Future Forum: Guilt, Innocence, and the Death Penalty 
HOUSTON LAW
HOUSTON LAW
Three of the nation's largest law firms are in Houston. They have kept their awesome power, their pervasive influence, and their closed societies out of the public eye. Until now.
(Page 7 of 10)
The big impetus toward lavish recruitment came after the famous VE class of '63 had settled into the firm; the other firms were virtually forced to follow. The emphasis at VE has always been upon bountiful, conspicuous extravagance: the finest foods, the finest wines, a life of stylish prosperity. One young lawyer who went to VE describes the process as "an attempt to sway impressionable law students, an appeal to their ego. 'Here we are in Maxim's wine cellar; this is the life of the young VE lawyer.'" A Vinson Elkins dinner for a half dozen students held at Austin's prestigious Headliners Club in 1971 was, according to Club officials, the single most expensive meal ever served there.
Fulbright Crooker and Baker & Botts pursue the same pattern with varying degrees of success. The unreal atmosphere of a cocktail party, however, does not afford a congenial home court advantage to the aloof lawyers at B&B, and despite their punctilious observance of all the proper rules, they sometimes trip over their feet when stepping down from their pedestal. A 1973 Law Review graduate of U.T. argues that "VE gives the best parties because they hire the best cocktail party people. [The recruiting technique at] Baker Botts is just awful, clearly the worst—they send people up to Austin who don't have any idea what to do at cocktail parties and that turns some guys off." He adds, "Of course, that may mean they are better lawyers. I've never thought good cocktail party people and good lawyers were particularly compatible."
Fulbright Crooker, as always, is honored more for their folksiness than their finesse. A typical FC recruiting weekend might feature a rock band at the Party Barn in Austin. A central Texas lawyer who was rushed by the big firms recalls that on his trip to Houston he and his wife went to see Lucia di Lammermoor with Beverly Sills at the Houston opera, courtesy of Vinson Elkins. "Fulbright Crooker," he says half-seriously, "would have taken us to the Astrodome." He neglected to mention that VE, keeping all its options open, has reserved a block of seats behind home plate.
Until quite recently, the most ferocious recruiting always took place within the Texas Law Review, a prestigious group of second- and third-year students who earned their positions strictly on the basis of their grade point average. But in late 1972 the Review began to admit members on an internship system that emphasized such things as a candidate's legal writing ability; only 15 (instead of 40) positions are now determined solely on grades. At about the same time, the Law School administration forbade firms to restrict their campus interviews to an exclusive group like the "top 10 per cent" or "Law Review only." They must now interview any student who asks to be interviewed.
The result of these reforms has been to make the grade-conscious Big Three increasingly suspicious of the students they interview on campus, with a correspondingly greater reliance on off-campus, informal party impressions. There are no more blanket Law Review invitations to parties, either; admission is now by individual invitation only. "It's a lot more like rush than it used to be," says one recent graduate. "If you are shy, introverted, don't talk easily, you are likely to suffer. You just don't have the chance to make the same impression. Good people have been hurt this way, especially with Vinson Elkins, who've been getting more and more toward the 'good ole boy' syndrome in the last year or so."
One of the most reliable methods the firms have developed to measure the abilities of a prospective associate is the system of "summer clerkships." Students whom the firm is interested in hiring are given a chance between their second and third years in law school to do legal research at the firm, to pick up a little cash at $250 a week, and to show their stuff. Ostensibly it's just another summer job, but the firm and the clerks both regard it as a sort of trial run. In some ways it is deceptive (the clerks leave at 5 p.m. and don't see the young associates still working at 10:30), but each learns enough about the other that solid "offers" are frequently made, and accepted, for employment to commence after graduation. Some students thus return to law school for their final year already employed, in effect, by one of the Big Three. At least two of the big firms, and possibly the third as well, quietly provide expense accounts for them to entertain and recruit selected fellow students who are still uncommitted.
A third-year student who is being pursued by one or more of the Big Three can expect to receive a first-class trip to Houston at the firm's expense. One who recently returned from such a visit recalled that he and his wife were flown down and given a choice of staying in any hotel they desired. While he toured the office and met a succession of partners, his wife was taken on a tour of the city by several firm wives. During lunch at Neiman-Marcus the wives discussed the merits of housing and the Houston schools. Meanwhile he was having lunch at the Hyatt-Regency Windowbox with a few young associates. "There was no hard sell about it," he said. "Their attitude was, 'This is what we've got; be sure it's what you want.'" In the afternoon he continued to make the rounds of partners, impressed that the top lawyers in the firm would stop what they were doing to visit with him. His wife was also taken to meet several of the principal partners. "When it was over I was told that if I wanted an offer, I could have one," he said. "That was all there was to it, except we had dinner with some associates that evening. The rest of the weekend we were free to do as we wished; they made it clear we could stay as long as we wanted at their expense, but I had to get on back to school." A "moderately generous" check for taxis, meals, and miscellaneous expenses arrived at his Austin home a few days later.
The recruiting battle is fueled by the traditional feeling at U.T. that anyone who doesn't go to work for one of the big Houston firms probably isn't much good. The firms scrupulously strive to preserve their status by impressive recruiting tactics and generous gifts to the Law School Foundation. (Each of the three has endowed a $100,000 professorship.) By and large the strategy works: an offer from one of the Big Three is regarded as proof of professional ability even by their most cynical Naderesque classmates; like the winner of a Rhodes Scholarship, the recipient can never again be regarded as just another face in the crowd.
The firms' recruiting luck varies from year to year. Baker & Botts adroitly manages to spirit away a few of the highest-ranked students almost every time. Vinson Elkins dazzled the legal profession by snapping up great gobs of top graduates in the late 1960s, but their last vintage year was 1971. Fulbright Crooker outstripped the others in 1972, when they got four officers of the Law Review. A large proportion of the Class of 1973 opted for judicial clerkships, perhaps expressing a measure of distaste for the sort of work done by the Big Three. The current class talks even more radically than their predecessors, but at graduation they very likely will head for business-oriented firms.
If that doesn't happen—if the Big Three are spurned by yet another crop of activist, reform-minded U.T. law graduates—the firms may well be forced to reappraise some of their policies. One which is long overdue for some reexamination is their attitude toward legal work pro bono publico, lawyers' Latin for professional services provided free of charge to causes the lawyer deems worthy. Lawyers are traditionally even more tight-fisted than doctors when it comes to giving away their services for free, but this resistance has increasingly come under attack by young lawyers chagrined at the lack of legal representation available to poorly-financed consumer, environmental, and civil rights causes. In many of the larger New York and Washington firms, a substantial fraction of a lawyer's time may be devoted to pro bono work for which the firm receives no income. The failure of Texas firms to follow suit has made them something of a joke among Ivy League law students at recruiting time.
None of the Houston firms has a pro bono program worthy of the name. There is a story, possibly apocryphal, of a much-sought-after Harvard law senior who was being recruited by Vinson Elkins. His hosts happened to take him to the office of one of the firm's grand old men, a prominent insurance lawyer. Looking at the youngster, the senior partner said, "So you want to work for Vinson Elkins."
The young man acknowledged that he thought that might be nice, and the two chatted amiably for a while about the many splendors of the firm. Finally the student asked, "By the way, do you do any pro bono work?"
"Any what?"
An explanation ensued in which the student, somewhat taken aback, explained to the old gentleman the nature of that particular form of legal generosity. With an indulgent smile came the partner's response: "Well, son, I'm sure it's all right for you to do that, just as long as you do it on Saturdays."
A recent U.T. graduate who is well acquainted with the pro bono policies of Washington law firms was discussing them with several of the top partners at VE during a recruiting interview. "I was talking about one D.C. firm—one of the two or three best—that has a written firm policy that 20 per cent of the firm's time shall be spent on pro bono work. No ifs or buts—it's a written policy, and it's not just something nominal, it's 20 per cent. The bigwigs at VE just flatly refused to believe it. What can you say?"
Vinson Elkins is by no means the worst offender in the matter of pro bono work, although their progressive reputation in the Sixties makes their lack of initiative more conspicuous. Baker & Botts seems to discipline associates who stray too far from the moneymaking path by denying them promotion to partner year after year, regardless of the merit of their outside work. At Fulbright Crooker, managing partner Jaworski was obviously discomforted by questions involving pro bono work. There, as at the other big firms, the crunch comes when an attorney is asked, say, by the environmental groups like the Sierra Club or the League of Conservation Voters to contribute his time in a class action suit on behalf of citizens seeking to stop industrial pollution or freeway construction.
"How," Jaworski asks, "would a client who pays us a retainer react if he found that one of our boys was sitting on the other side helping to agitate a lawsuit against him? We can't trample on our own clients' interests by turning one of our boys loose to foment litigation."
My Library
