Finding Their Way

by Jesse Finfrock

How are young lawyers finding work in this brave new job market?

That's the question I set out to answer as I interviewed law students and new lawyers who hope to make it in the legal field. But I was hardly a disinterested observer; I was also deciding whether I should apply to law school myself.

Is a law degree worth the mountain of debt? If I won't be able to find a decent job, why should I spend all that money and time on law school? Over dozens of conversations, a few lawyers urged me to think twice, pointing out the glut of labor in the industry. Certainly other professions must offer a better deal.

Yet there is cause for hope. Creative and adaptable young attorneys are redefining success, reevaluating their expectations, and adjusting how they interact with the legal world. By modifying their time frames and leveraging idiosyncratic work experience, tenacious young attorneys are bucking conventional wisdom and even uncovering new potential for their field.

If I sound inspired, it's because I am. Here, edited from their own words but without their names, are the stories of three different people making the transition from law school to a legal career. -JF

Age 31; San Francisco

When I first tell people the area that I practice in, they usually get this sort of bedazzled look.

"Medical cannabis?" they ask, intrigued by my seemingly sexy, rebellious career choice. And then I watch their eyes glaze over as I launch into my latest thriller about land use compliance, the city health code, or state taxes.

The truth is that the vast majority of my practice involves unremarkable drudgery. I do permitting, compliance, and consulting work for medical cannabis cultivators and dispensaries in California. And believe me, that much paperwork is really not sexy. I joke with people that it would be easier to open a nuclear reactor here than it is to open a dispensary, but medical cannabis dispensaries are probably one of the most regulated businesses in San Francisco.

Which is where I come in.

Before law school I worked in City Hall for the president of the Board of Supervisors, and I continued to do so through graduation. I was mostly responsible for drafting planning and zoning legislation, and in 2005 I helped write the first land use regulations for medical cannabis anywhere in the country.

I was in my second year of law school when I started doing advocacy work around medical cannabis issues in San Francisco and began assisting patients, dispensaries, and cultivators with permits, just helping them understand the process. I kind of fell into it.

I have about $70,000 dollars [in student debt] to pay back, so I got my bar license, and I stumbled across a client who had heard about my work history. And I stumbled across another client. Seemingly overnight, I was running a business.

Becoming a medical cannabis attorney wasn't initially my plan, but the more I started thinking about it, the more I understood that it was an amazing opportunity. Also, despite the detractors, there are really a lot of legitimately ill people who benefit from using medical cannabis and need and deserve legal representation.

This area of the law does require caution though. I'm working with clients who follow state law but whose business involves violating federal law, and I'm an attorney licensed by the state of California with certain duties and responsibilities. I obviously never advise any client to violate any laws, only how to comply with state and local laws. However, I spend a decent amount of time just to understand what my own liabilities are. My malpractice insurance ain't cheap.

But I'm lucky. I've built myself a pretty policy-intensive and interesting little practice. It probably helps that I'm allergic to marijuana; I think it's an oil in the plant that makes me severely congested. This gives me a little credibility when I talk with policymakers.

I probably have to turn down a couple new clients a month because I don't have time to find another lawyer to help me. I split my time between doing direct client legal work here in San Francisco and policy consulting for organizations, cities, and states that takes me all across the country. It's exciting. I'm lucky to be busy doing something I enjoy.

Age 29; Los Angeles

I work at a nonprofit legal aid organization here in California, where I grew up. It is an incredible experience, but this wasn't what I'd planned on doing after graduation; I expected to start working at a big firm.

I did everything I was supposed to do: I did well in college and law school and summered at a top firm. When I was interviewing with firms in 2008, I was a wanted entity. They were coming to me, and I was pretty much in the driver's seat. Everyone that I know at NYU got multiple offers from great firms. According to plan, I would be working in the firm's complex litigation group in New York after I passed the bar.

What happened next came as a big surprise. In the spring of 2009, right before graduation, my firm announced mandatory deferrals for everyone, and suddenly it became clear that I really didn't have the element of control I thought I had.

My class of summer associates at the firm consisted of about a hundred people. I think everyone got an offer to start in the fall after graduation. But with the deferrals, our start date was pushed pack to January 2010. We each received a check for $15,000 for our living expenses until then.

There was also an option to take a longer deferral and begin a year later, in January 2011. And I had another choice: The firm offered to pay deferred associates $60,000 to do whatever we wanted for a year-travel, anything-or they would pay us $75,000 to spend that year doing public interest legal work. The deferral program would allow some nonprofit organization to hire an extra attorney (me) at a time when it wouldn't otherwise have the resources to do so.

I saw the latter as a good opportunity to gain experience and new skills. If I started at the firm in January 2010, there was a risk I would be laid off a few months later if the economy further declined.

Not to dwell on it, but I have debt from college and law school amounting to more than $250,000. That's no joke. So I opted for the public service deferral, got a single $75,000 check in the mail (the firm also covers my health insurance), and started working here in California. I mostly do labor law for the organization, but we also do work in consumer fraud, government benefits, and fair housing. I enjoy the work; it's a small organization, so I'm able to take on a lot of responsibility.

I know people who took the $60,000 check and just traveled for a year. That sounds great, but they must have a completely different way of looking at this. Or maybe they don't have any debt. I don't know. I just can't get into that mind-set while my dreams are deferred.

Age 27; San Francisco

The first time I visited a prisoner on San Quentin's death row in 2009, I was a second-year law student and intern with a legal nonprofit organization. San Quentin is a haunting place, an eerie and gothic fortress built in the most picturesque, bayside location. Marin County isn't exactly known for its prisons.

As I passed through various iron-gated checkpoints, I was in denial that I had ever wanted to be a law enforcement agent. But in fact, I had wanted to be in law enforcement when I was a teenager. Childishly, I imagined myself growing up to become an FBI agent like Clarice Starling, catching serial killers in The Silence of the Lambs. I even did my high school senior exhibition on serial killers and psychopaths. My about-face from enforcer to defender is pretty simple: After college, I was hired as a paralegal at a public defender's office.

Compared to the noise and chaos of county jail, the visitors' area of San Quentin is quiet. Visitors walk into a sterile hallway lined with holding cells. At the far end of the hall against the wall sits a microwave. Visitors buy the inmates lunch from vending machines that sell everything from burritos to avocados, heat up their food in the microwave, and sit and talk with them as they eat.

Such real-world work experiences have shaped my professional ambitions. I'm fascinated by the "why" behind criminality?not just with respect to the unique influences of individual biology and brain chemistry but more specifically the broad social factors and institutional failures that convicted clients experienced in their personal lives. For example, when a medicated client informs you with a scared look that he has no memory of committing a brutal crime, you face a challenge that is both legal and psychological.

Why did this individual who's been living a normal life for 30 years suddenly wake up one morning and attack two dozen people? What causes someone to resort to drug use? Given the right conditions and triggers, do we all have the capacity to "break"? These are fundamental questions, and there are no easy answers, often just more questions.

So my dream job is to become an attorney at a public defender's office, admittedly a tall order in the current economy; those positions are extremely competitive. Once I pass the bar, I'll volunteer in a PD office. (Thanks to my family, I'll be graduating with zero debt.) Not so long ago I was riding my bike around, dropping off résumés by hand, and I'll do it again if need be.

Jesse Finfrock is a writer, social entrepreneur, and law school applicant; he lives in San Francisco.

---