First Years

I really felt I would do well in law school. I was interested in the subject and was more mature than I had been in undergraduate pursuits. It didn’t quite work out that way. First year subjects are not only difficult, they are boring: Constitutional Law, Contracts, Legislation, et cetera. Instead of bearing down more than in my earlier years, my experience just gave me more knowledge of how to goof off.

A further problem arose when I was required to attend National Guard drill in Wahoo every Tuesday night. After a few beers at Shannahan’s following the drill, the hour was late by the time I got back to Lincoln. My Wednesday Con Law class suffered when I slept in and by the end of the semester I had missed about a third of the sessions.

I did not find favor in another class, either. On St. Patrick’s Day our Legislation instructor asked me why a man named McCormick was not wearing green. My response did not meet with a smile. “I’m Irish enough I don’t have to wear green to show it, Mr. Cohen.” I emphasized the name Cohen so that he knew I was aware he was Jewish (not the Irish Cohan).

The only real success I had in law school was in moot court. We were assigned partners and given a case to try in civil court on torts or something simple like that. Upperclassmen acted as judges.

I don’t remember the issues in the case now. What I remember is that our opposition gave us our case on a silver platter with something they said in their arguments. My experience in journalism and public speaking made it easy for me to pick up on this and exploit it extemporaneously when our turn to argue came up.

The judges apparently thought this was good thing and awarded us the case mostly on the basis of our noticing the error of our opponents.

As the second semester wore on I became less and less interested in studying.

We had all afternoon to study, all the classes were in the morning. More often that not some of us would stay in the classroom and start a bridge game. That lasted several hours and our study time was greatly diminished.

Also about that time Jim Cornwell had called me to offer a deal at the Stanton Register. He and his wife, Bette, had purchased a community newspaper in a suburb of Salt Lake City and they wanted me to take over the Register.

It sounded like a sweet deal. I would not have to put any money down. I would be paid a salary and receive 25 per cent of the net profits. If I so desired, I could plow back my percentage into the paper and, at the end of five years, have the option of buying it all.