It’s ancient days to me, but some readers will be surprised to learn that I’m a lawyer. Though I went to law school and practiced in ink-and-quill days, I’m still a member of the Connecticut Bar Association. That said, at this point my competence is much eroded by time. I officially retired years ago when the Connecticut legislature put a head tax on lawyers. I didn’t hate the practice of law. I left to go into full-time political life and then, a few years later, got my art history Ph.D. and became a curator.
“Brian will go to law school,” everyone said, and I’m certain young people are more likely to defy expectations now. On my first day at the law firm, a quivering associate, I went to a residential closing with a new partner. It devolved into a fistfight between my colleague and the buyer. Our client, praise the Lord, was the seller. The buyer slugged the freshly minted, full-of-himself partner after one-too-many snotty barbs about the buyer’s pre-closing inspection demands.
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