The Last First Day

One week down, fourteen weeks and three finals left.

Yes, it was the first week of school and yes, I’m already counting down the semester.

My week didn’t go as badly as that comment implies, though. Overall, I found my classes reasonably interesting and my schedule far from onerous. Even the day I spent reading the ominously titled book The Hanged Man was intriguing and pleasant enough.

It was strange to have my last first day of school. During my other last years of school, even in college, I always expected to go back to school at some point. This time I don’t. Unless there is some plan for my life that I’m not aware of, this will be my last year of scholastic endeavors. As I was laying wide awake (unable to sleep) in the early morning before classes started, I considered taking a picture of myself on the deck, wearing my backpack and a big smile as I headed off to school for the last first time. (That idea died when my alarm went off about four hours after I finally fell asleep.)

My panacea for not being able to sleep is usually a story. Often I tell myself a good enough (bad enough?) story to put myself to sleep. Other times I read a book. On Monday, I pulled out Ramona Quimby, Age 8. It was a good choice because one of the first few chapters tells about Ramona’s first day of school – in third grade. It was a nice reminder of what first days were like when I was a kid. And in some ways, my last first day was the same: the mental worst case scenarios didn’t happen; neither did the heroic daydreams. The last first day went by as it usually does, with a little anxiety and self-consciousness, a little amusement, and an overall sort of contented moving onward-ness.

And that held true for the rest of the week. I worked my way through it, all the while trying not to think about how long it felt, trying not to go crazy, and enjoying the new subjects in equal measure.

_________________________

Here’s a run-down of my classes:

Admiralty Law:

• I wasn’t sold on this class after reading the introductory materials (which were waxing somewhat rhapsodic about it), but I think it will be interesting enough. We spent part of the first day watching a video for maritime professionals about several ships running aground. The one involving drunk sailors, a birthday party, and an inexplicable u-turn was a classic example of a the-weirdest-things-only-happen-in-real-life-and-law-school event.
• Admiralty is uniquely universal. It may involve an American ship, a Panamanian captain, a German owner, a Russian first mate, and a South Korean crew (or any other combination of nationalities). This raises the issue of language barriers. Usually they aren’t a problem, but (as was remarked in class) when something goes wrong, everyone panics in their native language.
• My professor gave us a mnemonic device for remembering some maritime jargon: “port” has four letters; so does “left”; so, port = left. “Starboard” has more than four letters; so does “right”; so, starboard = right.
• Maritime jurisdiction can be a little unexpected. For example, a plane that crashed in a Great Lake (after running into a flock of birds) did not fall under maritime law, while a train wreck in the middle of Georgia did (for contractual transoceanic shipping reasons).

Comparative Law:

• This class discusses the differences between legal systems (Asian verses Talmudic verses European, for example), including underlying motivations, prevalence, sources of law, etc. We’ll spend most of our time on non-Western systems, which appeals to the part of me that is a geography nerd.
• As an illustration of cross-cultural differences, my professor showed us a gesture (similar to the American single-handed gesture for “give me some money”) which means different things in different parts of the world. In Egypt it means “be patient”; in Greece it means “that’s so great!”; in Italy it means “what do you mean?”
• My professor claims that this class produces students that drive everyone else in the building nuts. (We start asking questions about things everyone else takes for granted: why things are done a certain way and why they can’t be done differently.)

Copyright

• My first day of reading for this class was a little dreary, but it was not as dreary as I expect Federal Tax Law would have been.
• I anticipate that the class sessions, at least, will be entertaining. Our first class involved several audio and visual aids, as you might expect would be useful for this subject. (My professor mentioned that she should find out who teaches next door and apologize for the noise.)

First Amendment: Free Speech & Press

• I’m a little leery of the offensive material that will be (unavoidably) covered in this class, and I still think modern Constitutional law is somewhat made up, but Con law always generates interesting debates. And it has a tendency toward the sort of policy and big picture arguments I like to think about (as opposed to the minutiae of some other areas of law).
• On the first day we read the text of the First Amendment to the Constitution. Our professor said we might look at it again during the semester, but not because the Supreme Court cites it. The Court apparently skips over the text and jumps straight to the principles.
• The Court is also in love with mingling fire metaphors into its free speech doctrine. This is where “falsely shouting fire in a theatre and causing a panic” comes from, after all. (Schenck v. United States, 249 US 47 (1919).) In our first few cases there was much discussion of conflagrations, matches, and the like.

History of the Common Law:

• This class will likely be a never-ending source of amusement. My professor mentioned to us that barrister’s wigs (the big, curly, grey-hair kind) are expensive. “I’ve looked into this,” he said.
• Apparently, avoiding jury duty has always been a thing. In some instances, judges have just told the sheriffs to just find some people standing around and put them on the jury just so the case could finally go forward.
• Then there’s the memorable story of a defendant who was so outraged at receiving a writ summoning him to court that he made the man who delivered the writ eat it – wax seal and all.
• And, for those who want to sue someone while they are in Williamsburg, you can buy a writ from the colonial printer on DOG Street. I think you can even get it signed and sealed after you fill in the person’s name.
• My favorite line from The Hanged Man: “English courts [as opposed to French] did not allow the use of torture on suspects and this was a great obstacle to obtaining confessions.” (Robert Bartlett, Princeton Univ. Press, Princeton, New Jersey, 132)
• The Danes, though they didn’t impact English very much, did give us one valuable snippet of language. “Law” comes from the Danish word “laga.” As has been pointed out by someone more familiar with classical languages than I am, prior to the Danish addition, the word for law was the Latin word ae (or æ). So without the Danes, lawyers today would just be called “ers”.

Atypicality

Summer break is officially over. Classes start this week and I spent last week slowly getting back into law school mode.

That meant, first of all, buying books. (I ended up with a nine-book-high stack and, happily, spent less than I expected). It also meant reading syllabi and starting on homework.

I have five classes, but I only started reading for one of them: History of the Common Law. The reading was an overview of the subject and it required a lot of Googleing of archaic words and Latin phrases. It also made me feel like I ought to know much more about the English royal line and the British judicial system than I do.

Still, the reading was entertaining. The authors noted, for example, that when the French came into Britain with William the Conqueror, they could not administer English laws in the French-style courts because “for one thing, they [the laws] were unintelligible” (Sketch*, 31). The authors also mentioned the influence of Italian jurisprudence, from which the English appropriated “some great maxims and a few more concrete rules” (Sketch, 42). I admire the English tendency to adopt maxims wherever they’re found.

Also, the reading taught me what an outlaw is, or was between 1066-1216 AD: if a person was told (usually by proclamation) to present himself before a county court, but failed to appear four times in a row, during the fifth court session he would be outlawed. That was not a great position to be in because the sentence for outlawry was death; and under the old law, it was the right and duty of “every true man” to carry out the sentence wherever the outlaw was found. (Sketch, 67-68.)

Meanwhile, the “benefit of the clergy” exempted anyone who could read (or who could fake it by memorizing the correct words) from capital punishment (Sketch, 73). This “benefit” morphed over the years from one used by clergy to one used by laymen, including laymen in Colonial Williamsburg. In the colony, the criminal could claim the benefit once (no reading required), meaning instead of being executed, he’d be branded on the hand. If he was later involved in another crime, he’d lose his life.

I also learned that the last heretic case was in 1612; but it was only much later in the Act of 1677 that the burning of heretics was declared illegal (Sketch, 144). And people could be charged with witchcraft in Britain until 1736 (Sketch, 158).

All of which helps me appreciate modern law a bit more.

Another sign of the approaching school year was filling out my graduation application. On the one hand, it was a very satisfying thing to do (a light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel sort of thing, even though I still have a third of the work left). On the other hand, calling it an “application” makes the graduation decision sound much more tenuous than it is, as though someone is going to look through all the applications and decide which are best and get to graduate, then keep the rest on file for future reference.

Also, there is an $85 fee for graduating, which feels a little harsh. Part of me wishes they’d just hide that fee in with the regular fees and tuition rather than show that three years of tuition was not enough for that little piece of paper, a gown, and a funny hat. But whatever.

The last sign of the approaching school year is an upswing in questions about what I intend to do after graduation. On this subject, I’m either slow or atypical or both. I don’t have a job yet (some of my classmates do), nor do I have a solid idea of what I want to do.

But I’ve never really felt like I fit into the law school mold. And I have time to work that out.

I’m okay with being atypical.

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* All internal references are to Maitland & Montague, A Sketch of English Legal History, G.P. Putnam’s Sons, New York and London 1915.

Summer Part 3

Well, ask and ye shall receive. I wanted a little more adventure for the summer; my friend Jennifer needed to use some vacation time; put those together and viola! One more week of fun before the school year starts.

The best parts of the week – laughing, talking, laying aside the stress of normal life – can’t be easily documented. But, at the risk of sounding like a travelogue, here are some of the highlights of our weeklong venture:

The Governor's Palace

 We spent a very hot day at Colonial Williamsburg. While checking the weather on my phone, I inadvertently stumbled across a good illustration of the difference between the Virginia climate and the Utah climate. As displayed on my weather widget:

Temperature in Salt Lake City = 86, feels like 84.

Temperature in Williamsburg = 96; feels like 105.

And that’s why I don’t plan on living any farther south than I already do.

The newest building in Williamsburg:
the Market House.

Printing the Declaration of Independence
at the colonial printshop.

Happily, it wasn’t too hot to keep us from enjoying the day. We went to the military encampment and were immediately taken up as new recruits, whereupon we were drilled in the proper methods of lining up, marching, and firing rifles. (For future reference, rifles go “BOOM!” They do not go “bang” or “pow.” And they never go “pew! pew! pew!”) We were also shown how to fire a cannon and instructed on how to tighten the snares on a drum. Afterward, our commanding officer told us to report at 7 am the next morning for further training. We were told we wouldn’t get breakfast until our training improved, so we blatantly disobeyed that order and went AWOL.

This cannon goes off periodically throughout
the day as a demonstration for new recruits.

Jennifer putting her new military
skills to use in the guardhouse.

We also went to the cabinet-making shop, where you can find everything from a cradle to a coffin, but mostly chairs and desks and cabinets. The best item is, perhaps, a handmade harpsichord, which you can play if you ask nicely (we did).

Jennifer's harpsichord playing earned
a round of applause.

Another highlight of that day was the brick yard. The colonists dig up the clay and mix in water by stomping through it over and over again. After getting the rocks out, they move it to a second pit and let the visitors join in. Result: many muddy feet and a lot of happy children. (They let adults in too. I was tempted, but I was wearing white pants and thought getting in a pit of clay might not end well. Hopefully I’ll get back there another time when I’m more appropriately attired.)

The professionals are very kind to find
all the rocks before they put the
tourists to work stomping in the
clay pits.

Following the stomping, the bricks are formed in wooden molds, left to dry, and fired (which is done by building a kiln over the stacks of bricks, then burning fires between them for about a week).  The fire changes the bricks’ colors. They start out a light tan. They end up anywhere from a pale red (if they’re far from the heat) to a deep red (the best variety, not too close to the heat, but not too far away) to black (if they’re right by the flames).

The bricks have to dry out for several weeks
before they can be fired. There are thousands
waiting for the fiery furnace.

This is a dry, but as yet unfired brick.

The brickmakers gave us another good east coast climate explanation. We were told that out west, bricks can just be left to dry, then go straight into a building. But here in the humidity, they’ll crumble if they aren’t fired to get all the moisture out. The Williamsburg brick yard is the only fully operating fired brickmaker (if I remember correctly), so they get large orders for their wares from many places.

The magazine houses a very big gun
(over 5 feet long, I think) . . .

. . . and a very small cannon.

After a few more stops and traversing DOG Street several times, we ended the day with some cinder toffee, which is fabulous not only because it’s tasty, but also because it looks wacky.

And this is cinder toffee.
Yes, that is only one piece.

She's smiling a little too much
considering she's in the gaol.

And this is me cheerfully trying to escape.

The fife and drum corps is more colorful
in the summer than in the winter when
they wear their red coats.

General Washington giving the
locals an encouraging speech.

The Colonial Capitol.

Our next adventure was at Mt. Vernon, the erstwhile home of George Washington. The plantation is pleasant, the garden is beautiful, the house is interesting, and the museum is excellent. It is well worth a trip to the northern confines of Virginia.

Mt. Vernon (and scaffolding because they were re-shingling
the roof). The building looks like it's covered in stone, but
it's really wood with a paint and sand covering deliberately
trying to look like stone.

One of the stained glass windows in the museum.

Out in Washington's garden . . .

. . . where there are some
very tall plants.

Washington's innovative 16-sided treading barn.

Doing a little work on the plantation.

Washington's pier out on the Potomac.

After our day at Mt. Vernon, we spent the night with my aunt and uncle, who kindly loaned us some beds to save us some driving time. Even better, my aunt gave us a dulcimer lesson, we had a few rousing games of Sjoelbak (Dutch shuffleboard), and we were fed a delicious Dutch breakfast of “mousies” (or “vruchten hagel”)the next morning. The half of me that is Dutch was in heaven.  And the other half of me was heartily enjoying it.

(I’m happy to brag that my first shot of Sjoelbak went straight in the four-point slot, no doubt thanks to many hours playing in Grandma and Grandpa’s basement.)

Dulcimer lesson.

This is Sjoelbak.

And this is my game face.

After our delicious Dutch breakfast, we headed to Shenandoah National Park, where we spent a good portion of the day in fog. It was beautiful fog, of course. The sun eventually came out and we were able to see the rolling green mountains. The Blue Ridge Mountains aren’t rocky and stark or red and sculpted like mountains in the west; they’re softened lumps tamed by endless trees. But still worth a visit.

Did I mention it was foggy?

Shenandoah also has black bears; and we saw several (one meandering across the way and a few cubs up in a tree – way up; they were high enough to bend the branches they were sitting on). The bears became, in fact, the main attraction for the hikers we passed along the Dark Hollow Falls trail. (I’m sure the hikers appreciated the waterfalls as well.)

There are bears in this picture.
I promise.

The first part of Dark Hollow Falls.

Tree roots made some nice steps along the trail.

Everything is bigger out west . . . except the bugs.

I love rocks.

Dark Hollow Falls

Feeling our Shenandoah hiking was insufficient, we opted to spend another day on some local trails near the shore. We first went to see the Yorktown Monument (which Jennifer had only seen at dusk before; it’s a little easier to appreciate in the daylight). Then we spent a few hours wandering York River State Park and the trails around Taskinas Creek. We ended our shoreline day with a tasty fish dinner at the Bone Fish Grill.

There is a random stand of bamboo
close to the Yorktown Monument.
It makes me happy.

Taskenas Creek, in York River State Park.

We had to hike down to all the "overlooks" on the trail.
It is a weird concept for my brain.

Fossil beach.
(I don't know if there are any fossils,
but there are lots of broken shells,
sticks to throw in the water, and
tree trunks to climb on.)

The donuts from this place
are scrumptious.

Our Sunday was spent at church, riding the ferry from Jamestown to Scotland (no, not that Scotland), and feeding turtles. We intended to feed some birds, but we didn’t think to pull out my stale Honey-Nut Cheerios for the seabirds that were following the ferry; then when we stopped at the lake, the ducks and the geese were no-shows. So the turtles got all the treats instead.

The little bit of Old Jamestown that is
visible from the ferry.

 

Mine?

Our last big adventure was Appomattox Court House. It was a good time to visit, as they have some special items on display due to the Civil War sesquicentennial. My impression coming out of Appomattox is that it is a miracle the nation survived; and the Lord put specific leaders in place so it would. What a forgiving, humble, generous, unconventional way for a civil war to end.

Robert E. Lee's copy of the Surrender Terms.

Jennifer on the back deck
of the courthouse.

Parole passes were printed here for all of
Lee's soldiers so they could go straight home.

A little bit of fall sneaking into
the end of summer.

Historical Appomattox keeps its fire
hydrants in barrels.

A big chunk of cheese in the general store.

 

As for the end of our adventure, I spent our last morning enjoying scones, crossword puzzles, and the company of a good friend.