Professor Law

Chapter 5

Steve Jones walked toward his office at Southeastern University Law School, located in South Miami. This private school in sunny South Florida was the number one law school in the state. It was known for its rigorous academics and for having the top bar passage rate in Florida for the past ten years. The law school attracted many hard-working students looking to get an education. Steve was more than willing to exploit them all for the honor of working with him. He walked, almost skipped, through the halls as he planned to dominate the department’s publishing output. He’d make them all look like lazy ingrates in comparison.

Suddenly, one of Steve’s criminal law students approached. “Hello, Professor Jones.”

“Hi. How’s it going?”

“I’m ok. Thanks for asking, Mr. Jones.”

“It’s Doctor Jones. I didn’t suffer through my joint JD/PhD program to be called Mr. Get it right.”

Doctor“Sorry, Dr. Jones. Could I stop by your office today to ask some questions?”

“Uh, yeah, ok. Come during my office hours. I’m in meetings all day today.”

“When are they?”

“Really? What are you, an i***t? It’s called a syllabus. Look at it. Frigging memorize it. You mean to tell me I wasted my time putting it together? It contains all the information you need about my course and my office hours. You know when people say there is no such thing as a dumb question? They’re wrong. There is such a thing, and it comes from dumb people like you. Please tell me that you aren’t going to ask these types of questions in court,” said Steve flatly.

isThe student’s mouth hung open and before he could respond, Steve stormed off down the hall toward his office. He laughed to himself as he approached the door.

A voice rang out behind him. “Hello, Steve.” It was another law professor. “How’s the semester treating you?”

“Another day in paradise,” said Steve as he looked at the students drinking coffee in the quad.

“I don’t miss my days in Boston.”

“Indeed. I don’t miss the cold of New York either,” responded Steve.

“Well, nice seeing you too, Steve. Try not to be too hard on the students today.”

Steve was being nice for a change. It took real talent to be the biggest jerk in a law faculty. He won the prize by a mile.

He opened the door to his office. Home sweet home. He turned on the lights and went toward his bookshelves, which were filled to the brim with criminal justice and law books. Steve was an avid reader. On average, he read three books per week.

. Steve heard a soft knock. My goodness. What did these people want? His job would be so great if there were no students. Maybe if he didn’t answer, they’d go away.

A student knocked again.

“What? Come in.” He wanted to move his office to a place where nobody could find him.

“Hello, Professor. Do you have a second?”

“No! My office hours are posted on the door in large font. Can’t I have a moment’s peace without one of you yapping in my ear about your problems? Goodness! Just read the textbook, do the assignments, and leave me alone.”

Steve went to sit at his desk and turned on his desktop computer. His office didn’t have a window. Prime real estate offices were reserved for senior faculty. Steve couldn’t get along with the administration if his life depended on it, so they stuck him in a windowless office on the third floor of the law library.

“I’m sorry. It’ll only take a second,” said the student as she looked at the academic awards hanging on the back wall. “Wow, you have a lot of degrees.”

The wall, full of accolades, forced everyone in the office to gaze at Steve’s accomplishments.

Steve ignored the compliment, opened his email, and started reading. “Seriously, some people at this university have nothing better to do than send out emails every five seconds. Delete. Delete. Delete. What? Do you want me to answer emails all day or do my job?”

“Professor Jones, I just wanted to ask if you give study guides for the final,” said the student reluctantly.

“Study guide? What is this, amateur undergraduate hour? No. I don’t. Tough luck. Welcome to law school. One exam is your entire grade, so if you can’t cut it, you won’t be wasting anyone’s precious time, including mine.”

“I understand. I’m sorry for asking,” she said and turned to walk away.

Steve, however, was not done with her. “You need to toughen up if you’re going to make it in the real world. Lawyers are not nice people. They will eat you alive.” Steve stared at the ceiling. He tended to do this when he pontificated. “I don’t have a study guide. I’ve got a meeting with my research assistant. My advice is to read and study hard. Reading is when you drag your eyes across the page of a book. Often people like to go to the library. Just to let you know, the law library is located between Starbucks and Subway. It’s the big building in the middle of campus. Come on! Start thinking like a lawyer. Nobody is going to hold your hand at this institution.”

“Thanks, Professor Jones. Have a nice day,” said the student on the verge of tears as she turned to the door and exited.

After deleting several emails, including those from students, Steve opened a folder on his computer that had all his works in progress. Steve was a prolific scholar and had published more than one hundred law review articles and several textbooks. When he started out as a law professor, he wrote all the law review articles himself. Three years into his academic career, he realized that he could exploit his smart law students who were eager to publish to bolster their resumes. Steve had three research assistants and a half dozen other students toiling away on articles at all hours.

He heard a knock at the door and without looking up responded, “Come in.” A professionally dressed young woman walked into the office. Her name was Samantha, one of Steve’s research assistants.

“Hi, Professor Jones. Do you still have time to meet about the article?” asked Samantha. She had a 3.9 grade point average and was the editor-in-chief of the law review.

“Yeah, I’ve got time. Grab a seat,” said Steve. He started to brush his black hair with his hands. Regardless of his rude overconfidence, he was always fidgeting with nervous energy. This nervousness manifested itself in many ways, especially his inability to stop touching his hair.

“I’m done with the first draft, Professor Jones. I wanted to run a few ideas by you regarding the conclusions before I send it to you. I’ve also got to check some citations.”

“Which paper is this again? I’m sorry, but I’ve been working with other students as well.”

“It’s on juvenile lifers.”

“Right. Listen, send me the draft, and I will give you some comments. I forgot to put this meeting on my calendar, and I have a lot to do. I’m helping supervise several students at the university’s legal aid clinic, and they need me to read over some stupid documents before they submit them.”

“I’ll send you the draft in another week or so. Does that work?”

“No, didn’t you hear? Send me the draft now. The sooner the better. You need the publications. You’ll be doing me a favor as well. I’ve had a slow year, as we had a tough time placing several articles. For this article, we need to strive for a better journal. Also, remember that you’re trying to be a lawyer, not an activist. Make sure you keep this in mind as you proofread. The last thing I want to be associated with is a bleeding-heart activist. Those people make me sick, and they have no business in scholarship. Do you hear me?”

“I understand, Professor. I’m doing my best. I’m here to learn,” said Samantha quietly, not quite meeting his concentrated gaze.

“Sure. That’s what all my students say. You need to smarten up. I know students don’t care about writing. You know how much crap I have to deal with, doing students favors, allowing them to publish with me? They just want to add lines on their resumes, especially embellishing their work with me. They want something to talk about during interviews. I’m doing a public service here.”

“I love research. I really do.”

“Oh yeah? Give me a break. You realize that nobody is ever going to read this article in the real world. The law school journals are popularity contests. They just publish topics that are in vogue. My past experiences have taught me that a well-researched article on a dry topic does not get you published.” Steve focused on Samantha’s eyes with a penetrating look. “Don’t forget that this is a transaction. Nothing more, nothing less. Understood? You’re using my name to publish. Do you want to be a top legal mind and scholar, or some fly-by-night attorney? You want to be a top legal scholar, and you need me to help you with that.”

“Understood, Professor. I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to work with you,” responded Samantha, nodding firmly.

“I’m doing you a favor, so act accordingly.” Steve brushed his hand through his hair.

Samantha stood still and stone-faced as she waited for Steve to close his mouth. But he was not done.

“Wait! How’s the opinion piece coming along? I guess I’ll have to change it from ‘Professor Jones’ to ‘Professor Jones and my star student’.” He winked as he picked up a pen and stuck it behind his ear.

“I haven’t had time. I’m sorry. I’ve been focusing on our article.”

“Are you kidding? It’s seven-hundred words, not a doctoral dissertation. What a disappointment. Forget it. I will write the opinion piece myself. I knew this would happen.”

“I can do it, Professor Jones. I’ll work on it today after my classes.”

“That’s what I want to hear. And you better do it. If you can’t handle something, just let me know. There’re dozens of students clamoring for the opportunity. Luckily, the editor is my good friend, and I’ve been writing the occasional ‘Professor Law’ column for over a decade. Don’t blow this opportunity. Got it?”

“I won’t. I’d better get going.”

“Yeah, you’d better run along now. Remember that I need a draft sometime today. I can work with something, but I can’t work with a blank screen and so far, that’s what you’ve delivered.”

“Yes, Professor Jones,” Samantha said. She shut the door behind her.

Steve chuckled to himself. He was a star around here. He made this place look good. He looked at his computer and opened his email again, writing a reminder to the same student. Before he could finish typing a “friendly reminder”, he heard another knock at the door. “How does anyone work here?” he said aloud as he brushed his hands through his hair. “Come in.”

John, an overweight student with patchy facial hair, poked his head through the door. He was another one of Steve’s research assistants.

“Hi, Professor. How are you? Is it still ok to meet now? I wanted to talk to you about the edits that I made to your textbook.”

“I really need to do a better job writing down these appointments. I haven’t been able to do anything without being interrupted,” replied Steve, annoyed.

“Would you like me to come back?”

“No, now is okay. I’m under a lot of pressure to turn in the edits to the press. Ninety-nine percent of academics turn stuff in late.” Steve leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hair. “I’ve decided to be in the one percent and turn in things prior to the deadline. This makes the press happier to work with you.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I finished everything. I added the ten new cases that you recommended.” The student pulled out his laptop and placed it on Steve’s desk. “Can I show you some of my revisions?” The laptop had a few smudges of dirt and grease.

“My goodness. Did you drag your laptop through the mud at a BBQ? This is the dirtiest thing that I’ve ever seen. Disgusting!” Steve grabbed for a wipe and started to clean the computer screen. “I’m going to have to wash my hands in bleach. Shape up son, you stink. And lose some weight. Why should I work with someone as sloppy as you? Is your work as careless as your lifestyle? I mean, come on, man.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve been working around the clock. I’m neglecting my hygiene and eating fast food to get my work in on time,” replied John as his gaze fell to the floor.

“Sure, sure. Whatever. Excuses for days with you people. Alright, what about the analysis? Did you add a few thoughts here and there? Do you know why I wrote a textbook?”

“To add a line to your resume?”

“Are you stupid? You think a guy at my level cares about a resume? The main reason is money. This textbook is three hundred dollars, and I get a piece of that action every time I make students buy it. Every three years, I make some updates and keep the press happy.”

“To answer your question, yes, I added the analysis. I made all the proposed edits in track changes so you can see them.”

“Excellent. Send this to me ASAP. I will take a look and send this off to the press. I’m sure that they will be happy,” said Steve.

“I’ll need another few days to review and edit the writing.”

“Prioritize it, then. I really want to use this new book the next time I teach this class.”

“I’ll send it to you in a couple of days. Could I ask you a favor, though?” asked John with a worried look on his face. He had nervous bowels, which made him feel gassy.

“Make it quick. I’ve got a busy day.”

John had done all the work. The least that this jerk could do is listen to his second question. “Understood. Would you mind recommending me for a judicial clerkship? I’m applying to work with the same judge you clerked for.”

“Why? He was the biggest jerk I’ve ever met in my life. He’s also three hundred years old. Go get a job.”

“I think that it’d help my resume,” said John.

“Come on. What do you want to do?” asked Steve.

“I want to be a judge, Professor Jones.”

“Yes, I’ll write your letter. But I’m not calling that pompous jerk. I’ve avoided seeing him for decades. Now, run along. I’m busy. And send me the edits before I change my mind.”

“Will do, professor. Thanks for your consideration.” John bolted out of the office.

Steve did not care how hard the students had to work or whether they were affected psychologically by his abuse and exploitation. He believed that students should be thanking him profusely just for the opportunity to work with such a brilliant scholar. A few of Steve’s former research assistants ended up in the hospital due to exhaustion, but he did not care. Steve did not accept any excuses; he even sent one research assistant an email the day she was discharged from the emergency room. Steve thought there was a price to pay for greatness. One more line on his resume helped feed his ego, and he was willing to do it at whatever cost necessary.

Finally, he could do some work. Steve put his hands over his head and leaned back in his chair, satisfied with himself. He put on classical music, opened a book, and began to read.