Robert Whitlow: Deeper Water

The door to the lawyer's office was open, and I could see his feet propped up on the corner of his desk. A tall man, Oscar Callahan was sixty years old with a full head of white hair and intense, dark eyes. It was easy to imagine his grandfather as a fiery preacher. Mr. Callahan looked over his gold-rimmed reading glasses and rose to his feet.

"Welcome, Tammy Lynn," he boomed out. "It appears the transformation into sophisticated lawyer is well on its way."

Mr. Callahan motioned for me to take a seat. The lawyer had large hands that he used to emphasize points in conversation. He laid his glasses on his desk and pointed at the papers in my hand.

"Did you get your fax?"

"Yes sir."

"Is it from Savannah?"

"Yes sir," I answered in surprise.

Mr. Callahan nodded. "Joe Carpenter called me about you the other day. We were in law school together. He's a tight-lipped blue blood from the coast, and I'm the wild-eyed son of the red clay hills, but we've always gotten along fine. I've seen him at bar association meetings over the years. Did he offer you a summer job?"

I held up the papers. "Yes sir, I think so, but I haven't read the terms."

"Well, an offer is like bait on a hook. It doesn't count for anything unless a fish bites it. Look it over while I finish reviewing this medical report."

Mr. Callahan put on his glasses and resumed reading. I looked down at the three sheets of paper in my hand. Even the fax cover sheet had a classy look. I turned to the next page, titled "Summer Clerk-Offer Memorandum." My eyes opened wide at the amount of money I would be paid. The weekly salary would be greater than what I would make in two grueling weeks, including overtime, at the chicken plant.

The impact of a legal education on my economic future struck me like never before. If the law firm paid this much to a summer clerk, the compensation for first-year associates would be even more. I quickly calculated a likely annual salary in my head.

The rest of the memo was related to dates of employment, a prohibition against working anywhere else while employed by Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter, an agreement that all my work product would belong to the firm as well as receipts from billings, and a confidentiality clause as to both terms of the offer and any proprietary information obtained during my employment. I wondered what in the world I might learn that would be valuable enough to sell. When I glanced up, Mr. Callahan was peering over his glasses at me.

"How does it look?" he asked.

I started to hand the fax to him, then stopped.

"I'd like your opinion, but I can't show it to you," I said. "It has a confidentiality clause."

The older lawyer laughed. "Consider me your personal attorney for a few minutes. A confidentiality clause doesn't prohibit consultation with a lawyer. I'll review it pro bono."

I sheepishly handed the offer sheet to him. He read it in a few seconds.

"The price of raw legal talent is going up," he said. "That beats hugging dead chickens, doesn't it?"

"Yes sir."

"And they're going to toss in a name change for free."

I didn't answer.

"Oh, don't worry about it," the lawyer said with a chuckle. "Everybody knows your mother as Lu; no one calls her Luella."

"Except my grandmother and Aunt Jane." I paused. "Mama and Daddy think the different spelling of my name was a mistake by the law firm."

"Do you want to confess your sins to me?"

I remembered my comment about telling Mr. Callahan to repent.

"I can use it for the summer, then go back to the correct spelling."

"Don't worry about it. T-a-m-i has a nice look to it. I've never been fond of Oscar but couldn't come up with an alternative."

"You'll always be Mr. Callahan to me."

The lawyer laughed. "I'm sure I will."

"What else do you know about the firm?" I asked.

Mr. Callahan handed the fax back to me. "As you can see from the letterhead, the Braddock firm has been around for a hundred years. Samuel Braddock is a descendant of the founder. I don't know Nelson Appleby and told you about Joe Carpenter. How many lawyers are there? Sixteen or seventeen?"

I glanced down at the letterhead and counted. "Fifteen."

"I did a little research for you," Mr. Callahan said. "According to the firm website, less than half are partners. The rest are associates hoping they get invited to join. The firm's representative clients include a couple of shipping companies, several banks, blue-chip corporations, large foundations-the cream of the crop." Mr. Callahan smiled. "I doubt any of their lawyers would be interested in representing a man who rips the rotator cuff in his right shoulder while unloading a trailer in one-hundred-degree heat."

My face fell. "Do you think it would be a bad place to work?"

The lawyer held up his hand. "No, no. Don't let my bias on behalf of working folks taint you. I shouldn't have said that. There are many honorable places to land in the law. One of the best pieces of advice I ever received was to dabble in a number of areas, find what brings the most personal satisfaction, and become an expert in it."

Listening to Mr. Callahan's practical wisdom made me wish he would offer me a summer job. Even if he paid me chicken-plant wages it would be plenty of money for me, especially since I could live at home.

"It's a long way from Powell Station," I said, hoping my wistful comment might lead the conversation in that direction.

"You've gone a long way from here already. And I bet you've taken the best your family has to offer along with you. If you take the job in Savannah, folks are going to meet the kind of person who made this country great in the first place."

"What do you mean?"

Mr. Callahan looked past my right shoulder. He stared so long that I turned and followed his gaze to an old photograph of his grandfather on the wall. Preacher Callahan didn't look like he knew how to smile.

"You know exactly what I mean," the lawyer continued, his eyes returning to mine. "You're different, and it won't take long for anyone to find it out. Most people focus on the externals: the way you dress, the fact that you don't go to movies, the obedience to parents, the way you honor the Lord's Day by not doing anything on Sunday except go to church meetings. They don't realize that what makes you special is on the inside-your integrity and strength of character. That's rare, especially when joined with your intelligence."

Mr. Callahan's words made me uneasy. It sounded like an invitation to pride. I kept silent.

"Is it all right for me to share my opinion?" he asked.

"Yes sir. That's why I'm here."

The lawyer tapped his fingers on his desk. "Just the answer I expected, and although my ideas don't always line up with your beliefs, hear me out. When I look at you, I appreciate what my grandfather and those like him stood for. The strict ways don't work for everyone, but in your case they do. And I'm open-minded enough to acknowledge the good done by God's grace when I see it."

"Yes sir."

"So, what are you going to do about the job?" the lawyer continued.

"Could I work for you?" I blurted out.

Mr. Callahan smiled. "That's not the bait in the water. But to be honest, I thought about it after Joe Carpenter called me. I even prayed about it."

My eyes opened wider.

"Does that surprise you?" he asked.

"No sir. I mean, I guess it does a little bit."

"I believe in prayer," the lawyer said. "What does the Bible say? God blesses the children of the righteous to how many generations?"

"A thousand generations."

"Did they teach you that in law school along with the rule against perpetuities?"

"No sir. It's in Deuteronomy."

Mr. Callahan nodded and spoke thoughtfully. "Well, I'm only two generations removed from a very righteous man, and all my life I've felt the stirring of his influence in my soul. When I prayed about offering you a job, the Lord told me to `ask for a continuance.' When does a lawyer request a continuance?"