The courtroom’s overall effect is to leave you feeling exposed, which I assume is the ideal sensation for a locale intended to strip away the layers of lies to reach the Truth. Rich mahogany tones dominate the carpeting, while the walls are strong earthy tones. Above, where a supplicant’s gaze might fall when they pray for succor, bright whites converge upon a false domed center. As we shuttle in, flash bulbs sparkle and erupt. For this moment in our lives, we are superstars. For some of us, it is not the first time. For most of us, I hope, it will not be the last. A series of small chairs await us, all lined up edge to edge, about two and a half feet tall, five rows worth. We sidle in, as they plan to cram two hundred of us into this room that might comfortably hold one hundred and forty. In front of me, the back of a chair is patched with a thick stripe of electrical tape. Further, several of my erstwhile classmates, now colleagues, carry with them the stresses and expectations of their legal careers, as well as several extra pounds. Directly in front of me, two of my fellow almost-lawyers are seated neatly betwixt chairs, due to the substantial girth of others in the line.
As I peruse the pictures now, I see that a largish man, over six feet tall, pushing two-fifty, is positioned between myself and my mother the camerawoman. Thus, random giant, know I have many pictures of you, and that you present a striking figure. Also, my mom hates you, and tells you to lose some weight, fatty.
The judges are introduced, and file in to fill the seven crimson seats on the bench. They are introduced individually, and judges Battaglia and Greene, the bookenders, actually whisper congratulations to us. Chief Judge Bell gives his opening remarks, and throws it over to a speaker, whose inability to keep his place in the text and nervous stuttering nonetheless keep us rapt with silence, if only because we must sit through his words to get to the prize.
When he concludes his remarks, we are directed to stand and introduce ourselves individually to the court. Many of my cohort are rather soft-spoken, and the courtroom lacks optimized operatic acoustics. Their words fall short of even my ears, two rows back. When it comes to me, I falter for a second, gathering my thoughts. Really, these consisted of “Speak loud” and “Your name is K.T, not James Chang.” I fairly yell my name at the bench, then sit back down. I learn Tetris’ name, which I have already forgotten. The trend continues.
Judge Greene gives his speech. From the moment he walked in, I had him pegged as a severe man, with his rigid countenance and the fact that he’s a judge. Yet again, the first impression rule fails me, and my inability to read people remains curiously intact. He discusses that we must better the legal community, and implicit, we must better society. Judge Greene relays to us his top five list for getting mentioned in the Daily Record,
Judge: Before I sentence you, have you any words for the court?
Accused: I want a new lawyer.
Judge: Why?
Accused: He doesn’t listen to a word I say.
Judge: Counselor, what do you have to say about that?
Lawyer: I’m sorry, Your Honor, I wasn’t paying attention.
Judge Greene leaves us with sage advice, gleaned from a jar of mayonnaise: “Keep cool, but do not freeze.”
Chief Judge Bell asks for objections to our admission to the bar. No one objects. He tells us he has yet to get any takers. For a fleet moment, I consider raising my hand. Now, to trip myself up like, to demean myself in such a fashion, mere moments before taking the oath, would have been the K.T. thing to do, but perhaps not the most prudent thing to do.
We stand and face to our right, and repeat the oath. "I, [K.T.], do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will at all times demean myself fairly and honorably as an attorney and practitioner at law; that I will bear true allegiance to the State of Maryland, and support the laws and Constitution thereof, and that I will bear true allegiance to the United States, and that I will support, protect and defend the Constitution, laws and government thereof as the supreme law of the land; any law or ordinance of this or any State to the contrary notwithstanding."
For those of you that have fallen behind in your studies on the archaic meanings of words, demean here takes the meaning of “to carry oneself.” In today’s parlance, it means “to insult another.” As the clerk of the court spoke the oath aloud for us to repeat, half of us balked on “demean.” We actually skipped over it, as one might hop over a curse when speaking to a respected individual. The other half just went ahead and said it. I was one of the hoppers.
And that was that. I took the oath. Chief Judge Bell thanked our parents on our behalf for their support. Several of us (lawyers) started laughing. He wondered what the joke was, and thanked them again. We filed out to applause and accolades, and signed the book with the signatures of all new admittees. Number Thirty-three got lost, and so had to cram her name in the tiny gap between Thirty-two and Thirty-four. Of course, she came up right before I got to sign, holding me up just that little bit longer.
Right after, I received the certificate. My mom took a picture of this, and I’ve got the biggest grin on my face. You’ve never seen me so happy in a picture. There are only two pictures where I look so unselfconsciously gleeful, after the age of eight. This is one of them, because at the moment, I thought it was all over. There were a few other packets, and I learn that I have to pay one hundred and thirty dollars a year to the client protection fund. Why? I will probably need to dip into that fund at the rate I’m going. I’m poor, don’t take my money.
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