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captainsblogI spent a decent chunk of my day today dealing with the serious topic of my own disbarment.
Don't panic. It turned out to be a limited, and ultimately empty, threat against only a small chunk of my livelihood.
I should explain Bars, to begin with. Capital "B" Bars, since I presume most of you know your way around the other kind. In this lovely country of ours, each of the 50 states and D.C. has its own process for Bar admission and practice. I can't just waltz into Pennsylvania or New Jersey and advise or appear on anything, even if our law is identical, even if New York law applies. It's a protection racket of the highest order, particularly in snowbird states where the locals NEVER waive admission requirements for permanent relocation and make even old codgers like me take a full bar exam again before deigning to consider our applications. (Not that this stops most of them from charging higher admission fees to "experienced" practitioners.)
Layered above THAT mess is the federal court system in which, these days, I spend more than half my time. Each level and location of federal court has its own procedure for admission. While they generally accept anyone from the Bar of the state in which they sit, they, too, have ginormous paperwork requirements and, often, require local Bar members to "sponsor" the n00b in a formal ceremony. Since my New York state admission, I have had to apply to six different federal courts sitting in the State of New York, all but a couple of them requiring a personal appearance and/or the kindness of a sponsor who probably didn't even remember me (for the Long Island federal court, my parents' aging old lawyer did it).
For the most part, these federal admissions are "one-and-done." You note your admission date, keep a record of it in case you ever apply anywhere else so you can order a good-standing certificate, and you go about your business. One court, though, decided to turn its Bar rolls into a cash cow, and sometime earlier this century it imposed a biennial registration fee of Thirty Freaking Dollars on members. Members who, in cases like mine who lived outside the location and never actually practiced in the court itself (100% of my practice has been in the bankruptcy court that is technically part of it but practically separate in almost all respects), never knew about the fee, about which nobody cared until earlier this week....
When the bankruptcy court clerk of that district spammed his entire email list, warning that the higher court was going to disbar all of its scofflaws at the end of next week if they didn't cough up the thirty bucks for the 2007-08 period.
It gets better. One could not merely send a check. No, one had to pay through one's electronic filing account with that distinct court. Which I did and do not have. I do for three different bankruptcy courts, a district court, and a nationwide looky-loo-only account, so I attempted to open one,.... and was told I was too old.
I needed a "Bar number." When I was admitted (all but a couple of you were at least ALIVE back then, so shup), they didn't assign them. The site said it would take two days to assign me one- and that was before the onslaught of bankruptcy miscreants stunned into compliance by the email (the disbarment would ban us from that district's bankruptcy practice, as well). So when nothing came after the two days, I figured it was time to start my Squeaky Wheel routine and call.
Their phone system was designed by the Bureau of Prisons. Lengthy recorded messages, warning all over again of the Dire Consequences of noncompliance but leaving no clues about how to comply. I left a few messages and then, finally, got the Woman Behind the Curtain at 3 this afternoon.
And learned that the bankruptcy email had been a bit exaggerated, and that the higher court was only purging scofflaws who actually HAD Bar numbers, and therefore notice of the obligation to pay, as of the beginning of 2007. I'm good to go until May, when I will get an email demanding my money for 2009-10.
A paragon of customer service, this is not.
----
On the brighter side (or at least the warmer one), the temperatures here have actually climbed to within, and occasionally even above, a few degrees of freezing, although this is not expected to last past today. I took the opportunity to toss some Icemelt on our perpetually ice-rinky driveway (all the more important with the hobbled spouse, who's doing better but who can't risk an accident out there just now), and for the first time in weeks, I was able to see something green on the edge of the drive:
Emily's car. Or rather, what was intended to BE Emily's car back when we thought she'd beeline to the DMV on her 16th birthday and be driving it by now. Not only has that not happened, the car itself needs probably more than a grand in repairs to get through inspection, and so it has just decorated the driveway since the end of October, most of the past two months in the form of a very oblong snowman.
I figured there'd wouldn't be a better chance than today, so I shoveled off the hood and windshield, cleared a path to the drivers side door, and turned the key on an electrical system that hadn't heard a peep of human interest since, maybe, early December,....
And it started right up, running like a top for a good 15 minutes (in hopes of the alternator doing some old-timey alternating) until Em got home from school. It was running so quietly, I don't think she even noticed it was going when she walked by it.
Forget bailing out the Big Three. I'd rather see a mental stimulus package for the goddam courts.
Don't panic. It turned out to be a limited, and ultimately empty, threat against only a small chunk of my livelihood.
I should explain Bars, to begin with. Capital "B" Bars, since I presume most of you know your way around the other kind. In this lovely country of ours, each of the 50 states and D.C. has its own process for Bar admission and practice. I can't just waltz into Pennsylvania or New Jersey and advise or appear on anything, even if our law is identical, even if New York law applies. It's a protection racket of the highest order, particularly in snowbird states where the locals NEVER waive admission requirements for permanent relocation and make even old codgers like me take a full bar exam again before deigning to consider our applications. (Not that this stops most of them from charging higher admission fees to "experienced" practitioners.)
Layered above THAT mess is the federal court system in which, these days, I spend more than half my time. Each level and location of federal court has its own procedure for admission. While they generally accept anyone from the Bar of the state in which they sit, they, too, have ginormous paperwork requirements and, often, require local Bar members to "sponsor" the n00b in a formal ceremony. Since my New York state admission, I have had to apply to six different federal courts sitting in the State of New York, all but a couple of them requiring a personal appearance and/or the kindness of a sponsor who probably didn't even remember me (for the Long Island federal court, my parents' aging old lawyer did it).
For the most part, these federal admissions are "one-and-done." You note your admission date, keep a record of it in case you ever apply anywhere else so you can order a good-standing certificate, and you go about your business. One court, though, decided to turn its Bar rolls into a cash cow, and sometime earlier this century it imposed a biennial registration fee of Thirty Freaking Dollars on members. Members who, in cases like mine who lived outside the location and never actually practiced in the court itself (100% of my practice has been in the bankruptcy court that is technically part of it but practically separate in almost all respects), never knew about the fee, about which nobody cared until earlier this week....
When the bankruptcy court clerk of that district spammed his entire email list, warning that the higher court was going to disbar all of its scofflaws at the end of next week if they didn't cough up the thirty bucks for the 2007-08 period.
It gets better. One could not merely send a check. No, one had to pay through one's electronic filing account with that distinct court. Which I did and do not have. I do for three different bankruptcy courts, a district court, and a nationwide looky-loo-only account, so I attempted to open one,.... and was told I was too old.
I needed a "Bar number." When I was admitted (all but a couple of you were at least ALIVE back then, so shup), they didn't assign them. The site said it would take two days to assign me one- and that was before the onslaught of bankruptcy miscreants stunned into compliance by the email (the disbarment would ban us from that district's bankruptcy practice, as well). So when nothing came after the two days, I figured it was time to start my Squeaky Wheel routine and call.
Their phone system was designed by the Bureau of Prisons. Lengthy recorded messages, warning all over again of the Dire Consequences of noncompliance but leaving no clues about how to comply. I left a few messages and then, finally, got the Woman Behind the Curtain at 3 this afternoon.
And learned that the bankruptcy email had been a bit exaggerated, and that the higher court was only purging scofflaws who actually HAD Bar numbers, and therefore notice of the obligation to pay, as of the beginning of 2007. I'm good to go until May, when I will get an email demanding my money for 2009-10.
A paragon of customer service, this is not.
----
On the brighter side (or at least the warmer one), the temperatures here have actually climbed to within, and occasionally even above, a few degrees of freezing, although this is not expected to last past today. I took the opportunity to toss some Icemelt on our perpetually ice-rinky driveway (all the more important with the hobbled spouse, who's doing better but who can't risk an accident out there just now), and for the first time in weeks, I was able to see something green on the edge of the drive:
Emily's car. Or rather, what was intended to BE Emily's car back when we thought she'd beeline to the DMV on her 16th birthday and be driving it by now. Not only has that not happened, the car itself needs probably more than a grand in repairs to get through inspection, and so it has just decorated the driveway since the end of October, most of the past two months in the form of a very oblong snowman.
I figured there'd wouldn't be a better chance than today, so I shoveled off the hood and windshield, cleared a path to the drivers side door, and turned the key on an electrical system that hadn't heard a peep of human interest since, maybe, early December,....
And it started right up, running like a top for a good 15 minutes (in hopes of the alternator doing some old-timey alternating) until Em got home from school. It was running so quietly, I don't think she even noticed it was going when she walked by it.
Forget bailing out the Big Three. I'd rather see a mental stimulus package for the goddam courts.