Law School Stories

–From Christine Preta, Albany Law School, Date of event: 2002

My Contracts professor—a very smart guy who, unfortunately, recently passed away—was rather eccentric. He often came to class in Hawaiian tee shirts and sandals (even in the winter, and I go to school in upstate NY where there’s lots of snow). Anyway, he had been teaching for a number of years so he had quite a reputation with the student body.

He was extremely Socratic and barely lectured or even answered questions. He always ended up throwing them back at the class. Needless to say, by the end of the year we were all rather frustrated by his teaching (gotta love that Socratic method!). So he agreed to do a review session for three hours before his six-hour Contracts exam.

Everyone—and I do mean everyone—showed up for it. The classroom was packed. It was standing room only. He started the “lecture”—taking questions and actually answering them. Mid-way through answering a question one of his teeth flew out and landed on the desk. He just continued to speak, barely noticing that it had fallen out. The class was mortified—should we tell him? Did he know and was ignoring it?

Finally, I think he realized that no one was paying attention and casually picked up the tooth, washed it off in his coffee mug (which we think was filled with water), stuck it back in his mouth (it must have been a crown or something) and without missing a beat continued answering the student’s question.

It was one of the funniest things ever. Of course, we held our laughter until the review session was over!

–From Tanya Stankunas, Harvard Law School, Date of event: Fall 2002

We were studying Civil Procedure with the irascible Professor Arthur Miller, and discussing counterclaims and crossclaims. We’re deep in the intricacies of compulsory and permissive counterclaims, when a student poses the question: “Can you do a permissive counterclaim, to the compulsory counterclaim, to the crossclaim?”

Miller’s response: “I love it when you talk dirty …”

–From Professor Ken Chestek at University of Michigan Law School, University of Pittsburgh School of Law, Date of event: circa 1977.

Our first-year Contracts professor was notoriously more “mysterious” than most of our other first-year profs; we generally had to work pretty hard to fathom what he was asking us. One day in the winter semester he began a class by wandering down an unusually long frolic-and-detour that seemed to bear little, if any, relevance to the subject of Contracts.

We strained to see where he was going; nobody, however, dared to interrupt him. Finally, after about twenty minutes, a student meekly raised her hand and asked, “Professor, could you, um, tell us what case you are talking about?”

The professor looked at her for the longest time, with a blank expression on his face. The rest of us sat dumbstruck, waiting to see what kind of tongue-lashing was forming behind those impenetrable eyes. Finally, without saying a word, the professor closed the book on his podium, and gently laid it down on the desk. We cringed. He then opened up a different book, thumbed through it, and finally looked back up at us.

“I bet you all want to hear about Contracts today, don’t you?”

–From Janet Subers Heydt, Temple University School of Law, Date of event: Fall 1998

On the first day of Criminal Law class at Temple University, our professor (a great prof) was going around the class asking each of us who we were and for a few statements as to what we were all about.

He got to one gentleman in the class, whose name I forget, but who the whole class knew worked for a “gentleman’s club” (a/k/a, a strip joint) as the manager or bouncer. Well, the professor looked at him and said, “Don’t I know you from somewhere? I’m sure I know you. You look very familiar.” He was rather insistent that he knew the gentleman.

Most of us left class that night still chuckling! At the end of the year, after I had gotten to know the professor better, I clued him in as to the laugh we had at his expense!

–From Jonathon Harwood, St. John’s University School of Law, Date of event: circa 1985

In the mid-1980s at the St. John’s University School of Law in Jamaica Estates, New York, Dean Fagen was our Torts I professor. He was one of those classic imposing law professor figures whose authority was never challenged. If there was ever any doubt about who was in charge, it was put to rest the day someone questioned him about a difference between his lecture and something in the legendary “Prosser On Torts” hornbook.

“Prosser’s dead,” Dean Fagen said, “Listen to me.”

–From Travis Smith, University of Oklahoma College of Law, Date of event: 1976

I began the University of Oklahoma Law School in the fall of 1976. I had a professor named Elmer Million for property law both semesters of my first year. Prof. Million had retired from the NYU law school and returned home to Oklahoma to teach. Among other things he is noted for, Professor Million has a son named E.Z. Million.

Professor Million taught us about dower and curtesy, both of which had been abolished in 1907, but not about abstracts. Another useful thing he taught us was a poem to help you remember, “The name of that little star shaped thing you see in print sometimes,” referring to the asterisk.

The poem is:

Mary had a little plane

In which she loved to frisk.

Now I tell you Mary loved

Her little _____________ (McClurg note: I couldn’t really figure out what the heck this poem means, but there’s some possibility the last line could be offensive. So I’ll leave it to you to try to figure out the last three words of the poem with the hint that they rhyme with asterisk).

–From David Keller, University of Florida College of Law, Date of events: circa 1977

Those of you who went to schools with big-time college football programs will appreciate the following story sent to me by David Keller, a former high school classmate who graduated from the University of Florida law school the year I arrived there. (I’m not sure exactly how he did that, since we were in the same high school class and I went straight through college to law school, but David was a really smart guy. Maybe they let him skip college.)

I remember on the first day of law school, our criminal law professor, Robert Mann (since deceased), called the roll. He got to Don Gaffney, my classmate who had been the starting quarterback for the Florida Gators for the past 3 years. Don said “present.” The professor asked Don if he had a wife named _______? (maybe Mary, but I don’t remember her name now nearly 25 years later). Don said yes. Professor Mann asked if she sold lawn mowers at Sears (or something equivalent). Don said yes. Professor Mann said, completely deadpan, “I thought I recognized your name from somewhere.”

On another occasion, Professor Jeff Lewis called on a guy in our class who was always raising his hand trying to get noticed and attract attention to himself. After the guy answered a question with an obviously wrong answer, Professor Lewis sad, “Put your head down and rest a little while.” We thought that was pretty funny.

–From name withheld by request, University of Arkansas School of Law, Date of event: circa 1976

I attended law school at the University of Arkansas at Fayetteville beginning in the fall of 1976 and graduating in the spring of 1979. Naturally, during my freshman year I took Torts and was privileged to be instructed by the legendary Dr. Robert A. Leflar, who at that time had come back to the University of Arkansas and was teaching for free.

Dr. Leflar was a gentleman of 78 years at this time and he taught well up into his 90s. In fact, the law school today is named for him. He was an outstanding instructor, but he was likewise the kind of instructor who instilled fear and trembling in students. One of Dr. Leflar’s requirements that was strictly adhered to was exact punctuality as far as class attendance was concerned. The class was to begin at the precise time prescribed, at which time the door to the classroom would be closed and it was not to be opened. He gave us that understanding at the very first of the year and it was adhered to.

Dr. Leflar was likewise the kind of instructor who had no fun and games as far as his repartee with students was concerned. On the occasion of one particular class session, there was one student who was just about to be late for class when he hurriedly came in the classroom. Noticing that the door was still opened, he promptly closed it behind him assuming Dr. Leflar to already be in the room. As it turned out, Dr. Leflar was out in the hall just beside the door talking with another faculty member. As Dr. Leflar turned to come in the classroom, he proceeded on remembering the door to have been open the last time he saw it, as he had just come out the door to talk to the other faculty member.

Without looking up at the door, Dr. Leflar walked square into it breaking his rather thick glasses and cutting his face. For the entirety of the class, Dr. Leflar never mentioned the incident, acted as if it had never occurred, and taught the class without any interruption whatsoever. He did this despite the fact that his face was continuously bleeding, with blood all over same, and his eyeglasses were terribly fractured. How the man read his notes was absolutely amazing. I could only conclude that he knew them by heart.

No one dared to utter even a snicker while Dr. Leflar was in the room. However, the instant class was over and Dr. Leflar departed the room, the class broke up in entirety in laughter. No one was laughing at the fact that Dr. Leflar had been injured. They merely laughed at the point that his absolute closed door rule had actually caused him problems as opposed to someone else. I guess this stands for the proposition that rules apply to everyone. One might also say that “no one is above the door.”

–From Kathi Simpson, University of Pittsburgh School of Law, Date of event: circa 1976

I graduated from the University of Pittsburgh School of Law in 1978. We had a professor who was very cerebral, to the extent that he neglected many things that most people find routine—wearing matching socks, properly buttoning his shirt, and repairing the glasses that perpetually bore a safety pin or piece of tape on the earpiece. There are many stories about this distinguished professor but there are two that occurred in classes I attended.

The first was a Criminal Law class—the last class before the Thanksgiving break our first year. Our classroom was strangely configured in Pitt’s Cathedral of Learning (the new Law School building was only weeks away from completion).

The “room” had been, in an earlier era, a suite of offices for the dean of women (when that position existed) and entry was through some very fancy french doors flanked by glass panels. The entry was not visible from the front of the room where the professor stood. It was visible, however, from most seats in the room.

The professor brought his two young sons to class and sat them down with crayons, paper and other diversions to last the lecture (many of the students were insanely jealous). As soon as the professor assumed his position, the crayons were abandoned and the real work of the boys began. From somewhere, they produced a ball of string and some scissors (that was a scary thought). They set to work to “spiderweb” the doorway, a task they completed to the amusement of the students. Their father, however, was totally unaware of their activities even as the class collectively turned to watch the construction, paying not one bit of attention to the lecture. When he did discover the handiwork, he fumed at the culprits to remove the offending web and we all were eventually able to depart and begin the holiday.

In our second year, the same professor taught Constitutional Law. It was the much awaited lecture on obscenity and pornography that packed class that one day (being second year students, we knew that class attendance was generally harmful to your academic success). However, the chance to observe the discourse between our very liberal professor and some conservative members of our class (“but they’re ONLY amendments”) proved a big drawing card.

Our professor was given to physical gestures to emphasize his point and, as he stepped from behind the podium, he waved his arms to illustrate some sage point (now long forgotten). It became immediately obvious to those in the front rows (where people had to sit—it was that crowded) that the professor had forgotten to “zip up” that morning. The laughter rippled through the room and the professor retreated to the safety of his podium to make the necessary adjustments.

McClurg note. Coming to class unzipped is a professor’s worse fear. Most profs check their zipper at least 10 times before every class. When I first arrived at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock a long time ago, the legendary Professor Robert R. Wright pulled me aside to share an important tip: “If you’re ever teaching a class and discover your zipper’s open, just say ‘The rule in Arkansas is …’ Everyone will immediately look down to start writing feverishly and you’ll have complete privacy to correct the problem.”