by Kenneth P. Nolan

I always wanted to be a world-class athlete, able to throw the Mariano fastball, do a so very quick crossover dribble leaving my opponent looking like a chump, knock down a tailback with a shrug of my broad shoulder. Instead I was born a hottie. Yeah, those are my daughters laughing in the background, but what do they know, they think Colin Farrell and Jude Law are cute. But if you're reading this you're probably somewhat like me-ordinary for the most part, gifted not really, proficient if we're being kind.

I'm a trial lawyer and even though my photo has yet to adorn the cover of Vanity Fair, I'm pretty good at what I do. And what I do is work, mundane, often tedious work. A lot of it--weekends, nights and rushing down the gum-stained, cracked subway steps briefcase in hand, silently cursing the old geezer in front who clutches the worn-smooth handrail and moves fearfully. Hurrying because I'm late or because I want to be early. Just hurrying because that's what I do. What most of us do. And we do it all the freakin time.

It's hard and laborious and as I age, er, become more experienced, I realize it's the ordinary work that makes you good, makes you win, makes you successful. Not always fun but heck what job is fun anyway. Well, I guess if you're Julia Roberts or Tom Brady, life ain't so bad. You're better looking than everyone else and your headache is to sign a few autographs. Hmmm, is that more onerous than paving a highway when the winds whip and the slashing rain stings?

The same with trial work, not movie star glamorous, but easier than running into a flaming tenement with 50 pounds of gear and a hose heavy with water. Monotonous for the most part. But there are moments, yes they exist-when you connect with the jurors and see them unconsciously nodding as they lean forward during your closing, knowing that your wonderful words have convinced, have soared through the fog to the endless clear sky. The unshaven mailman is focused, listening, agreeing. He's with you in this place and your simple but beautiful language has transformed this pedestrian dispute into the American ideal of justice. You yearn to preserve this moment-the captivated faces, your voice that glides through the drab courtroom, the failed nonchalance of your adversary. The court clerk has stopped reading the box scores and the tired, jaded judge has stopped doodling and peers over her weathered reading glasses. Yet there is no James Boswell, no Ansel Adams. But you will always remember and strive to replicate this scene.

And you did it alone. You were the one who persuaded. The shy 7th grader who spoke so quietly and quickly in class is now so very eloquent with her deep, dark eyes and poised, determined voice. These same words, once so nervously murmured, have become a force, psalm-like, and the jurors are believers, ready to sing Amen, to vote for your client.

Yes, there are such moments whether before a jury or a skeptical judge, whether a bet-the-company case or a needless discovery motion. The substance is unimportant. It is the feeling, the exhilaration. You have to seize such moments, savor them when the radio blasts at 5 am and you're too tired to stumble to the shower for another day of pressure-filled, mind weary work. These slices of triumph exist and even though the world does not watch, they are worth the effort, the pain. These are the reasons you became a lawyer, a trial lawyer.

No Magic Elixer. My CYO basketball coach used to whine "You can't teach height," as he stared at our team of shrimps. Yao is in the NBA because he's a bit taller than everyone else. Others are born with beauty, intelligence, art--Mozart, Raphael, Tyra Banks. Law, of course, is more pedestrian. Sure there's talent involved and the greats were certainly gifted as orators, writers, analyzers. But most of the stuff we do can be learned. It ain't that hard.

You can learn to write, to research, to speak. Read books, take a course, attend the bar association lectures, listen to the lonely greybeard who shuffles down the hall, Wall Street Journal in his trembling hand and remembers the strategies and success of cases big and small yet all long forgotten. Pretend law's golf and practice, practice, practice. Hear your piano teacher's sarcastic voice as she orders you to do it again and again until you get it right. Even Edward Bennett Williams used to rehearse his stories. Because with hard work you can be better. You can grow, you can improve, you can be good.

But first put your ego in your purse. So you passed the bar and graduated from ivy covered universities with majestic oaks filtering the sun. Maybe your Aunt Diane and Uncle Mark are impressed, but a jury doesn't give a crap. You passed the Bar by memorizing a bunch of mostly useless garbage. So stop trying to be so cool. You're a young punk who has to learn the fundamentals and it takes time, nights when all your old college buddies are in some Irish joint on the upper East Side, having a few, laughing, trying to collect email addresses. And weekends and early morns and holidays. It's work after all. Not fun, but dull, plodding work. And it's difficult is to admit you're 27 and know nothing. Get over it, you're young, you'll bounce back.

Do what I did. Write your deposition questions on a pad…What is your name, where do you live…Anticipate answers and write other questions to the Yes answer and another set to the No answer. Don't be embarrassed. Some moron will giggle and make some inane comment on the record. And you'll feel like reaching across the table and slapping his fat head. My response was always simple, "I'm not as smart as you, I'm just a dumb plaintiff's lawyer from Brooklyn who went to law school at night." But you won't panic, you'll be thorough and effective. Your goal is not to appear to be smooth, but to ask all the questions and discover information and documents. Of course you'll remember the slights and someday you'll hire a muscle-bound Gambino wannabe from Bay Ridge and…just kidding.

You can't anticipate every answer and you will have to adapt and stray from the comfort of your yellow pad blankie. And initially you'll fumble around and your mouth will dry and your lip sweat. The day of my first trial I was waiting in the hall for the judge when I looked across at two veteran lawyers trying a nonjury matrimonial case. Since I was so inexperienced that I didn't even know where to stand when questioning, no lecterns in state court, I popped into the courtroom for a peek. Every other word from this skilled lawyer was "um, er, withdrawn Your Honor". Where's the eloquence, the rhythm? I could do this, I thought. So can you. Don't worry, you're never as good or as bad as you think.

So when you start to panic, glance down at the yellow pad and regain your composure. You won't be perfect but you'll get answers and that's what depos are all about--answers. In my personal injury practice, I had a bunch of such written questions-med mal general, med mal obgyn, med mal cardio, auto, aviation, construction, slip and fall…I built a library and kept adding more, dragging them out year after year using them less and less until I passed them to younger attorneys.

The same for oral argument. You don't have to write every word, but have an outline and practice, just like high school speech class. In front of a mirror, out loud. And the next day in the car or on the R train whispering like a derelict crack head. Confidence is the key. If you aren't panicking, you can think clearly, respond coherently. Don't be afraid to check your notes, read the quote from the controlling case as you argue. You're not graded on style but on substance.

Writing too. This is probably the toughest especially since so many schools prefer "the grammar and spelling don't count" philosophy. But if Mrs. Lynch can teach me and 50 other third grade knuckleheads penmanship, grammar and the Baltimore catechism, you can learn to write simple declarative sentences. Please, please stop the lawreviewese. Drop the hereins, the heretofores, and other legal mumbo jumbo. Just write in short, clear sentences. You don't have to be Hemingway, but write a draft and then reread and edit it.

Have someone who learned to diagram a sentence, who has heard of a gerund read it for syntax, comprehension. If a sentence runs on and on, cut it in half. This is hard work since spelling, punctuation and grammar are thought of as antiquated in this immediate and informal age of email. Leave your email abbreviations and style on your blackberries. In your legal writing, be concise, be coherent. And while you're at it, read Eats Shoots and Leaves by Lynn Truss. It's time you knew how to use an apostrophe.

Prepare. When I first began practicing, I was amazed that I knew more about the facts and the law of my cases than many of my more senior adversaries. Lawyers reading the file as they wait to argue a motion, searching for a summary of the facts, not understanding medical procedures, how products work. No excuse really. Easy to spot. And it showed. Even at depositions, oblivious to the errors of their client because they had never visited the scene or knew how to read a fetal monitoring strip.

It's not difficult to know the facts and law in each case. In complex litigation it may be near impossible to know it all, but try because that's how you win. Knowing everything. I once tried a med mal of a guy whose physician perforated his heart during a myocardial biopsy. Sounds easy, right? But the defense attorney, however, was more than prepared. He put on scrubs and attended such a procedure, spending the day observing, questioning, learning. He knew as much as the surgeons, more than me. I won, but he tried a terrific case showing the jury the instruments, educating them on how thin the heart wall is, beating up my expert, so convincing that the miserable judge reduced the verdict.

And that's what you have to do-go to the factory, meet with witnesses, eyeball experts. The net is a wonderful tool, use it not just to gather information, but to research everyone and everything. But the net is no substitute for hands-on specifics. A photo cannot replace the extensive knowledge of visiting the scene, touching the instruments, understanding the mechanics. A phone conversation provides sound, not the person's look, dress, how they'll sell at a deposition or trial. So dirty your hands, do it yourself and immediately, before the rain washes away the skid marks, construction changes the road, the bare branches erupt with green.

Ask questions. Millions of them. Like everyone my age, I've forgotten what I didn't know. Even a caring mentor won't cover every contingency. So don't be afraid to ask the dumb one which reveals your ignorance. Takes guts but you only have to ask once and then think of a comeback when you're kidded later. My oldest daughter called from college in a panic since she lost her wallet and had no money. My wife's simple response was to tell her to go to the bank and withdraw some. Since my daughter had only used ATMs, she had no idea that you could actually withdraw money without a bank card. The most obvious is easily overlooked.

Know more than the experts, the judge. It's the only way. In one aviation trial where my client, Mrs. D, survived a plane crash but was severely injured, the defense attorney slyly asked his medical expert on redirect, "Didn't Dr. A write in his records that Mrs. D was too emotional about illness." Answer: "Yes." "No further questions, your Honor." Since I had nearly memorized all my client's medical records, I was able to recross that this was mentioned in a medical note 8 years before the crash and was in reference to her mother's illness not her own. Without these facts at my fingertips, the jury may have assumed that my client was a nut case who exaggerated her injuries. There's plenty of down time during most trials. Spend it working, rereading depositions, medical records, not talking loudly in the hall.

Like It. I like my job, I'm even proud of my profession. I don't care that most people believe we're worse than Osama. Sure there are those who lie and cheat and steal. But they are the exception. Most I know are decent, too hard working stiffs who are fairly intelligent and fun to be around. And much of the enjoyment I receive from being a counselor at law is the relationships I have made, the friendships, the laughs.

Yet, law is not all fun and games. And many hate it. My son attends law school. A good friend, lawyer, seriously asked: "Why would you let him go to law school?" Like I was some child abuser. Recently three young lawyers left the profession, didn't like it. No other prospects, just see ya later. Too much work, too boring, no time for anything else. Tough to say goodbye to a 3 year old with a fever and run off to argue a motion on the number of subsections in the interrogatories. Someone has to care for little Howard and even a good Nanny ain't his Mom or Pop.

Trial work is as tough and as good as it gets. Immense pressure, long hours and then you have to deal with unreasonable clients, moody judges and unpredictable jurors. And when you return from court, there are only one or two more major crises. Yes, it's a difficult life and not for everyone. Plenty of missed dance recitals, tee ball games and bedtime stories. Yet to be good, you have to like it-the struggle, the conflict, the thrill of victory.

And if you don't, there's nothing wrong with you. Stay home and raise kids, teach, open a restaurant, join the FDNY. A law school education is not wasted if you don't practice. Be happy, content. Walk the beach and consider whether you like your job, whether you should change your life. After practicing 25 years, one young associate asked me if I was happy. My candid response was, "I don't know, I never thought about it." Yeah frightening and I'm sure I would be Exhibit A at some Clinical Psychologists' convention. I told this one at a party to a therapist and her mouth remained open in amazement for only about 10 minutes. So don't wait 25 years before you ask yourself this question. By the way the answer's yes, relatively.

Litigation is a sacrifice and to succeed you must devote the time, the effort. And if you hate it, wake up at night and pray that the nightmare of your work will disappear, then do something else. In-house counsel jobs are prized because they provide a life other than pure work. I taught high school English for 5 years in John Jay, a tough Brooklyn high school. Not easy with disrespectful, illiterate kids and chaotic halls, but it was 180 days a year, 6 hours and 20 minutes a day. Of course the older teachers who knew more Joyce or Faulkner than any of my college professors pushed me into law. And they always believed I made the correct choice, but I'm not so sure come July and I'm sandwiched on the 4 train between two guys whose last showers were in the Nixon administration.

No, our business is not easy. But what is? Sure teachers are home early, but there are papers to mark, lessons to plan, bureaucracy to fight. And those bond traders make a fortune one year and tap city the next. And we do good. Not always, but enough to make a difference in lives. People hire us because they're helpless, their dreams threatened. Their pleading eyes dart about nervously, their hands float awkwardly, they fidget in the leather chair, searching for peace of mind, security, begging us to turn back time, make the boogieman go away and we provide that. We defend the company against questionable claims, represent the accused, hold hands of the rich and poor, the powerful and forgotten. We are the emotional linchpins to so very many. Our skills can soothe, allow serene, golden sunsets and sun dappled days. Our practice skilled, inspiring and fun. Don't forget the good of our profession. They're in the halls, sitting on the bench, visiting clients in the tenements, the jails. Don't forget.

Care. And about everything. Don't be like the callous co-op board at 927 Fifth Avenue who destroyed the nest of Pale Male, the red-tailed hawk, and his mate, Lola. Evicted after 11 years and 23 offspring because the pompous rich folks didn't want the minor inconvenience of these lovely birds. Even after the nest was rebuilt, the lesson was apparent--money can't buy class.

Periodically, I'm forwarded an email which recorded some obnoxious behavior by a cursing, ill-mannered attorney. The toughest guys in my neighborhood were the quiet ones, who would just kick your butt and never say a word. Screaming expletives does not equate with toughness, although I've been known to give in to that temptation on occasion. Courtesy, civility are ideal responses even in the face of rudeness, ignorance. I recently read where an attorney barked at a deposition. It's tempting to want to put a leash around his neck, but much more effective to be professional and win in the courtroom, rather than the conference room.

Or use humor as Mike Lynn did when his adversary moved for document production returnable on Christmas eve even though Mike had written the court advising that he would be going away that day with his family for Christmas. His response to the "Grinch" was in a Suess-like poem. That his adversary would move to strike his vacation letter and request such a hearing on Christmas eve is why our profession is material for stand-up comedians. It's time we stopped the pettiness, the infantile behavior. As my friend Richardson Lynn reminded me, the late Frank Rothman advised, "Never file a motion when you can write a letter. Never write a letter when you can make a phone call."

But in your heart and your head, you must care. If you do, you'll be kind and considerate. And if you don't know remember how, attend one of the training sessions at the large firms who teach etiquette so their attorneys, young and old, will realize that lateness is wrong, checking a blackberry during a meeting rude and "please" and "thank you" appreciated.

Clarence taught George that it's a wonderful life even though you don't always realize it. So it is with law, wonderful if done properly. You will learn that life is short, so make it a satisfying, enjoyable one not only for yourself but others. After all, you're a lawyer in America. "God shed His grace on thee," as Ray Charles sang and knew.