work; some are present for every event in which their family member is involved.

I am a single young woman, but I get help from my family in a number of those ways. I myself work about 35 hours every week to eliminate the need to take out private loans to cover my living expenses. I have also been fortunate enough to receive help from three community organizations in the form of scholarships this semester. But rather than itemize the myriad of beautiful ways I am aided by my loved ones (because they are all so appreciated, but perhaps personal to the givers), I just want to talk about the assistance I rely on most day-to-day: The Lawyer-Mobile.

So dubbed by a close friend of mine, the Lawyer-Mobile is a testament to both my parents and grandparent's love and support. While technically not a 'gift', it is exactly that to me. The car is bought and paid for by my parents, and after I finish school I am to pay back the loan. Originally my grandfathers car, they sold it to my parents (for me) before I began law school. But these details don't matter.

What matters is this: when I pile into my car each morning, throwing books onto the front leather seats and my requisite change of clothes for the evening into the back seat, the car welcomes me with the silent promise that my family will hold me together. When I turn that key in the ignition, I know that if anything fails on that machine, my parents will be at the ready to help me get it up and running. When I survey the plastic faux-wood paneling and soft leather seats, I think of car rides with my loving grandparents, and the hard work my grandfather went through to get through the same law school I now attend. When I fill up the unfortunately gas-hungry tank, I remember that if things ever get too bad, I know I have people that will offer me a place to stay, food to eat, and a million other things.

I remember that I am riding with so much wind beneath my wings, and I remember that every single day.

Home stretch...

Finals are concluding, and the stress levels are dropping. Luckily, Cleveland temperatures are rising as well. I'm really looking forward to that two week break before my summer classes begin again.

To those of you who like to imagine the strenuous experience that is law school: on Friday night, I took a three-and-a-half hour open-book final with about 20 other exhausted classmates.

You'd think open book is a generous kind of exam, and you'd be wrong. Dead wrong. Open book simply means that on top of having complete mastery of the concepts, you must also cite with complete accuracy, because you have no excuse not to--after all, you had the book in front of you.

This particular exam is infamous: the professor is completely considerate, highly professional, and gives you fair warning for any discomfort that his class must necessarily cause to still be considered educational. His tests are ruthless: they inexorably glean from you every piece of knowledge you have about the subject. They expect from you in three-and-a-half hours exactly what he delivers all semester: easy clarity, relevance, and complete accuracy. Most students struggle mightily to finish within the already generous time constraints.

All the same, I did well the first semester of his course, and I'd hoped to repeat my success this semester. But at 9:45 p.m., when I wearily schlepped my two three-ring binders and practitioner's handbook back to my lawyer-mobile, I pretty much just hoped I'd pass--so I wouldn't have to take the exam again.

Madness Building...

This entry is necessarily brief, because I have a 20 page paper due at 5 p.m., and a killer final at 9 a.m. tomorrow morning.

Even a night student needs unbroken study time, so after my first semester I made a policy of taking a day off of work the day before each final exam. My grades skyrocketed almost instantaneously; an unbroken day of peace and mental preparation seemed to be the key to excellent performance. It hasn't failed me yet.

Today, however:

• Someone has been hammering in the apartment above me for about three hours now. There is no end in sight, as some new contractors just walked over there.
• I can't stop thinking about all of the work I have to do tomorrow afternoon; I work at a municipal law department and I am responsible for the preparation of the prosecutor's files for next week.
• Coffee is not clearing my mind; and does not seem to be fueling me with a passionate intellectual drive.

Frankly, I'm academically panicked; I can not concentrate, and I have five hours to perfect a paper for my Judaic Law course. Then I have another seven hours to master Civil Procedure.

Despite the positive attitude I try to maintain about school, I must admit there are moments when I definitely feel I am drowning.

I keep in close touch with the student mentor I was assigned my first year. He's now a federal attorney with the U. S. Department of Homeland Security's Bureau of Customs & Border Protection; he's proved to be a wealth of comfort and wisdom at the times I most needed those things. In response to a panicked email I shot off this morning, he assures me:

"You're going to be fine. Mark my words: in a couple years, you'll have an awesome job and will be happy and fulfilled. I know that doesn't make getting through today or tomorrow any easier when you're actually going through it, but I personally remember having several of those days. You'll make it though. Days like this will be a distant memory."

When the panic really surges, I remember his words from orientation:

"Sometimes it's going to seem like law school is just three or four long years of hazing, and those who make it through are the ones who get the J.D.s."

* * *

Tomorrow is Law Day, by the way. The City Club of Cleveland is putting on a great event, and if you are in the area and interested at all in Death Penalty issues, give it a look. I'd be there, but I'll be purging my brain of Civil Procedure.