Stand By Me

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–From McClurg, University of Florida College of Law, Date of event: circa 1980

I decided to add a couple of my own stories from law school in the hope that you—the loyal website visitor—will be stimulated to send in your own stories.

Here’s a Socratic happening that many law students have perhaps dreamed about, but few would dare to implement. It occurred in my last semester of law school at the University of Florida. We were being taught criminal procedure by Professor Gerald Bennett.

Professor Bennett was conducting class in typical Socratic fashion one day when my seatmate and close friend, Mac McCarty, turned to me and whispered: “I’m sick of the Socratic method. If he calls on me I’m going to tell him that if I have anything relevant to say I’ll raise my hand.”

“Yeah, right,” I whispered back.

As fate would have it, at that second, these words boomed across the room: “Mr. McCarty, please state the facts in Betts v. Brady.”

It was all I could do to keep from choking on my laughter. I expected Mac’s bravado to dissolve quickly and sat waiting for him to begin reciting the facts. But he didn’t do it.

“Professor Bennett,” Mac said, “I feel I’ve reached the stage of my law school career where if I have anything relevant to say, I’ll raise my hand.”

As you might imagine, stunned silence and dropped jaws filled the room. We all sat perfectly still waiting for Professor Bennett’s response. Would he explode? Storm out of the room? Throw his casebook at Mac? To his credit, he did none of these things. He said calmly, “Well, Mr. McCarty, the exam is in two weeks. Let’s hope you think of something relevant to say by then.”

Then he looked at me and said, a bit more confrontationally, “Mr. McClurg—the facts of Betts v. Brady.”

A moment of truth had arrived. Should I risk my GPA to back up my best buddy in his act of civil disobedience?

“The petitioner was charged with robbery,” I said. “His request for counsel was denied by the trial court … blah, blah, blah.”

I got a better grade in the course, but always admired Mac for his guts. I don’t recommend his approach, especially to my students.

Hanging with the Wrong Crowd

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–From Lynn Lisk, University of Arkansas School of Law at Little Rock, Date of event: unknown

One of my former students sent in this story about the legendary Professor Robert R. Wright, a former colleague of mine, now retired, at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock School of Law. Professor Wright, a leading property and land use expert, was the law school’s “Professor Kingsfield.” The students were terrified of him:

In first year Property, Professor Robert Wright called on someone to answer a question. The person told Professor Wright that they were sorry, they had not read the assignment and didn’t know the answer. So Professor Wright called on a second student. That person also stated they had not read the assignment and didn’t know the answer either (apparently this was the day after an important basketball game). Completely frustrated by now, Professor Wright “nominated” a third person to answer his question. This third person, obviously destined for greatness due to his ability to think on his feet, stated “I’m sorry, professor, I was studying with them last night.”

According to my source, Professor Wright shut his book and told the class it was dismissed for the day and to be ready for the next assignment on the syllabus since he would not be discussing this subject anymore in class. However, the issue did appear, in substantial part, on the final exam that semester.

I’d Like to Buy an L!

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–From Tanya Stankunas, Harvard Law School, Date of event: Spring 2003

We have an annual Moot Court competition at Harvard Law School for 1L’s in which we all have to write briefs and present oral arguments in teams of two. At the end of it all, our section of forty people, all of whom had worked on the same case, held the “1st Annual Ames Briefs Awards,” which consisted of several pairs of white men’s briefs, with categories written on them.

Among the many categories were: “Most Likely to Mention Starving Orphans in Her Brief,” “Looks Best in Briefs,” “Most Mentions of the George Foreman Grill in her Oral Argument,” and, last but not least, “The Pubic Safety Award,” given to the team whose first draft of their brief concerning the “public safety exception” to Miranda v. Arizona contained a slight typo …

Open Mouth, Insert Wingtip

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–From Ray Pierce, University of Arkansas School of Law at Little Rock, Date of event: circa 2000

It’s the first night of class in Reasoning, Writing and Advocacy II (our legal writing course). The professor distributes to the class a tremendous amount of photocopied reading material handouts (about a 3 or 4-inch stack). Leaving class, buckling under the weight of the handouts, one of my classmates jokingly asks another when he planned to read all of the new materials. The student responded, “Hell, I never read any of the (expletive deleted) she gave us last semester.” At that point, he turned around to find none other than the diminutive writing professor standing behind him. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that,” he said meekly.

Prof Seeks Jurisdiction Over Cell Phone During Civ Pro Exam

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–From Dan Harayda, Massachusetts School of Law, Date of event: Fall 2003

This is funny in retrospect and became the stuff of legend at Massachusetts School of Law. It was during our first final of the first year: Civil Procedure. We all knew it was going to be a hard test.

At the beginning of exam, the professor made it quite clear that all cell-phones must be turned off. Less than a half-hour into the test, a phone started to ring, then stopped. About 10 seconds later it began to ring again. Everyone was looking to the back where the sound was coming from, including the professor, who looked mad.

Then it rang again! This time the prof says, “Check and turn off your phones! I’ll give everyone five minutes extra on the final.” He made it clear that he definitely DID NOT want to hear that phone ring again.

With everyone checking their bags, the same ring-tone starts again. So the phone has gone off at least four times now. You would think everyone would have finally checked and turned off their phones, but about a minute later it rings again. By this time, the professor is pacing the room trying to pinpoint the sound. He yells (and I mean yells) that if he finds out whose cell-phone that is, not only are they failing his final, but they will sit in front of the disciplinary board. He hovered in the area, just waiting for it to ring. He was ready to pounce. Luckily the cell-phone did not ring again. I am sure if it had, the professor would have kept his promise and failed that student.

Looking back I always wondered how that student did on the final. I know it would have scared me stiff. I do know that several students complained and blamed their grade on the test on the ringing.

I wondered if one of those people was the owner of the infamous ringing phone!

Alarming Property Exam!

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–From Laura Steel, University of Tennessee College of Law, Date of event: circa 1997

During my first year of law school, we were strewn about the campus for classes while our new law school building was being constructed. This, of course, meant we had to have contact with the undergraduates of the university. Our Property class met in a building that was close (too close, actually) to one of the dorms. The two buildings did not have air conditioning, so the windows had to be open during the spring. Class was from 9:40 to 11:55, and with open windows we could hear the alarm clocks waking up the undergrads. One of the students had his alarm clock set to play Cat Stevens’ “Wild World.” We got a kick of out this the first ten or so times it happened. However, toward the end of the semester, we (including the professor) were very weary of the song.

Construction on the new building was completed before final exams, so we were privileged enough to take our Property final in a swanky new classroom. The final was daunting—multiple choice, short answer, and essay questions. About 1 hour into the 3 hour exam, we hear the faint melody of “Wild World” playing. We couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, and the music was gradually getting louder. Finally, one of my classmates realized it was blaring from the credenza in the front of the room, where our professor had placed a clock with a CD player. She had set the alarm to go off during the middle of the exam, then she taped the doors to the credenza shut so that it would take a little effort to get them open. At the time, we didn’t think anything about it was funny. Looking back, I guess it was—I’ve always used that interruption as the excuse for my Property grade!

Not Really a Law Student, But He Played One in Class

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–From Jennifer Henson, Wake Forest University School of Law, Date of event: Fall 2005

First week of law school: Our Civil Procedure professor was affectionately known as Mad-Dog and had a reputation for scaring the 1Ls. Our Torts professor, Professor Green, on the other hand, seemed like a really nice guy. Don’t get me wrong, he did his fair share of the Socratic method but I don’t think any of us were “afraid” of him.

It was the third day of class and Torts was almost over when Prof. Green called on one last student. The student was already packing up his books. The student’s response amounted to “What?” So Prof. Green asked the student the question again. At this point I think the student responded with something to the effect of “I don’t know.”

Prof. Green launched into a tirade. “You don’t know? Didn’t you read? etc., etc.” The student was getting really flustered and stood up and shoved his Torts book over the edge of the desk and onto the floor. The whole room was staring, petrified. The student got up and headed to the door. Prof. Green told him to leave law school, leave the city, leave the state! We were all horrified. We couldn’t believe it. We were almost prepared for something like this from Mad-Dog’s class, but we all just sat shocked and couldn’t believe what had happened.

Within a few minutes Prof. Green let us in on the joke. The “student” was his son who was in graduate school somewhere else. His classes hadn’t started yet so Prof. Green had gotten him to come to class for the first three days. He told us he made his son do all of his own class prep. This kid had been answering questions in class the whole three days.

I think maybe Prof. Green had hoped he’d scare us into never being unprepared for class. We all agreed that the joke would have been funnier if he’d let it go a little longer and really led us to believe he had scared someone out of law school. But I think that would have been far too cruel to do to 1Ls. Prof. Green turned out to be a great guy.

Law Student Goes Green – Scares Others

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–From Jennifer Henson, Wake Forest University School of Law, Date of event: Fall 2005

I spent a lot of my fall of 2005 semester studying in the library cubicles. One evening, during exams, I was working on a paper when out of the corner of my eye I see someone jump up and shout and scare the people at one of the nearby tables. One of the students had climbed into a large green recycling bin and had stayed in there for who knows how long before popping up and scaring the nearby students. The funny thing is that I hadn’t been more than 30 feet away for several hours and I never saw anyone climb into the bin. I guess we all end up in our own little worlds when studying for exams or drafting papers.

The Prof Always Gets the Last Laugh

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–From R. Kelly Jordan, Florida International University Colleg of Law, Date of event: Fall 2004

First year Con Law at the Florida International University College of Law introduced us to Professor Thomas Baker, a serious and studious man who once served as chief administrative assistant to former Chief Justice William Rehnquist, is author of the West Nutshell book on constitutional analysis, and knows more about the U.S. Constitution than anyone I have ever met or known.

Everyone had tremendous respect for Professor Baker, and most lived in fear of being called on by him. I was no exception. However, I also have a background in theater and enjoy doing impressions of people.

The next case up to bat was U.S. v. Causby, which I had agreed beforehand to present to Professor Baker and the class. The case, which I affectionately termed “The Angry Chicken Case,” involved some military planes flying over a farm and panicking the chickens. It was a “takings” case.

I told Professor Baker that I had prepared some visual aides to help the class understand the case, and asked if I could stand at the podium. He agreed, and once up, I proceeded to present the case as Professor Baker.

For about ten minutes, I held his trademark coffee cup, scratched an invisible beard, and asked skewering questions of students who were “in on it.” Meanwhile, I flashed slides of an angry chicken, the type of military aircraft that made the chickens angry, and a geometric representation showing flight altitudes, etc., mimicking Professor Baker’s use of diagrams on the board to highlight his points.

Professor Baker was sitting in my seat the whole time, watching with quiet bemusement. When I finished, I thanked Professor Baker for the time “in his place,” and proceeded to make my way to my chair with the class roaring and clapping (I’m sure more for the distraction for than my performance).

Professor Baker said, “Not so fast Mr. Jordan. It’s my turn. Now, for my impersonation of you.” With that he leaned back in my chair, stretched his legs, tilted his head back, and pretended to go to sleep.

The class loved it.

April Fools!

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–From Brian Abramson, Florida International University College of Law, Date of event: April 2003

The date was April 1st, 2003. The class was Civil Procedure, taught by Professor Foley. Despite her general Southern congeniality and wry sense of humor, Professor Foley did not tolerate students coming unprepared to class. While students were allowed to “pass” by leaving a note on the professor’s podium, being caught unprepared without having taken a pass meant an automatic drop to the next lower letter grade.

I was one of those students who volunteered frequently enough that I almost never got called on cold, but on this day I did. Professor Foley called my name and asked me stand up, as she always asks students presenting cases to do. I was expecting her to begin asking me for the facts of the next case, but once I was on my feet she said, “Mr. Abramson, please explain the meaning of the term ‘nemo turpitudendum suam allegans auditur.’”

I was completely stunned. The phrase meant absolutely nothing to me. I did not recall having ever heard or seen it before, so I stalled, asking for a moment to check my notes. The assignment for today’s class had contained an unusually large amount of non-case materials, but Professor Foley generally lectured on such materials instead of having a student present them. As I scrolled through my briefs, I asked if this was in a case.

“No,” the professor replied. “It was in the reading. You did prepare some notes on the materials for today’s class, didn’t you?”

At this point, I was absolutely mortified, certain that I had carelessly overlooked something of vital importance in the reading. I was frantically flipping through the textbook, looking for any long string of italics that would signal the presence of such a phrase.

“Yes ma’am… I just can’t find it in my notes.”

Seeming exasperated, the professor said, “Well, Mr. Abramson, sound it out. What do you think it means?” She neatly wrote the string of words on the board, and then underlined each word:

I froze for a second before I began trying to sort out the possible meaning of this strange phrase.

Since we were in the middle of a chapter dealing with juries, I finally stammered out a guess, “It means that you can’t allege something that will cause turpitude when the jury hears it?”

“Mr. Abramson, I’m very disappointed to see you so unprepared for class.” My classmates recall that at this point, my body was shaking, my face was turning red as a beet, and I looked generally dismayed.

Then, still shaking her head, Professor Foley planted her hands on her hips, let out a disappointed sigh, and said “Mr. Abramson … April Fools.”

It turned out that a committee of my classmates had approached professor Foley earlier in the week and set up the entire thing, even going so far as to find an obscure Latin legal term – one which I will for the rest of my life remember means that under the old common law of England you could not require members of a jury to testify against themselves.

I tried to get her back the next year by mocking up a CNN news report of a fake case in which the Seventh Circuit ruled that personal jurisdiction could reach anyone with Internet service. I put the mock-up in her box and enlisted three other profs to stop by her office that day to express outrage at the opinion. But she didn’t bite. She just thought CNN got the facts wrong.