Judge — May 1937 — page 21: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

30 DAYS AT LAW J HUNG up my shingle in a city of 140,000 population about 60 miles from New York. That is, a decrepit jani- tor in blue denim fumbled through a box of cut white letters and spelled out my legend on the huge bulletin board be- tween the elevators. That was thirty days ago. A young lawyer learns a lot in 30 days. He gets to know all the other young lawyers in the eleven floors of the building, becomes an expert at the marble machines in the cigar store across the street, and in the building adjoining discovers a luncheon companion in the person of a hotel clerk who will also bring you around hotel stationery sufficient to your needs, In 30 days a young lawyer accom. plishes quite a few things. He has one, perhaps two, clients. The first client has a garage and a hopeless bill to be col- lected. 1 managed to collect the bill and was promised all the subsequent bill col- lections, but everybody immediately be- gan to pay like fiends. The following contacts are also rather easily established: Necktie salesmen. You meet them all. They knock at your office door exactly like a paying client and then dash your hopes. I bought one necktie of an amusing light blue color from one salesman who agreed with me that the Italian troops better not get caught in any mountain passes. Magazine subscription getters. Every- body is selling subs for mags, the girls grabbing you by the coat lapels and star- ing soulfully into your eyes, the men salesmen gripping your hand and calling you by your first name, if it happens to be printed on the glass of your office door. You don’t buy any magazines. Suit club salesmen. Typewriter repairmen. Newsboys, also shine boys. Miscellaneous salesmen and gadget hawkers, from ash trays to blue razor blades and mechanical mice. RADUALLY, you learn how to spend less and less time in your office. Most of the lawyers in neighbor. ing offices hang around the main floor lobby, where they can easily spot any stray clients when they get into the ele- vators, and hasten up after them. Here I also saw the advantage of three or four partners in a law office. Not only does the rent split several ways, but one part- ner can hang around the building while the other two or three play golf, an in- creasingly distinct advantage after look- ing at office walls a few weeks. On warm days you stand out front on the sidewalk, chatting and never men- tioning figures under $5,000. In rainy weather, you start a correspondence short-story-writing course. I discovered subsequently that three other lawyers on my floor were embryo writers through May 1937 the good offices of the same course I was taking. At least, I had a warm feeling over the reflection that I was getting a little return for my typewriter rental fee. With the passage of my 30 days under my own banner, I also was learning the fallacy of believing that college contacts are valuable. A good number of my class- mates went into the insurance business and came around to sell me some. Two wanted me to endorse notes for them. However, one group of the more pros- perous were forming an amusement park syndicate, and promised me all their business as soon as they had got all their assets satisfactorily concealed and were actually ready to proceed. But the 30 days slipped away without further word A young lawyer, after a reasonable time displaying his own shingle, needs advice. My advice came in the form of a letter from a wealthy uncle, proposing that I join his law business in New York. He already had nine partners, I knew, but throwing my lot in with his would at least give me 10 new faces to look at. THs ended my career in law. I am now a combination office boy and valet to 10 good lawyers. My uncle will eventually make me a partner, he says, but at present is busy enough trying to keep his affairs from going into the hands of the other nine. I draw no conclusion from my experi- ence, no case for or against law. In fact, my only regret in the whole matter is that I never finished that short-story. writing course. —NorMAN SULLIVAN. The Home Book of Surrealist Quotations (Apologies to Burton Stevenson) I Under a streamlined Diesel-tree, The village mythy stands; , The myth, a mighty Thing is he, With semi-detached hands. And the muscles of his plucked-out eyes Are knotted monkey glands. Il Lives of great men all remind us (Raspberry, orange, lemon, lime) ; What's that footprint there behind us, Etched in Daylight Saving Time? Ill Half a loaf is half a loaf, half a loaf on. ward! IV Come live with me and be my Cook, And we will bake the telephone book. Vv Gather ye Rosebuds while ye may, As headless dolls go skiing; And these same rocks that smile today, Tomorrow will be three-ing. —At GRAHAM. vwy A if the unemployed haven't enough to contend with already, now whenever they apply for a job the chances are 10 to 1 the boss is out to a labor conference. comicbooks.com