Statement 1:
A lawyer dies and goes to Heaven. “There must be some mistake,” the lawyer argues. “I’m too young to die. I’m only fifty-five.”
“Fifty-five?” says Saint Peter. “No, according to our calculations, you’re eighty-two.”
“How’d you get that?” the lawyer asks.
Answers St. Peter, “We added up your time sheets.”
Statement 2:
What’s the difference between a good lawyer and a bad lawyer?
A bad lawyer can let a case drag out for several years. A good lawyer can make it last even longer.
Statement 3:
A woman and her little girl were visiting the grave of the little girl’s grandmother. On their way through the cemetery back to the car, the little girl asked, “Mummy, do they ever bury two people in the same grave?”
“Of course not, dear,” replied the mother, “Why would you think that?”
“The tombstone back there said...‘Here lies a lawyer and an honest man.’”
Statement 4:
Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, an honest lawyer and an old drunk are walking down the street together when they simultaneously spot a hundred-dollar bill. Who gets it? The old drunk, of course; the other three are fantasy creatures.
Statement 5:
At a convention of biological scientists, one researcher remarks to another, “Did you know that in our lab we have switched from mice to lawyers for our experiments?”
“Really?” the other replied, “Why did you switch?”
“Well, for three reasons. First, we found that lawyers are far more plentiful; second, the lab assistants don’t get so attached to them; and thirdly, there are some things even a rat won’t do.”
Statement 6:
The lawyer’s son wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, so he went to law school and graduated with honors. Then he went home to join his father’s firm. At the end of his first day at work, he rushed into his father’s office and said, “Father, father! In one day, I broke the Smith case that you’ve been working on for so long!”
His father yelled, “You idiot! We’ve been living on the funding of that case for ten years!”
Statement 7:
How many lawyer jokes are in existence?
Only three. All the rest are true stories.
A cold January wind blew against the wall of windows as Dr. Jordan Dubois sat with his hip edging a table in front of the students in his Ethics and Lawyers Seminar. The ten people who’d won the lottery for this class read the front whiteboard.
He waited, his hands jammed into the pockets of the pressed jeans he wore with a striped Oxford shirt and a navy cashmere sports coat. He watched everybody with knowing blue eyes. Mariella thought, and not for the first time, he was so handsome he was almost hard to look at.
After five minutes, he said, “So, who thinks these statements are funny?”
Student desks had been placed in a horseshoe—five in the first row, five in the second. At the uncomfortable question, two males shifted in their seats. A woman crossed her legs. Some sat unusually still.
Always honest, Mariella raised her hand. Only two others joined her.
“Who thinks the statements reflect the truth about lawyers?” he asked.
This time seven people concurred.
“The three of you who didn’t raise your hands for either can get up and leave. I don’t think you’re ready for this class.”
Dead silence. More than one nervous cough. A few more students moved restlessly in their seats. Finally, one girl stood.
“Hold on a sec, Ms...?” Dubois said.
“Carrington.” The woman’s
voice wobbled. Mari knew her, Anna, from other classes in the two
and a half years she’d attended Georgetown, and Anna wasn’t a
wilting flower.
“Sit down, Ms. Carrington. I was kidding.”
She flushed.
“Do not be embarrassed. You’ve showed integrity to obey a directive even if you think it’s unfair.”
“Or weakness.” A guy mumbled the insult under his breath, but the room was small, and everyone heard him. Which he probably intended.
Dr. Dubois laser focused on him. “Your name, sir?”
“Barry Walker.”
AKA, Mr. Antagonizer. He gave all the professors grief. And almost all the students in their last year of classes were his targets. One time, he’d said something condescending to Mariella in an open discussion and, assuming her most haughty princess demeanor, she caught up to him after class and told him if he took that tone with her again, she’d get back at him when he least expected the attack. He went on to other victims and left Mari alone.
“Mr. Walker, ask the class if you should stay?”
Grumbling.
“I’m waiting.”
Mariella didn’t know why she let the nasty guy off the hook, but she said, “I think he should stay.”
“Why, Ms. Moretti?” Dr. Dubois’s voice was laced with humor, so she relaxed.
“Because we don’t know yet what you expect as far as decorum.”
“Was it decorous for Mr. Walker to insult Ms. Carrington under any circumstances?”
“No,” another person spoke up. “It was mean.”
Mari said to him, “But Josh, mean isn’t unethical. It’s just boorish.”
“Ah, now we get to the heart of the issue. And calm down, everyone. No one is being asked to leave.” He arched a beautiful brow at Walker. “Even if you are boorish.”
Laughter rumbled through the class at Walker’s expense.
“The first question for us to clarify is, what does it mean to be ethical? Not only in the law, but in our personal lives too.” He scanned his students. “Anyone have a problem with us delving into your life? I’m not going to insist anyone leave, but you can do so under your own free will, if you’re concerned about that kind of exposure.”
No one exited. Of course. Jordan Dubois was world-famous, having taught at the Sorbonne-Assas International Law School in Paris. And snagged a Pulitzer Prize during those years for his book, Ethics and Lawyers. Over fifty law students had vied for these ten positions.
“All right, now for test number two.”
Walker blurted out, “That was a test?”
Again, the amusement on his face. “Everything’s a test inside these four walls. As it will be inside the walls of justice.”
“Will you remember who said what?”
In Mari’s opinion, Walker didn’t know when to shut up.
“I’m an eidetiker.”
Blank stares came from nine people.
Mari said, “He has a photographic memory.”
He beamed a smile at her. She thought she heard the woman next to her sigh.
Turning, he lifted a screen he’d pulled over the whiteboard. “Here’s the course description. Don’t copy it down. It’s in the school catalog.”
Ethics 401: Ethics and Lawyers
Focus of the course: The ethical expectations and professionalism standards applicable to attorneys in their professional capacity, but also as applied to their personal life as well.
The statement had been written in beautiful script.
In the Ethics and Lawyers Seminar, we will examine how a lawyer can, should, and does, act in relation to clients, other attorneys, the courts, the legal system and the broader community. Although moral and ethical dilemmas are regularly posed and considered, this course is designed to be practical and to encourage application of the ethical rules governing lawyer conduct to real-life situations. Students will be assessed through class participation, and a series of assignments and presentations to the group.
“Any questions?”
Ms. Carrington raised her hand. “There was no syllabus or reading list on the website. Can you give us those today?”
“No.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because no other books but mine have been published that I agree with.”
She asked, “What about your book?” The number one bestseller had held the coveted spot on the New York Times list for months and had snagged one of the most prestigious awards in France, the The Prix Médicis Essai, and finally triumphed with the Pulitzer.
“There are copies in the bookstore.” This point came from a man in Mari’s study groups, Ahmad Bashir. She liked him. “I already bought it.”
“Go ahead and read my work if you want. But I’m not requiring it for class.”
“Why?” A fifth student finally spoke up. “All the professors use their own books.”
“Because each class is different. I can’t assign a book or create a syllabus until I know my students.”
The group exchanged wary glances. Dr. Dubois must have caught them. “The offer is still open for you to leave.”
Again, no one exited.
“So, this is a two-credit class that meets on Tuesday from four to six p.m. For homework, I’d like a two-page paper, written on some ethical issue you feel strongly about. The topic doesn’t have to be a legal one. And only write it once. No editing or revising. Write from the heart. You can even tell personal stories, but know you’ll read your essays aloud in groups.” He glanced at his Rolex. “We’re an hour into class. For the next half, I want you to discuss in small groups the definition of ethical behavior in law and in life. Give examples. Record them. Next week, we’ll share your findings. And go somewhere comfortable to do that.”
He dismissed the group with, “Bonne soirée,” then scanned the room. “Ms. Moretti, could you stay after class, please?”
Mari nodded graciously.
Amidst the low rumble of conversation, the members of the class gathered their things. When a few started to circle around him, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. No discussions with me tonight. You have work to do in the next sixty minutes. Besides, I need to talk to Ms. Moretti. I have office hours posted, so you can speak with me then.”
With some askance looks at her, the class filed out.
* * *
Jordan leaned against the whiteboard and folded his arms over his chest. “So, how do you think the class went?”
“It was interesting.”
He cocked his head. “What does that mean?”
“Unique. Unusual. We’re used to long syllabi and one to five texts for each class.”
“As I said, I need to know you first. Maybe we’ll order some books later.”
“Yours was near perfect for the course, Dr. Dubois.”
“You read it?”
“Of course, over Christmas.”
“Yvette said your sister got married and Lilliana was the flower girl.” His daughter had bonded with her daughter when they met last semester at Stepping Stones, Georgetown’s after-school care for the children of students and teachers. “When did you have time for my book?”
“It was a long break.”
He studied her for a few seconds. She was tall and slender, and her carriage was completely regal. Her clothes were classic and fit her well.
“Dr. Dubois? What did you want to talk to me about?”
He tensed inside. This was going to be tricky. “By tacit agreement, we’ve kept things professional since the girls met last semester. But Yvette has gotten belligerent about something lately, which is rare. Very rare.” He could still picture his eight-year-old’s pouty little jaw and stiff stance.
Ms. Moretti set down her bag. “About what?”
“She’s been insistent I let her have a sleepover with your daughter. I said no when Lilliana asked her to stay with you a couple of times.”
“I didn’t know Lilliana offered. She and I talked about this. I explained you would be my teacher this semester and we needed to keep our relationship with your family...distanced.”
“I’m afraid those little girls didn’t obey our requests. My daughter said they agreed when this year started, they’d sleep over with each other.”
“What do you think we
should do?” she asked.
“Truthfully, I’m at a loss. I hate to make my child sad.” Yvette
had had enough of that in her life.
“Same for Lilly and me. Dr. Dubois, I don’t know how to say this tactfully, and it’s no reflection of you as a person, but I can’t imagine letting Lilliana stay at the house of a man I hardly know.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch. We bumped into each other a lot at school last spring. Several times, I picked Yvette up at your house when she went over to play on weekends. But, come to think of it, Lilliana has never been to our home.”
“I’m sorry if that insults you. My sisters say I’m overprotective. My parents agree.”
“I understand your concerns. I’ve gone overboard to shield Yvette from certain things. However, you and Lilly aren’t one of them.”
The woman seemed thoughtful. “I have a suggestion, then. Would you trust me with Yvette?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s start with us having her for an overnight. Then we’ll go from there. When would be a good time for you?”
“I’m the keynote speaker at a conference at Harvard next weekend. I planned for a sitter. You could have Yvette Friday night and her sitter can pick her up Saturday. Or vice versa.”
She smiled. “I have a better idea. Why doesn’t she come home with me from Stepping Stones on Friday, and she can stay with us the entire weekend. That should be enough for them for a while.”
“Won’t we be imposing?”
“Not a bit. I’d love to have her. So would Lilliana.” Her expression turned soft. “And it’s the least I can do for you since you agreed to take me on as an independent study in French Law.”
“That is in a no way a hardship.”
“Neither is having Yvette for the weekend.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.” She took her bag and hiked it over her delicate shoulder.
“Good night, Dr. Dubois.”
“Good night, Ms. Moretti.”
She walked out of the room.
Jordan watched her go. He liked this woman. They’d had more contact last semester over the girls than she admitted. Especially when he’d gone to pick up Yvette from their home and they chatted some. But she was skittish around him. And formal. Very formal.
Which was only right. She was his student, and he needed professional distance from her. The fact that he noticed those deeper-than-midnight dark eyes, the high cheekbones and her patrician features had no bearing on things.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he picked up his satchel and walked out of the room, too, a bit disturbed by his thoughts.
* * *
The January night was cold but dry. Mariella tried hard to concentrate on her driving, but thoughts of Dr. Dubois intruded. He was a kind, considerate man...and wildly attractive. She didn’t want to notice his broad shoulders and his long lean body or how much she liked chestnut-colored hair.
Her phone buzzed, and all thoughts of the man fled. The car caller ID revealed it was Mamá. Mari hoped nothing was wrong for her to call at 4:00 a.m. in Casarina. “Ciao, Mamá.”
“Cara figlia. Nothing is wrong. Your father had to get up and fly out for a meeting and I arose with him.”
“I’m glad nothing’s wrong.”
“How are you? I know classes started today. Which one did you have today?”
“Ethics and Lawyers Seminar.”
She heard a chuckle. “I could make a droll comment on that.”
“The professor started the class with seven sarcastic jokes on the board about lawyers.”
“Interesting. Was anyone insulted?”
“No one dared show it if they were. He kept giving information about the course and telling us we could drop out any time if we didn’t agree with what he planned to do.”
“Seriously?”
“Since fifty people put in for the lottery to take the class, I’m not surprised.”
“Who is teaching it?”
“Jordan Dubois. He’s from France and he’s won a Pulitzer Prize for
his book on ethics.”
“I’ve heard of him in the news. But Dubois sounds familiar from somewhere else.”
“His daughter Yvette and Lilliana have become fast friends in the after-school program at Georgetown. She probably talked about the girl when we were home. They’ve been asking for an overnight for months. Now they’re insisting.”
Nothing on her mother’s end.
“I know it would be unprofessional, but the girls don’t care.”
Renata said, “Like you did not.”
“Excuse me?”
“Remember when you became friends with Louisa Cortello?”
“I forgot about that. Her father was a journalist and wrote some scathing editorials about Papá.”
“And you two wanted to spend more time together. Have overnights.”
“You let us.”
“We had no choice. There is no fury like an adolescent girl,” Mamá said with humor in her voice as she altered the well-known phrase.
“I remember. Our girls are a bit younger, but that applies. I’m glad to hear all this because I broke down and Yvette is coming for the weekend.”
“Well, enjoy her, cara. When we see her, Louisa still asks about you.”
“I can’t remember if her father and Papá changed because of us.”
“No, not a bit. But they respected each other.”
“Mamá, did you have one of your feelings about us? That one of us was troubled?”
“Actually, no. Perhaps my mother’s radar is my subconscious working. Did I help?”
“Very much. Grazie.”
“Sei la benvenuta. Sleep well.”
“I will. I love you Mamá.”
“Ti amo.”
When they disconnected, Mariella felt much better. Mamá always did that for her. She hoped that was the kind of relationship she and her own daughter were forging, too.