Charles Kramer, The Levison Group
I’m on the eleventh hole. Nowhere near the clubhouse. Plenty more green ahead. Yet, undoubtedly, I am passed the midpoint. I am no longer the young lawyer. That became clear to me today. It did not happen when I looked in the mirror. It had nothing to do with how long it took me to climb the stairs in Levison Tower. Although it probably should have, it also didn’t sink in when the barista at my favorite coffee shop called me “sir.” No, it happened when I realized the easiest way for me to deal with the research answer I could not find was to ask one of the younger lawyers in my firm. It was cinched when he went to some computer screen that looked totally foreign, used some new search phraseology I’d never seen and found the answer to my question in a nanosecond.
I remember when I first began practice. I was the lexis/Westlaw wiz. While the partners at the firm consulted books upon books, and took up tables upon tables in a room that had the quaint name of “library,” I just sat at a desktop computer and used Boolean searches as my second language. They came to me with all the questions about computers or technology, and I gleefully filled their ears with wonder. I could find the answer to any question before they could even say the phrase “keyword.” No longer. Apparently Lexis and Westlaw now have some newfangled half brothers that are “tablet friendly” and “easier on the go,” and use “natural language” or some such neomilennial nonsense. They seem to have the words “Lexis” and “West” in their name, but they now have surnames or nicknames, or secret identities. My old friends have, apparently, passed me by.
Although people still talk about dialing the phone, I wonder why. I haven’t seen a phone with a dial on it in ages. VCR tapes are gone. CDs are dwindling. The conference button on my telephone doesn’t work anymore either, unless someone under the age of thirty is using it. Not sure how it knows, but it does, trust me.
I even notice it in these columns. We used to mail out columns. Then we faxed them. Now we distribute them by email. Soon, I’m sure my words will get to your local paper when I close my eyes tight and think “send.” And why do we even call the vessel that brings you these words your “paper.” How many of you reading this are reading it on a papyrus derivative? I wage most are gazing at a computer screen of some sort right now.
When the Levison Group first began writing our “under analysis” columns, I was the young pup. The youngest of the original four scribes, I was included because of my writing style and resume, but also because I was the young lawyer with the fresh view. Now, I am the second longest tenured of the group, and as noted, I am the establishment, not the upstart. The judges who read my earliest works are now retired, and one new jurist, who joined the bench after a storied private practice, recently told me he’d been reading my “sage words” since his summer clerkship his final year in law school.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind. As the wise ones often say, getting older sure beats the alternative.
As we at the Levison Group close in on our thirtieth anniversary of publication of “under analysis,” I find myself looking forward to the next eight holes in our golf course of life. I embrace the water hazards, and look forward to the sand traps. I imagine the thrills of the holes in one, and the despair of the double bogie.
The life of the writer, like that of the lawyer, is a constant battle to share ideas and to cause debate and discussion. That battle is far from over. Bring on the youngsters. Despite their skills and technologies, they have a lot to learn, and I have some teachin’ to do.
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Under analysis is a nationally syndicated column of the Levison Group. Charles Kramer is a principal of the St Louis based law firm, Riezman Berger, PC. Comments or criticisms about this column can be sent to the Levison group via email to Comments@levisongroup.com or c/o this newspaper.
©2016 Charles S Kramer
