I remember going to court

I remember going to court. As a young attorney, I sat in many courtrooms waiting for my case to be called and watching experienced attorneys, almost always men, making their arguments. I learned from seeing the interaction between lawyers and judges. I watched how the lawyers stood, how they addressed the court, how they shook hands in the gallery while waiting for the judge to enter and the bailiff to call the room to order.

I especially remember the courthouses and courtrooms. In the early days of my career in the last century, I worked at a busy litigation firm in Sacramento. The lucky associate who was handling status conferences that week (the billable hours!) ran between four courtrooms on two floors in the Sacramento County Courthouse. But I went to other counties, too. I remember the utilitarian portable building where I once tried a case in Contra Costa County and the elegant book-matched marble walls of the lobby in the old Yolo County Courthouse and the black-and-white photos in Tehama of the nearby Lassen eruption in the early 1900s. I remember once appearing in an imposing federal courtroom in San Diego and I also remember turning around before entering San Francisco Superior to take in the beautiful buildings of Civic Center. I remember practicing my arguments on the way to the courthouse and driving back in relief or disappointment or occasionally outrage that the judge didn't see things my way. I remember walking into every crowded courtroom and unconsciously scanning the room to count the number of women present. Often, I could count them on one hand. I remember visiting the small courthouse in another state where my grandfather practiced law for more than half a century. Beautiful Depression-era murals were discovered under several coats of paint not long ago. I wondered what other secrets that courthouse held. And I remember the infrequent visits to a judge's chambers where a bit of the judge's personality might be reflected like the judge with the huge collection of Mickey Mouse memorabilia and the judge with blooming orchids on every surface in his office.

But mostly, I remember watching the lawyers. I recall the first time I heard "I nearly fell off my chair" in a closing argument, and the former federal prosecutor I worked for who taught me about the dignity of being formal in court. I particularly remember an attorney who had an uncanny knack for making an entrance into court just as his case was called, whether he was #5 or #25 on the calendar. The double doors would open and he would stride down the aisle, announcing "John Doe for the Plaintiff, your Honor!" He was never disrespectful, but he was also never on time.

I wonder if we will ever return to the days when attorneys congregate in the halls of a courthouse before the doors to the courtroom are unlocked, when impromptu meetings lead to productive discussions of a case or even long-lasting relationships. I'm grateful that technology has provided us the ability to carry on with the business of court during the pandemic via Zoom or Google Meet or whatever video platform our court has chosen. Judges try hard to replicate the courtroom experience while conducting court by video. But to be honest, seeing attorneys in less-than-formal settings and in less-than-formal attire is sometimes disconcerting. In one memorable early-pandemic appearance, a senior partner in a polo shirt sitting on his lovely redwood-surrounded deck with a cup of coffee appeared using his wife's iPad. She had named it "Susie's iPad" or a similar name. His casual approach rubbed me the wrong way and the fact that he couldn't be bothered to rename himself on his wife's iPad didn't help. He made a self-deprecating comment while implying that this technology stuff was either below him or a waste of his valuable time. I was careful to not show my irritation. And many lawyers elect to appear without their video camera turned on, which negates the whole point of trying to make it feel like actually being in court. On a lighter note, I kept a personal tally for some months of the number of attorneys on Zoom who had guitars artfully placed in their backgrounds. I considered bringing one into my courtroom but it didn't seem appropriate to prop it up next to the flag behind my chair. Lately I've noticed the quantity of guitars has gained importance as more and more attorneys display more than one.

I learned my craft from watching other lawyers in court. I learned how I wanted to be perceived by observing good and not-so-good lawyers in action. I learned about collegiality by getting to court early to see and be seen, by greeting colleagues with a handshake. I learned the importance of developing those relationships. But things are different now. I understand progress requires change. Lawyers are too busy to spend time driving to court whether near or far when they can simply call or log in at 8:30 from the kitchen table or the office (please, not the car.) But I wonder: absent the drama and theatrics of an actual courtroom, do lawyers who are watching on Zoom absorb the same instruction young attorneys did in the old days? Are the powerful arguments less compelling when delivered remotely sitting down with no tie or audience and a Starbucks cup at hand? Without the ritual of "Going To Court," will lawyers still be considered members of the bar? Will they know what that means? Are they even watching?

Some say that video court is a great equalizer and that now, it is more a conversation with the judge than an appearance. Certainly, it is a more intimate experience with lawyer and judge on the same virtual level and face-to-face on a screen. I've informally polled colleagues and retired judges and have heard mixed reactions. Some believe it is a positive thing in that it reduces the intimidation and stress of appearing in court. There is no doubt it is more convenient. But others miss the days when the judge sat above counsel and audience and commanded respect and power in the courtroom.

We have lost those courtroom and courthouse experiences I had as a young lawyer to time and progress and COVID, I'm afraid. But there are those who will ask what we've lost, after all. Is it better this way or the old way? Or just different? But I treasure the memories of the courthouses I visited, with all their history and their secrets, where every human emotion played out. I treasure the memories of learning how to be a lawyer - watching a textbook example of refreshing a witness' recollection with a document; or a calm but absolutely surgical cross-examination or a closing argument that brought jurors to tears. I met people who became trusted colleagues and friends in those mornings in the coffee shop on the sixth floor of the Sacramento courthouse or milling around a courtroom waiting for the judge to take the bench. It leaves me wondering how today's young attorneys will develop the gravitas that comes with being in court, and the friendships and connections that will last for as many decades as their career does. 