Socratic Mishaps

–From Debby Toland, University of Oklahoma College of Law, Date of event: circa 1983

It was Income Tax I in the fifth semester of law school. I was sitting in Professor’s Teselle’s class, totally and utterly clueless as to: (1) Why was I in law school?; and (2) Why in god’s name was I in a tax class?

Of course, on that day the worse thing that could happen in tax class did happen. I was called on to answer a question. And, of course, it was a question that I had absolutely no idea how to answer.

The question was: “If a client came to you asking XXXX (X = some arcane question on the tax code) … what would be your advice?” In my best and most professional voice, I said: “I would acknowledge that the question was an interesting one outside my realm of expertise and refer them to Mr. Phillips who offices next door and who specializes in that area (in this case, my seat mate). Luckily Professor Teselle laughed and turned and said “Mr. Phillips, so how would YOU answer the question?” Needless to say Mr. Phillips was not as appreciative of my wit as were the professor and the rest of the class!

P.S. I did pass the course and have employed CPAs heavily from that day forward!

–From Susan M. Harrelson, UNLV School of Law, Date of event: Summer 1999

Although I was responsible for my own share of funny law school moments, the best one I ever heard happened to a friend. During Property I, the professor was going all out, writing on the board: O conveys to A for life, and then to B and the heirs of his body, but if B ever drinks alcohol in a barn, then to C, D, X, Y and Z, etc.

When called upon to answer, “Who owns Blackacre?” my classmate asked, “May I please buy a vowel?”

–From Caleb K. Aguillard, Louisiana State University Law Center, Date of event: Fall 2003

My story is from the fall semester of 2003. As it was my first semester, my section was taking Criminal Law and happened to be involved in a complicated discussion of sexual assault. In the instant case, it was explained to us that while perpetrating the crime in question, the would-be perpetrator was unable to “perform.” One of the more intelligent 1Ls in our class asked if that could be considered attempt. Seizing the moment, another chimed in, “Wouldn’t that be like pulling the trigger of an unloaded gun?” But before the stunned class could react, our professor replied, “Oh, it was loaded, just not cocked.”

McClurg footnote: Obviously, there’s nothing funny about sexual assault. The professor’s remark doesn’t strike me as making light of the crime, but let me know if you feel otherwise.

–From Robert Campbell, Pacific Coast University McGeorge School of Law, Date of event: 2002

A funny Socratic moment occurred in our California Community Property course, when a classmate was briefing Boggs v. Boggs 520 U.S. 833 (1997).

Parties to the litigation were Sandra Boggs, widow of Isaac Boggs, and Isaac’s sons, Thomas F. Boggs, Harry M. Boggs, and David B. Boggs, who were the offspring of Issac Boggs and his first wife, Dorothy Boggs, also deceased.

This case held that ERISA preempts a state’s community-property law which might otherwise allow a non-participant spouse to make a testamentary transfer of an interest in an undistributed pension plan.

After an analysis of the facts, issues, rules and applications, our classmate was getting to the end of his recitation and declared, with relief: “In conclusion, Boggs won!”

–From Janet Rae Montgomery, Stanford Law School, Date of event: 1973

By second semester, the demented students had been sorted out by the grades from the first semester—the demented ones were the ones with the As. The professors had also sorted out the ones it was safe to call on and the ones best left alone.

A visiting professor from the University of Chicago was teaching Civil Procedure, taking us through the federal rules of discovery. Usually this professor would have about five of us dangling in his Socratic questions, bouncing from one to the next of us.

The question of the day was: why were the written documents of the defendant readily available in discovery when it took a specific court order for blood or other corporeal evidence to be taken? Isn’t a diary recording our most secret thoughts at least as important as a blood sample? Why should Mr. Smith’s personal thoughts and records be at the mercy of a fishing expedition, when his DNA wasn’t?

Class was winding down. The five of us were wriggling on the line struggling to satisfy the professor’s demands, and all of us were failing. The bell rang. Books were being packed up but we weren’t going to be allowed to leave until this question had been answered. Then a hand went up.

Jonathan, a smile on his face and a gleam in his eye that I could see even from ten chairs away, decided to give it a shot.

“Well, professor, I guess the people who wrote these rules thought it was more important to be able to get into a person’s papers than into his pants.”

The Socratic method was never used in that class again.

–From Susan Parkes, University of Tennessee College of Law, Date of event: circa 1980

I guess you could call this a socratic mishap.

In my third year at the University of Tennessee, I was taking Decedent’s Estates. The professor went up and down the rows of the class calling on us. When she got to the fellow sitting next to me, the questions and answers went very well and no problems were obvious. But I could tell my classmate was getting angrier with each remark.

As class ended we walked out of the room together and he exploded, “I can’t stand it when someone doesn’t look at me when they talk to me!”

I responded, “She was doing the best she can. She’s cross-eyed.”

–From Vera Beretvas, Albany Law School, Date of event: Oct. 2002

In our Legal Profession class, Professor Connors was discussing situations in which a lawyer may withdraw from representation of a client.

He turned to me as it often happens when one sits in the first row, and said: “Could you, Vera, specify such a situation for us?”

He caught me in a moment when my thoughts were around an egg-salad versus a tuna sandwich for lunch. And I definitely wanted cucumbers on the side …

Out of at least five plausible answers, all I could think to say was: “Well, when a client doesn’t want to cooperate, and showers the lawyer with annoying phone calls …”

“Yes!” he said enthusiastically. “If, for example, I am a pain in the ass …,” and he paused, expecting me to carry the ball from there.

In my confused state, I just repeated after him: “Yes, you are a pain in the ass …” Unfortunately, my intonation accidentally dropped there, ending the sentence prematurely. It was too late for me to add something else to save the situation.

When the burst of laughter died down in the room, he looked at me with surprise in his eyes, and answered in a meditative, yet fully resigned manner: “Well, I guess, we can say I am …”

–From Lara Gardner, Lewis and Clark Law School, Date of event: circa March, 2002

Last spring, in my Entertainment Law class, Professor Newell asked the class a question, Socratic style.

When no one answered after several moments, Professor Newell said, “Oh hell, I’ll just answer it myself. Sometimes that’s how this Socratic crap works.”

–From J. Stephen Donovan, University of the Pacific McGeorge School of Law, Date of event: 1989

I was in the frat man/jock contingent in first year. When we got to a case about flammable pajamas in Torts, the professor asked, rhetorically, “On whom should we call today?”

I blurted “Falbo” at the same time the four guys behind me, including Falbo, knowing I had not read the case, announced “Donovan.” The prof, somewhat dismayed by this response to his clearly rhetorical question, chose me. After 45 minutes of Socratic back-and-forth during which I managed to hold my own, the prof finally asked something fact-specific about the case.

I responded, “I don’t know, I haven’t actually read it. That’s why I suggested you call on Mr. Falbo.”

He replied, “Too bad, you were doing quite well. You had me fooled. Very well … Mr. Falbo, please address my last question.” Then he proceeded to hang Falbo for the last 15 minutes.

McClurg footnote:Out of professorial curiosity, I wrote back asking the author, J. Stephen Donovan, how he managed to fake out the professor for 45 minutes when he hadn’t read the case. He replied that he wasn’t sure, but speculated it might have something to do with his being Irish.

–From Ryan Arnold, Thomas M. Cooley Law School, Date of event: Fall 2001

This is a socratic story from Thomas M. Cooley Law School. It was my first term. I had almost made it through the first semester without getting called on until my prof called me out. After I had answered questions to most of the relevant facts, the prof began pushing me up in the corner by asking me irrelevant minute details. With the pressure building, without hesitation I said very calmly. “I MAY HAVE TO PHONE A FRIEND ON THAT ONE.”

The class fell out laughing. The prof told me I had better be ready next week. When I didn’t get called on, several fellow students thought the prof just forgot about it. When I received a low grade in the class I told the prof I thought he/she got the last laugh. The prof denied it to the end. Who knows?