Savannah Law

by William Eleazer

  “And I would no longer be able to twist that photo,” Deborah said with a mocked frown.

  Winston smiled. “Of course, you would. I’ll personally hang that photo on your office wall when I leave.”

  Then he continued. “At the faculty meeting tomorrow, when I officially announce my retirement, I will also announce the names of those on the Dean Search Committee and discuss the search process. And, Deborah, I want you to give a report on the admission statistics for the incoming class. I’ll have you listed early on the agenda. You don’t have to stay unless you prefer.”

  “Dean, the entertainment value of a faculty meeting is unsurpassed, but Tuesday afternoon I’m going to be busy with drop/add. I won’t be staying. Now, please excuse me. I’m sure my office is full of anxious students already.”

  With that, she put the photo upright and left.

  CHAPTER 9

  Monday evening about seven, Scott called Jennifer. He wanted to know all about her first day. He recalled his first day of law school. He had been well prepared but still anxious and nervous as he entered each classroom. Jennifer assured Scott that all went well.

  “Did you and Nicole find anyone to join your study group?”

  “Yes, we now have a four-person group. I’ll be preparing the outline for Property, and Nicole will take Civil Pro. The two new members will do the outlines for Torts and Contracts.”

  “Sounds good.” Scott paused a moment and added, “Jen, my trial is still set for Wednesday. I doubt if we finish it in one day, but by Friday night it will be behind me. How about we go out and celebrate?”

  “I’m for that... we’ll both be ready to celebrate,” said Jennifer.

  “I’ll pick you up at your place at six. There’s a flag football party on the beach—it’s always a great time. We have the pavilion at Memorial Park at Tybee reserved. Basketball, volleyball and, of course, the beach. Or we can just sit around and relax. There will be food and music. OK with you?”

  “Sure,” Jennifer replied. She paused a moment. Then she said, “Scott, something’s bothering me a little. I started to call you last night. I’m a bit nervous, maybe paranoid.”

  “Not unusual for the first week of law school. In my class, three students quit the first week. But I promise you, it will get better.”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m fine with school. But last night when I drove back to my apartment, there was a tow truck parked right in front. It looked like the same tow truck that I had been in, but I couldn’t be sure. It drove away as I parked.”

  Scott was now sure that Jennifer should have followed his advice and called the police and reported her Friday night abduction. But that was her decision, and he did not mention it.

  “Jennifer, keep your cell phone with you at all times. And don’t get out of your car if you are concerned about your safety. Call 911. Savannah police are very fast.”

  “Yes, but what would I have told them? ‘There’s a tow truck parked in front of my apartment’? They would have laughed all the way back to the station.”

  “No. They may have asked why you were concerned. And maybe you would have told them.” “Maybe. But not likely. Perhaps I’m just a bit paranoid right now. I’ll be all right. See you at six, Friday.” And she hung up.

  CHAPTER 10

  Tuesday, August 22

  It was Tuesday afternoon and Crawford Classroom was filling slowly. The faculty meeting was scheduled for four o’clock, just a few minutes away. Those already seated were mostly the younger professors, and for some, this was their first faculty meeting.

  At precisely four, Dean Adams entered, looked around, and made his usual announcement: “We were scheduled to begin at four, but something must have held up our faculty, so we’ll have to wait until we have a quorum.” It was the routine and rarely varied. Then he would walk over to one of the faculty members and start a conversation—about anything, as long as it was noncontroversial and could be ended quickly. He kept an eye on the professors as they entered and could usually tell when a quorum was present. When that number was reached, he would call the meeting to order.

  When he was younger, serving in his first deanship at a Midwestern law school, he made a determined effort to start faculty meetings precisely at the scheduled time. It made no difference. No matter how much he cajoled, pleaded, or threatened, the faculty filed into the meeting room no faster. After several attempts at starting on time but still having no quorum, he wondered why he should even try. What earthly difference did it make? Faculty meetings were acknowledged by all who attended as useless in the extreme. Little, if anything, worthwhile was ever accomplished. Why not just discontinue the whole practice of having regular faculty meetings? If something really important were to surface, he could call a special meeting. So, on the date that the agenda was usually distributed, he announced that the faculty meeting had been canceled. And the next time, the same announcement. After three canceled meetings, the rumblings began. And after the fourth, he received a petition, signed by two-thirds of the faculty, demanding an accounting for his action and a resumption of the faculty meetings. The only accounting he provided was a quiet chuckle to himself. But he did, once again, schedule the faculty meetings to the satisfaction of most but not all of the faculty. Some of the older professors, who rarely attended, had not even noticed that they had been discontinued. The new faculty meetings, like the old, never started at the scheduled time, but Winston learned to live with the time-challenged professors.

  Winston recognized that faculty meetings at Savannah College of Law were no different than at any other law school. The meetings were simultaneously worthless and indispensable. They may not accomplish much, but they provided a sense of community by having the professors in the same room at the same time. And they provided camaraderie. The second year into his deanship at Savannah College of Law, Winston started a tradition. Immediately after each meeting, he invited all to the faculty dining room for cheese and crackers with wine—furnished from the “Dean’s Supplemental Entertainment Account.” What the faculty did not know was that the account was subsidized entirely from his own personal funds. Even after a disagreeable and raucous faculty meeting, the mood was one of congeniality when the wine flowed. Winston considered it money well spent.

  Professor Velma VanLandingham settled into her usual seat at her usual time, about ten minutes after the hour. That meant a quorum was surely present, or nearly so. Winston requested that Professor Charles Rose, who had been elected faculty secretary at the last meeting of the spring semester, check numbers for a quorum. He quickly gave Winston a thumbs up, and Winston called the meeting to order.

  “I wish to welcome all of you back and give a special welcome to our newest faculty members.” He then introduced the four new members of the faculty. “Belinda Chapman, who comes to us from the Foley and Lardner law firm in Washington, will be teaching Wills and Administration of Estates. Bernadine Garcia, who just finished a two-year clerkship with the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals in New Orleans, will be teaching Research and Writing. Robert Paver, who was with Allan, Schwartz and Powell in Atlanta for three years and who served as general counsel for Irving Electronics for five years, will be teaching Administrative Law. Pamela Bell, who has been at Emory for the past three years teaching Civil Procedure, will be teaching the same course here.” Winston asked the new members to stand, and as they did, the assembled faculty burst into a hearty applause. The first faculty meeting of the new semester had begun.

  “The minutes of our last faculty meeting were included with the agenda. Each of you should have received a copy. Do we have any corrections or amendments to those minutes?” Winston asked.

  Professor VanLandingham stood to be recognized. She was tall and broad and had a strong voice to go with her strong body. “I was in attendance at that meeting. I recall that quite clearly, and I am sure I can find others to attest to my attendance. It was held in the Telfair Classroom. I recall that because this classroom, our usual meeting r
oom, was being used for a final exam. As a matter of personal privilege, I would like my attendance to be noted in the minutes. I move to amend the minutes as distributed to reflect my attendance.”

  “Velma,” responded the Dean, “your name is included in the minutes. The names are in alphabetical order.”

  “Not my name, Dean Adams; my name is spelled with a capital ‘L’ after ‘Van.’”

  Everyone in the room, even those working on their daily Sudoku puzzles, looked at the minutes of the last meeting and the names listed as being in attendance. There it was, “Velma Vanlandingham”; the capital “L” was missing.

  Belinda Chapman, who was attending her first faculty meeting and had just been introduced, whispered to the professor sitting on her right, “Is this for real, or is this a joke?”

  Belinda had turned to Brian Latimer, a tenure-track associate professor who had been at Savannah Law three years. He whispered back, “For real, for sure. Velma is very protective of that last name. This occurred last year at our first faculty meeting. I believe Professor Rose did it on purpose this year, just to tick her off. Velma has few social graces—correction, no social graces—but she is one hell of a good contracts professor.”

  After a brief pause, Winston turned to the secretary and said, “Charles, you will correct that spelling, won’t you?” Charles smiled and just nodded in agreement. Velma was appeased and sat down.

  Winston then called on Deborah Channing to give the report on the fall semester entering class. She did so, giving the faculty most of the data she had given Winston the previous day. She then briefed the faculty on the tentative numbers for the spring entering class that would be arriving in January. The outlook for the spring semester looked good, according to Deborah. “Any questions?” she asked.

  Professor Sarah Taff-Rothchild stood. She wanted to know how many, if any, students in the entering class were from her alma mater, Smith College. Deborah said she did not know if any were from Smith but that she did not recall any.

  “I am not surprised. I have heard of no special recruiting trips to Smith despite my request last fall. The admission of Smith students to our student body would be a sign of visible progress.”

  “I agree,” said Deborah. “Smith is a wonderful school of superb academic standing. The problem is the distance. Its location in Massachusetts is outside our regular recruiting area. The Admissions Committee directed that the office concentrate on colleges within 750 miles of Savannah. As it was, Kathy and her recruiting assistant could visit only a fraction of the schools in that area. And, of course, Kathy’s travel was curtailed somewhat by her pregnancy. I do recall she sent an e-mail to all professors asking if any could assist her by making a recruiting visit to his or her alma mater, regardless of the location. The school would pay travel and hotel expenses. She told me she received only a few responses. Did you perhaps respond?”

  “Of course not. Her job is recruiting. My job is to teach those she recruits. All I asked then is what I ask now: make a special effort to recruit at Smith.”

  Martin Swazey, one of the older tenured professors, who was hired the year after the school opened, raised his hand, and Winston gave him the floor. “I got that e-mail, and I volunteered to recruit at Georgetown. It’s 578 miles. I know. I drove it. I recommend it to anyone—volunteering to recruit at your alma mater. Also gave me a chance to spend some time with my good friend Senator Dick Durbin. He and I were classmates at Georgetown, so we go back a long way. I told him I thought he should make a run for president in the next election. We need someone with his vision in the White House. Dick asked me to join him for lunch with Nancy—Nancy Pelosi—but I had to get back to Georgetown for some student interviews.”

  This was typical Swazey. The new faculty members were getting a good taste of professorial ego. Swazey could not go more than two faculty meetings without reminding the faculty of his good friend and former college classmate, Dick Durbin, and if not Senator Durbin, some other prominent “personal friend.” And usually he would throw in some “special work” he had performed for the school, such as driving 578 miles to assist with recruiting. He did not mention that his daughter and two grandchildren lived in nearby Alexandria, and that was his main purpose for visiting Georgetown. This was, however, the first time he had mentioned Nancy Pelosi— and on a first-name basis, no less.

  Professor Geraldine Polanski, who taught domestic relations, had her hand raised to speak when Winston broke in to get the meeting back on track. “Methods of recruiting are important, but let’s leave that to our Admissions Committee, or ask to have it placed on the agenda for a future faculty meeting. Are there any specific questions for Deborah concerning her report?”

  There were none. Committee reports were next. The reports took less than ten minutes. Some in the back row continued reading the mail they had received in their faculty mail boxes that afternoon. Some continued working their crossword puzzles. And some pretended to actually have an interest in the proceedings. No “old business” was on the agenda, and the only “new business” was committee assignments. That went quickly. Winston asked for one or two additional volunteers to serve on the Admissions Committee because of the maternity leave of Kathy DeBarr. Two hands went up, both from junior professors not yet tenured.

  “Thanks,” said Winston. He then made the announcement that had been anticipated by all. “I will be retiring at the end of the spring semester. I don’t think that has been any secret, but it’s now official. My letter was submitted to the Board of Trustees at their last meeting.”

  The entire faculty, including those on the back row, stood and rendered a loud and sustained applause. It was obvious their applause was not from hearing that Winston was leaving but from a deep and heartfelt appreciation for his deanship. Those who had been members of faculties at other law schools knew that he was one of the best, and the others sensed it.

  Once the applause subsided, he continued. “Harry Ramsey, the board chairman, has appointed a dean search committee to be headed by Ben Sterner, vice chairman of the board. Wilbert Tebeau, another board member, will also serve. From the faculty, Vice Dean Bechtel and Professor Marjory Hoffman have been appointed. Both have informed me that they are not candidates for the position. The president of the Student Bar Association will also be a member, as well as Jacqueline Hinesley, president of our alumni association. I have been appointed a non-voting, ex officio member of the committee. Our registrar, Deborah Channing, will serve as secretary to the committee.

  “The board has indicated they would like the committee to complete its search and send three names to the board by the end of January. The board will, of course, make the final selection. This will be a national search, so it’s a tall order for such a short time frame. Ads announcing the vacancy have been placed in the next issues of the Journal of Legal Education and the ABA Journal. The ads will also appear in several major newspapers next Sunday. And, of course, all accredited law schools are being notified. Should any of you wish to apply, please contact Deborah for the details of submitting your application. Do you have any questions about the search or the search committee?”

  Denis Nolan raised his hand. “I note you have six members on the search committee. For voting purposes, an odd number would be best. And since you have two faculty members and two board members, it would be appropriate to have two members from the student body. I wish to make a motion that another student be appointed to the committee and that he or she come from the first year class. The new dean will affect that class more than any of the others.”

  “Denis, the board chairperson is tasked with the composition of the Dean Search Committee. I have no authority to change the composition.”

  “Dean, I would hope you would at least ask. I am sure there are several first-year students willing—perhaps anxious—to serve. I have met several whom I could recommend. Would you mind inquiring if he would accept another student on the search committee?”

  “I would like to hear
from others on the faculty. Any comments on Professor Nolan’s suggestion?” asked Winston.

  The back row did not even look up. However, Chad Kittler, a young, fully-bearded assistant professor dressed in his usual Levi’s and black Izod polo shirt, spoke up. “Why not?” he said. “More students would make it more democratic. They have substantial money and time invested in this school. The process would make the dean—whoever he might be—more acceptable.”

  Velma VanLandingham was listening and without raising her hand or requesting the floor, roared, “Did you say whoever he may be? He may be! You are assuming that the new dean will be a he? This underscores the insidious and pervasive discrimination that the female members of this faculty—and all faculties in all law schools— continue to face. I want to second the motion of Professor Nolan, if that was indeed a motion, and I wish to amend his motion to make sure that any student so appointed is a female student. I think we all know that the other student, the Student Bar Association president, is male! This makes me fighting mad!”

  Even those on the back row, previously engrossed in their games, suddenly became awake and were focusing on Velma, who was now standing, brow wrinkled and eyes threatening. Winston saw that this was not heading in any direction he wanted to go. He quickly decided to head off any confrontation that may be developing, although he could not imagine anyone on the faculty confronting Velma on this subject. It was one of her favorites—the male domination of law school administration. And certainly no one was going to confront her when she announced that she was “fighting mad,” which she frequently did.

  “Velma, I am sure Professor Kittler meant only whoever the new dean may be and had no intention to infer it would be or should be a male.” Winston looked at Professor Kittler, extending his hand in a gesture inviting Kittler to speak.