No Law School for You!

Thomas had just finished his Real Estate degree cum laude from the University of Las Vegas, Nevada in the year 2000 and considered attending law school. He filed an application to only one place, William S. Boyd, which was Nevada’s new and only law school. As part of the application process, he had to get a certified copy of his high school transcript. “No problem,” he thought, “I still live with my parents near the school. I’ll just stop in.”

And so, Thomas, a college graduate, walked into the high school where he had collected so many unpleasant memories. He went into the administration office and recalled several uncomfortable situations. First, he recalled the time he locked his bicycle to a secretary’s desk. Then he looked at the floor where a punk who had spit in his face fell to his knees begging for forgiveness. Around the corner, he and his parents had complained about the poor educatory skills of one of the science teachers. And, just beyond that, was the spot he and his parents told a counselor that his younger brother had died the night before in a hiking accident. Thomas strode to the person in charge of records while trying to clear his mind of all the negativity.

“So you want to go to law school?”

“No not really, that’s why I am applying.”

“Well, here is your transcript.” Her eyes almost bulged at all the tents she saw on the papers.

“What do these pointy letters mean?” she asked.

“Oh, those are As.”

“I notice that you have more credits than you needed. Wait, wait a second…you are missing a half a credit of physical education.”

Thomas looked at her. He recalled taking one year of ROTC, which fulfilled one PE credit. Then, he remembered running on the cross-country team “Kicking Asphalt” for a semester to fill more PE credits.

“But you only took cross-country for one semester, not two,” was the bureaucratic response.

“Let me get this straight. I did more exercise running cross country for a semester than every student that took PE for two years and you’re saying I’m a half credit short?”

“Looks that way.” Thomas couldn’t tell if she was teasing him for his prior sarcasm.

“You are also telling me that I received a diploma from this school and another diploma from UNLV but will now have to take a semester of PE because I was a credit short?” Thomas grinned ironically.

The bureaucrat did not say anything. She tilted her head slightly, as if wondering what this future lawyer would say next.

Thomas cleared his throat, “Ok, does the transcript say that I lettered in Chess, one of my extracurricular activities. You know, it’s that strategy game where you physically move objects around. I think I used quite a few calories there. That club ought to count for a credit too. Oh, and I was in speech and debate club as well. My mouth got quite a work out there and that ought to count for another credit. I was also in Orchestra for four years, lots of arm swinging and finger moving involved. Also, I rode a bicycle to school and home every day, four miles, with a burden. I think that made me more physically active than most. Seems to me that that transcript is wrong and I should have a surplus of PE credits.”

The bureaucrat finally cracked a smile as she turned away, “You’ll be alright.”

Tommy Should Be Held Back in First Grade

Tommy’s parents kept him home, while others his age attended Kindergarten. They taught him the alphabet and numbers. The only interaction he had with other children, were his two younger brothers. Tommy’s parents did not believe in television in the home, so he did not see Sesame Street or cartoons. Instead, they took him to work with them and explored the outdoors for recreation.

When he finally went to first grade in 1983, he was somewhat bewildered. He did what he thought he was supposed to do. He never raised his hand for permission to get a drink of water; he simply went.

This was forbidden.

From an early age, school taught children to ask permission and submit to authority. Tommy was a year late in this most important aspect of public education. His reluctance to recognize authority would follow him throughout life.

He was obedient when instructed in a course of action, but in the absence of instruction, he did his own thing. The other children, who had shared Kindergarten and television experiences, played together. Tommy played alone. The teacher observed Tommy’s odd, non-conformist behavior.

She must call his parents.

At the parent/teacher conference, the teacher learned that Tommy had not gone to Kindergarten. “If I had known that, I would not have accepted him in my class,” she said, “I think he will have to be held back a grade.”

“Absolutely not,” Tommy’s parents said, “He just has to get used to school.”

Tommy caught his stride in fourth grade. Thereafter, he was in the top one percent of his class, eventually graduating cum laude from UNLV, and then law school.

Thomas uses his non-conformism to defend clients who have not conformed to the expectations of State authority. His innocent clients often face severe punishment. The press libels, vilifies, and implies guilt, whenever the police or prosecutors serve them up a scandalous story. Without the aid of their attorney, they would have no chance against a money-based justice system.

Thomas muses, “If my parents had agreed to hold me back in first grade, I would have remained behind my class and probably never have felt the desire to excel. The school system tried to break my individuality, but my parents did not let it. Now I try to prevent the cold bureaucratic system from breaking others. Life is too short to live only for the expectations of others. Presumption of innocence is hard to maintain for clients when many believe that suspicion equals guilt. Most people think a non-conformist is guilty.”

John Galt should have been a criminal defense lawyer.

Bikes Stolen from Indifferent Public High School

Tom rode his bicycle two miles each way to high screwel, until he bought his first beat-up car in his senior year. Tom wanted other students to think he was oblivious to, or unaffected by, their opinions about his appearance. He carried his viola in a bucket attached to the seat of his bike, wore an ROTC uniform on certain days of the week, and carried a thirty-pound backpack full of books every screwel day.

He took elective classes and maintained perfect grades, which bespoke obedience to authority, yet inwardly he was a rebel against both the other students and the faculty as well. He hated the routine of screwel: the metal detectors, the obnoxious classmates who egged him from their cars, and the faculty that only seemed to know the names of the troubled kids but not the honor roll students. He put up with it, because it was only a four-year sentence. He knew that the harder he worked, the easier life would be later.

During his second year of high screwel, Tom’s bikes kept disappearing from the bike racks during school hours. The bike rack was a small yard enclosed by an eight-foot chain link fence with no roof. It was easy for thieves with bolt cutters to jump the fence, cut the lock, throw the bike over, and make off with it. Tom purchased fixer-upper replacement bikes so he would have transportation. Each time, he fastened buckets to the seats for his viola.

After his third bike disappeared, and the less than interested staff ignored his third complaint, Tom decided to make a point. He rode his latest clunker of a bike to screwel, walked it into the principal’s office, and set about chaining it to one of the desks. Immediately, a screwel bureaucrap told him to take the bike outside.

“But I have to get to class. I don’t have time to take it outside now.”

“You have to put it in the bike rack.”

“I cannot afford to have another bike stolen because you don’t care about security.”

“Look, you take that bike out of here right now or I’ll call campus police!”

“You mean the same police that are supposed to be guarding the bike rack? What do you expect they will do?”

“You’ll be expelled for insubordination. We’ll notify your ROTC Commander!”

“My ROTC Commander will laugh at you. He knows all about your failed security.”

“That’s it, what’s your name? We’re going to call your parents.”

“Great, they’ll laugh at you too. My father is tired of buying new bikes.”

Tom ignored the bureaucrap, finished locking his bike to the secretary’s desk, and headed, viola in hand, for his first class.

“What’s your name?”

“Check the honor roll, I’m near the top. Ask my ROTC Commander which of his cadets has complained about campus security. Heck, just look at the last three reports I filed.”

Campus security yanked Tom out of orchestra class and called his very busy, hardworking, tax paying parents.

“Your son was very rude today. He used curse words and refused to remove his bicycle from the office. I’m afraid we’re going to have to suspend him.”

Several teachers, the ROTC commander, a threat to go to the media, and a threat to contact an attorney finally convinced the screwel bureaucraps to acquiesce. Tom missed two classes that morning. The screwel would not spend two hundred dollars to secure the bike rack by roofing it with chain link, and yes, Tom’s fourth bike was stolen during screwel hours a couple of months later.

His were not the only bikes stolen, either. The thieves had stolen thousands of dollars’ worth of bikes, while the screwel bureaucraps sat on their hands. Maybe Tom should have called a lawyer, but his parents could not afford one.

Tom suggested to his ROTC commander that the cadets could look out for their own by patrolling the area during the day, perhaps while marching. Tom did not have to purchase a sixth bike.