He paused with a reflective chuckle as the tips of his fingers traced the lip of his iced tea glass, “However, I’d married my high school sweetheart and she’s a Brownville girl. Nadine was so homesick, and to tell the truth, so was I. So, after nearly ten years in the grist mill, so to speak, when I heard that one of Brownville’s oldest attorneys and my mentor, by the by, Deforest Gilmore, had suffered a heart attack and become an invalid, we packed up the kids, pulled up stakes, and came back home.”
He paused again, one side of his mouth quirking up in a fond smile as he seemed to reminisce. “All through high school and summers through college I clerked for him, performed odd jobs in the office, anything he’d let me do. Sometimes just watch and listen—and learn. Now, there was an attorney, let me tell you,” he chuckled again. “Gilmore never studied law in a university,” he hesitated as he saw Dwight’s reaction.
“I beg your pardon?”
The attorney smiled indulgently. “That’s right. He became a lawyer the old way, by independent study, reading every classical legal text he could get his hands on, and apprenticeship under the supervision of an experienced attorney. Mark my words, I never saw a better one, even in all my years in Battle Creek, and I worked with some of the best. Gilmore could look into a man’s eyes and just know if he was guilty or innocent. Uncanny.”
Dwight had perked up at this and he sat forward in his chair. “I wasn’t aware that…can this still be done, sir? Become an attorney without the benefit of actual law school?”
David pursed his lips and studied Dwight, then answered with a nod, “It’s not as common as it used to be, but it’s still done. You’d have to pass the bar—”
“The bar, sir?”
“Yes, the bar is…well, let me give a bit of background. A few years ago, an organization was formed called the American Bar Association. Its purpose is to help make sure every defendant has adequate legal counsel by requiring individuals who call themselves attorneys to legally practice law—or in other words, to cut out shysters. Each state has its own court system and sets its own rules for bar admission,” he tapped his finger on his desk as he stated his next point. “A man is admitted to the bar of the highest court in that state and is thereby authorized to practice law in that jurisdiction, or territory under federal control. However, a lawyer who is admitted in one state is not automatically allowed to practice in any other. The regulating authority administers an extensive exam to gauge the amount and quality of knowledge the applicant has acquired in his studies. If one passes the bar, one is an attorney—in that state.”
Dwight digested that information and then couldn’t help but ask, “But…why do they refer to it as passing the bar? That makes no sense to me,” he added as one corner of his mouth curled into a smirk.
“That’s a good question, young man. The answer is this,” Mincer answered with a patient smile. Dwight had the distinct impression that the man enjoyed teaching as well as sharing knowledge, which meant he would be a great inspiration and source of information—and Dwight intended to soak up every word.
“The use of the term bar to mean the whole body of lawyers, or the legal profession, comes from a British custom,” the man leaned back, steepling his fingers with relish. “Two hundred years ago, in each of the four Inns of Court in London, a railing divided the hall with students occupying the body of the hall and readers—or teachers—on the other side. Students who officially became lawyers were called to the bar, a visual rite of passage, thereby crossing the symbolic physical barrier and thus admitted to join the others who had already achieved that feat. So, the bar exam was the test to get past the barrier, or the bar, and into the club, if you will.”
Dwight shook his head, feeling woefully inadequate—and yet in an odd way—extremely determined to achieve his dream, aware that he was poised on the precipice of knowledge and achievement. “This is all new to me, sir. I suppose I never looked into the mechanics of it before.”
Mincer again sent him one of those indulgent smiles and a satisfied nod.
“Let me be frank with you, son. Doc and I discussed an idea at length, and what I have in mind is a sort of apprenticeship for you, where we discuss various legal topics during down time between clients. You can run errands, serve summonses, and do simple paperwork, as well as other things—in addition to studying and reading every text we can lay our hands on. Then, once you and I feel you are ready, I can arrange for you to take the bar exam for our jurisdiction.”
It was all so much that it almost seemed too good to be true. Dwight ran a hand back through his hair as he tried to wrap his mind around it.
“Now, about compensation,” Mincer went on, with a slight grimace, “with Brownville being a rather small town, I dare say I don’t make as much as I did in Battle Creek,” he chuckled, “but then the cost of living is much lower here. But, that’s neither here nor there. I figure I can afford to pay you about ten dollars a week. There is always room for growth and the occasional bonus, depending on your performance, of course. How does that sound to you?”
Dwight hadn’t known what to expect, and although it
