When I was in college, like many students, I spent much time pondering my career choices. It was the 1970s, and many of us felt pulled by the opposing forces of the idealism of the 1960s and the growing materialism of the current decade. My own thought processes about my vocation seemed to parallel the changing times. I entered college expecting to find some kind of career that would allow me to help people in need of some kind of help, and I left four years later to pursue a career in law.
A number of personal developments during those four years contributed to my decision to become a lawyer, but none more than a short, handwritten letter from one of my uncles back home. His name was Angelo, but everyone knew him as "Ace." Like all of the children of my immigrant grandparents, Uncle Ace was a child of the depression. Growing up in the 1920s and 1930s, he and his brothers enlisted in the U.S. military and were stationed overseas during World War II. After returning home and needing to make a living, Uncle Ace came to own a service station in the Central Park area of Rochester, New York, in what my parents, aunts and uncles would forever refer to as "the old neighborhood." He was handsome and popular in his day, and always reminded me in looks and personality of Dean Martin. He seemed well connected and well liked in Rochester, enjoyed life, and was especially good at one of Rochester's then-popular activities, bowling. In fact, he wore a ring that bore the number "298," memorializing a near perfect game he once bowled. (His brother, Carm, once bowled a perfect 300.)
I grew especially close to Uncle Ace in the 1970s until his death from cancer in 1980. When I was still in high school, he suffered a severe heart attack, forcing him to retire and sell his business. He had another, worse heart attack when I was in college, and every time I was home from school, my mother would remind me to visit him. It became something of a routine; some Friday nights during summer break, I would come home from work, shower, have an early dinner, and then go visit my uncle. His daughter and young grandson were living with him and my aunt at the time, and I tended to arrive when The Muppet Show was on. So there we would be in his small living room, watching the Muppets and enjoying each other's company. He and I would also sneak off to the driving range, where he would coach me on my golf swing and occasionally swing the club himself against his doctor's orders.
During the fall semester of my junior year, at a time when I was very focused on discerning my vocation, Uncle Ace sent me a letter. It was the only letter he would ever send me. The letter was handwritten, in neat script, on a small sheet of stationery. In it, he urged me to choose law school. The letter was one of several influences on my decision to go to law school, and I kept it because of its message and its sentimental value. Until yesterday, I hadn't seen the letter for years, and I wondered what became of it. Yesterday, I found it by chance in a box in my attic. Here is some of what he said:
My uncle's message remains true today. As a bar association president, I am constantly inspired by the many dedicated lawyers who devote countless hours helping the "non able to pay" clients. I also am somewhat daunted by the opportunities I have to "be heard," and the challenge of making the most of those opportunities. Law is a great profession, and will remain so as long as there are lawyers who see it not only as an opportunity to do well, but also as an opportunity to do good. Although I have made some effort these past few months to inform college students of the difficulties that face many law school graduates in a difficult job market, I would never want to discourage anyone from going to law school who shares the vision of making a positive difference in the world. The profession, and our society, needs them.
My uncle passed away in 1980. I last saw him as I was about to embark on a six-week trip to Europe with a law school friend after each of us had completed judicial clerkships and before we were to begin work at our law firms. Uncle Ace was in the late stages of cancer. He had lost so much strength that I had to help him sit up in bed and lie down again. I knew it was the last time I would see him, and I believe he knew it too. He probably had hoped I would return to Rochester to practice law, but I chose to stay in Boston. The letter remains in my home, a worthy reminder of the power of a few, heartfelt words to shape a person's life.
A number of personal developments during those four years contributed to my decision to become a lawyer, but none more than a short, handwritten letter from one of my uncles back home. His name was Angelo, but everyone knew him as "Ace." Like all of the children of my immigrant grandparents, Uncle Ace was a child of the depression. Growing up in the 1920s and 1930s, he and his brothers enlisted in the U.S. military and were stationed overseas during World War II. After returning home and needing to make a living, Uncle Ace came to own a service station in the Central Park area of Rochester, New York, in what my parents, aunts and uncles would forever refer to as "the old neighborhood." He was handsome and popular in his day, and always reminded me in looks and personality of Dean Martin. He seemed well connected and well liked in Rochester, enjoyed life, and was especially good at one of Rochester's then-popular activities, bowling. In fact, he wore a ring that bore the number "298," memorializing a near perfect game he once bowled. (His brother, Carm, once bowled a perfect 300.)
I grew especially close to Uncle Ace in the 1970s until his death from cancer in 1980. When I was still in high school, he suffered a severe heart attack, forcing him to retire and sell his business. He had another, worse heart attack when I was in college, and every time I was home from school, my mother would remind me to visit him. It became something of a routine; some Friday nights during summer break, I would come home from work, shower, have an early dinner, and then go visit my uncle. His daughter and young grandson were living with him and my aunt at the time, and I tended to arrive when The Muppet Show was on. So there we would be in his small living room, watching the Muppets and enjoying each other's company. He and I would also sneak off to the driving range, where he would coach me on my golf swing and occasionally swing the club himself against his doctor's orders.
During the fall semester of my junior year, at a time when I was very focused on discerning my vocation, Uncle Ace sent me a letter. It was the only letter he would ever send me. The letter was handwritten, in neat script, on a small sheet of stationery. In it, he urged me to choose law school. The letter was one of several influences on my decision to go to law school, and I kept it because of its message and its sentimental value. Until yesterday, I hadn't seen the letter for years, and I wondered what became of it. Yesterday, I found it by chance in a box in my attic. Here is some of what he said:
Hello Don:
The world has always had problems, and our society has always had wrongs.
I respect your beliefs and your intentions to try to improve the existing conditions - but unless you yourself are a respected individual - your efforts will be of no avail.
Go to law school - become well known - then you will be heard. . . .
As a lawyer, you can earn enough from your paying clients to represent your non able to pay clients. You will become greatly respected and will accumulate a great following - then when you speak - you will be heard.A simple message, delivered clearly, from a man who understood something about how the world worked. I did not become a lawyer with the expectation that I would someday "be heard." Instead, what I took away from the letter was that lawyers can help those in need as much as, and in some ways more than, people in other professions.
My uncle's message remains true today. As a bar association president, I am constantly inspired by the many dedicated lawyers who devote countless hours helping the "non able to pay" clients. I also am somewhat daunted by the opportunities I have to "be heard," and the challenge of making the most of those opportunities. Law is a great profession, and will remain so as long as there are lawyers who see it not only as an opportunity to do well, but also as an opportunity to do good. Although I have made some effort these past few months to inform college students of the difficulties that face many law school graduates in a difficult job market, I would never want to discourage anyone from going to law school who shares the vision of making a positive difference in the world. The profession, and our society, needs them.
My uncle passed away in 1980. I last saw him as I was about to embark on a six-week trip to Europe with a law school friend after each of us had completed judicial clerkships and before we were to begin work at our law firms. Uncle Ace was in the late stages of cancer. He had lost so much strength that I had to help him sit up in bed and lie down again. I knew it was the last time I would see him, and I believe he knew it too. He probably had hoped I would return to Rochester to practice law, but I chose to stay in Boston. The letter remains in my home, a worthy reminder of the power of a few, heartfelt words to shape a person's life.
Comments
Post a Comment