Once upon a time, I was one of the best rudimental drummers in the world. I won three consecutive Drum Corps International percussion titles, was personally endorsed by Pearl Drums and Zildjian Cymbals, and I even had my own signature drumstick on the market. In 1994, I became the Percussion Director of the Santa Clara Vanguard, a job I had dreamed about since the 7th grade. It was a memorable and awesome life experience.
Then came the evening of February 15, 1995, and a quick ATM stop for cheeseburger money after rehearsal. Which was also memorable.
Thirty seconds after the acquisition of said cheeseburger money, a would-be carjacker tried to kill me. I ran through a hail of bullets, across a freeway and into the pages of the San Jose Mercury News. I had cat-like-stealth that night, which is why you’re reading this book and not my 1995 obituary.
After that, the world looked different. And with a new perspective came the realization that I hadn’t experienced much in life other than drum corps. Don’t get me wrong. Drum corps is awesome. But I felt there had to be more in life. I’d never even been outside of North America. But God, or cat-like stealth, or fate—or all the above—had given me a second chance.
Accordingly, as many others in similar situations have done, I turned a near-catastrophe into a catalyst for positive life change. And I decided to go to law school, something I’d been tossing around for a while. Not to seek revenge upon a criminal with anger problems and poor marksmanship, but to expand my horizons and learn as much as I could about our world.
THE USF SCHOOL OF LAW
The Drum Corps International tour ended in August in New York. Forty-eight hours later, I was in a crowded lecture hall at the University of San Francisco. I sat in the back and never felt more out of place in my life.
I had a drum corps championship ring, which is as useful in law school as bringing a llama. Or perhaps an alpaca, which is technically a different animal. I also had a great blue pen, a Bic 1.6 mm Cristal. Which would’ve been useful, had I remembered to bring paper.
Allow me to put my level of fear, confusion, and ignorance into perspective. During the introductory lecture, our torts professor uttered the word “plaintiff.”
Plaintiff? What the…?
I panicked. I had no idea what a plaintiff could be.
True story. Which means that on Day 1 of law school, I literally didn’t know the first freakin thing about the law. Literally.
And that sad fact didn’t change until the defendant made an appearance in her monologue. Through the process of elimination, I figured out the plaintiff was probably the guy who sued everybody. And the defendant was on the receiving end. I was happy. I learned “something.”
But then, bada-boom, bada-bing—the professor started talking about the King’s Bench.
The King’s Bench? What the…?
And thus, I went back to stupefied and intimidated, coupled with the terror that I might get called on to explain a bizzarro-world legal opinion from medieval England. Besides a great pen, I had only one other thing going for me on Day 1. I’ve always been a voracious reader, and I can read incredibly fast when needed. In fact, I am probably the only kid in the history of Pennsylvania elementary school to get kicked out of class for reading too much, and then again for reading too fast. True story.
So, I showed up to law school literate and I owned a pen.
At least I had that going for me.
REALITY CHECK
The first semester was brutal, as was the commute from San Jose. Then, one beautiful day in October, I dozed off on Highway 280 as I drove to school. I swerved back onto the road to the sound of beeping horns and the realization that the commute was not only dangerous, but it was killing hours of study time every day.
So, I moved to Ocean Beach, a beautiful and quiet part of San Francisco that most tourists don’t know exists.
I didn’t have time to enjoy the beach, however, finals were closing in fast. My study schedule was fueled by the fear of failing out. A possibility made less humorous by my new student loans.
Our first official assignment was to write a case brief in our legal research and writing class, taught by adjunct professor and attorney Robert Brownstone.
As I would learn, Brownstone’s assignments were the canary in the coal mine, so to speak. You see, we had no midterms and finals weren’t until December. Which meant we wouldn’t see any grades until January. Thus, the only way you could know how you were doing in that first semester was via your legal research and writing class. Otherwise, you were flying blind.
I knew how I was doing. My first three writing assignments failed in every way there was to fail, including font size. There was red ink all over the paper. After the fourth debacle, Brownstone pulled me aside and asked a point-blank question. “Do you really want to be a lawyer?”
[insert stunned silence here]
From How to Pass the California Bar Exam – Available Here!
SEVEN THOUGHTS 