Please Don't Let Jesus Into Law School

Dear Boo and Bubble,

My last blog about Great Granddaddy Schaefer had me thinking about all the lawyers in your lineage – your dad, Captain and Schaefer.  Combined, that adds up to about 90 years of “lawyering,” which calculates to some 180,000 hours of “billable time” – the stock and trade of any lawyer worth his or her salt. 

There is a mystique about the profession – that somehow when a lawyer says something, the words contain more gravity than those of common folk.  In fact, over the years, lawyers have elevated the constitution of words to a form of art for which clients seem to willingly pay a dear price.

In one of his editorials for The Greenville News, Granddaddy Schaefer confessed to this practice and I thought I would share it with you.

Lawyers Never See Phrases They Can’t Puff Up

Sunday, September 5, 1993

The bottom rung on lawyers’ ladder of affection for acronyms is KISS – Keep It Simple Stupid.  The top rung is MILC (pronounced MILK) – Make It Long and Complicated.

When you die you want to leave everything you own to your wife.  When the yeast of a lawyer’s lingo completes its work, the simple statement, “I leave everything I own to my wife” is puffed up to this:  “I give, devise and bequeath all of my estate, real, personal and mixed, of whatsoever nature and kind, and wheresoever situate, of which I may die seized and possessed, unto my beloved wife, to be hers absolutely in fee simple.”

The lawyer doesn’t trust the word “leave” so it becomes, “…give devise and bequeath.”  He doesn’t trust, “everything I own,” so it becomes, “…all of my estate, real, personal and mixed, of whatsoever nature and kind, and wheresoever situate, of which I may die seized and possessed.”  And, “…to be hers absolutely in fee simple” is a fee enhancer since it will require a professional explanation of “fee simple.”

Lawyers, it seems, are incapable of finding a contract in their form books that does not contain the phrase, “including but not limited to.”  Their fascination for this phrase is an abiding mystery.

All contracts, of course, are fee bearing trees, and the thing that shakes out the fruit is the pendulum on the lawyer’s time keeping clock.  The more ticks, the more fruit.  This generates a parade of redundancies and the drum major of this cavalcade of words is “whereas.”  Then comes (including but not limited to) “Notwithstanding,” “aforesaid,” “hereinafter,” “hereinabove,” “by and between,” “in hand paid,” “hereby,” “hereto,” “subject to,” “hereof,” “wherein” – this colorful parade of banalities goes on and on, as does the clock and its fee generating ticks.

It is a beneficent Jehovah who led King David to shun law school.  Had he been successful in passing the LSAT, made Phi Beta Kappa and the Law Review, that magnificent 121^st Psalm, in its opening proclamation, “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.  My help cometh from The Lord, which made heaven and earth,” would have been buried under an avalanche of legalese, and would have come out something like this:

“I will lift up and elevate my gaze, my view, my optic perception unto (including but not limited to) the hills, ridges, knolls, mountains, and all other earthly convolutions that make up the topography, from whence cometh (including but not limited to) A) my help, B) my sustenance, C) my food, D) my clothing, E) my raiment, and all other material that covers my body to keep it warm and protect it from the elements.  My help does not come from those things enumerated hereinabove from A) through E), both inclusive.  No, my help does not come from one or any combination of these things so enumerated, but my help comes from Yahweh, a/k/a Jehovah, a/k/a God.”

Each day I thank the kind Heavenly Father that Jesus was not a lawyer.  I hate to think how the Lord’s Prayer would have fared, and how many volumes the Sermon on the Mount would have filled had he been a member of the Jerusalem Bar.

We lawyers don’t KISS, we MILC.

We Made It!

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Captain and I went to a lawyer a couple of months ago to update all of our important documents – Wills, healthcare Powers of Attorney, End of Life Healthcare Directives – all sorts of fun stuff that, after a good sum of money later, produces a book about five inches thick that covers everything from a hangnail and brain tumor to silver flatware and bed linens.  It’s an essential exercise, but one that’s difficult to execute because of the concentration it takes on the inevitability of dying.

It’s also very hard to talk about with your children.  In fact, your mom can’t do it without getting so emotional that she cries.  Because of that, we try to avoid the conversation with her as much as possible.

Great Granddaddy Schaefer found this to be a real problem in his practice of law.  People hired him to prepare their Last Wills and Testaments and, after spending his valuable time making sure all of their “wills and testaments” were indeed the “last” and reflected their desires, he set up a meeting to go over everything. 

In his explanation of the documents, he would say “Now, if you die tomorrow, this is what in reality and practicality will happen according to your Will.”

As he proceeded through his discourse, he noticed that his clients became distant and some even agitated.  At the end of the appointment, some very politely excused themselves after the meeting and told him they would get back to him – never to be seen again.

Granddaddy pondered this phenomenon and decided he needed to take a different approach.  The next time he sat with clients to go over their Wills he used a new phraseology.

“Now, if you HAD DIED yesterday, this is what in reality and practicality would have happened according to your Will.”

He realized that his clients were so relieved they had made it through yesterday and were still alive, they could relax and focus on the un-enjoyable task at hand.

So, boys, if ever you see your mom upset and you think it might have something to do with her concern over Meemaw and Captain’s end of life, just look her in the eye and say –

“Don’t worry, mom, they made it!”

Cottrell, Needleman and Me

Dear Boo and Bubble,

I was in the doctor’s office a while back and randomly picked up a magazine to read as one is wont to do when whiling time away.  The title of the magazine was The Sun*, one of which I had never heard, but it’s cover intrigued me.  I thumbed through the table of contents and paused on the letters to the Editor, both extolling and excoriating the virtues of prior articles in prior editions.  The first article in the current magazine had a captivating title – Beyond Belief – Jacob Needleman on God Without Religion. 

As I started reading it, the nurse called my name to come back to the examining room.  I held onto the magazine and asked the receptionist if I might not be able to take it with me.  She politely acquiesced..….after all, it had been sitting there since December of 2011. 

That night, as I headed up to bed, I took the magazine with me and continued to read.  A paragraph jumped out at me – completely caught my fancy – because, quite frankly, over the course of my life I have wrestled with a satisfactory definition for God, one that fit my life’s journey.  Needleman’s words went like this -

“It is only in and through people, inwardly developed men and women, that God can exist and act in the world of man on earth.  Bluntly speaking, the proof for the existence of God is the existence of people who are inhabited by and who manifest God…God needs not just man, but awakened man, in order to act as God in the human world.  Without this conscious energy on the earth it may not be possible for divine justice, mercy, or compassion to enter the lives of human beings.”

Wow……what a concept.  That God exists through people and their relationships with one another.

Then, just yesterday, Captain was reading to me from your great, great, great, great grandfather J.B. Cottrell’s writings from the 1870’s.  I was struck immediately with the similarity of thought.

What Miss Bevington asks in reference to the conservative influence of the motive arising out of human relations  as compared with any reference to a Divine Authority, is easily answered.  First that which is natural-afterwards that which is spiritual and the former in order to the latter. The natural is, potentially, the spiritual.  Human  relations are the wires along which the electric, spiritual life, passes. The terms denoting them are burdened with spiritual import, and loves awakened by t hem- are interpretive of that highest love which, to all human loves is as white light is in comparison of the many colored lights that vary the view of the earth.

And, again in another article -

“It is only as we contemplate our relationships and the principles conceiving them from this high standpoint of revealed truth that we may apprehend and realize them to be as vital as life itself.  Our relations are the electric lines along which the lightening of heaven is at play, and to study their sacredness and to come fully into all their measures of obligation is to become incorporate with God.

Our relationships are the channels through which flow from out the divine reservoir, the waters of life.  The possibilities of dignity and honor and glory in man are to be reckoned according to the royal likeness in which he was created.”

Twice he referenced to relationships as the electric wires along which the spirit of God transmits and once that they are channels of flow for the waters of life.

Years ago, I wrote a book entitled The Beacon which was a tale about life in a small Bahamian community called Williamstown on the island of Little Exuma.  As things unfolded, it became apparent to me that the exercise of  writing wasn’t just to tell a story, it was in fact an effort to codify my concept of God as I knew it to be.

At a critical juncture, there is a conversation between the main character Gabriel, a minister, and his nephew Manuel who has recently lost his father in a car accident.   It expresses the core of my beliefs and goes like this:

“And wait for this GRACE you keep preaching about.”  The bitter edge to Manuel’s voice returned as he almost spit the word.  “I just don’t get you Gabriel, how you’ve just swallowed this stuff like some kind of pill that anesthetizes you, so no matter how much you hurt, you just pass it off as God’s will, so it’s okay because everything is going to be just fine.  All you have to do is wait.  Just wait on God.  Who IS God anyway?  I wish he’d show his face right now and quit hiding behind people like you!”

Gabriel sat silently for a few minutes as if absorbing the anger Manuel just threw at him.  He heaved a sigh, burying his face into his hands.  It was hard to tell whether he was praying or crying.

“God is love,” he mumbled through his fingers.

“What…..what did you say?”

“God is love.”  He looked up directly into Manuel’s eyes.  “I’ve wondered about whom God is all my life.  In fact, I’ve devoted my entire pastoral journey to the search for an answer.  All of the training, all of the study, all of the reading has come down to one simple truth…..1 John 4:08 – He who does not love does not know God; for God is love.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Manuel, all I can do is tell you what I know.  You’re right.  It was not fair for me to have these twisted legs.  Nor was there any reason for Sam to die, or your father.  But, as a part of this universe, of this creation, we are not guaranteed anything – not strong legs, or long lives, or happiness or freedom from pain.  It’s not based on being good or bad, believing or denying.  It just happens.”

“But, I thought your God was all-powerful, could do anything, could….could…,” Manuel sputtered.

Gabriel interrupted him.  “Could step in and erase the bad?  Make it all go away?  Oh, some people think so.  Some would tell you that God is more physical, more manipulative, more punitive. That He can control nature, arbitrarily change things against His own design.  I don’t buy that.  Yes, the creation of our world is spectacular, but you’re more likely to feel the power of God in your mother’s touch than in the turbulent wind of a hurricane.”

Gabriel studied Manuel’s face.  He could literally see the struggle to understand going on behind the scowl of the furrowed brows and deeply sad eyes.

“I’ve learned not to expect anything from God but the strength to endure what life brings.  That’s all I ever pray for.  And, my expectations are always met because He sends this strength through love – from family and friends, from nature.  He is working through me right now to help you.  Nobody EVER loved you any more than I do.  Yes, God exists, and He is love.”

Manuel looked at Gabriel in disbelief.  How was it possible that the whole concept of God could be as simple as one person loving another in a time of need.  “But, what about the whole world, the kingdom, all of it?”

“Ah, yes, the continuum.  That is a very important part of it as well because through all of the darkness and pain presented by life, tomorrow always comes even if you don’t believe it will.  Death is never final.  New life always springs forth after the old passes away.  Hope and love always abide.”

Not that I could ever be in the same intellectual arena with Dr. Cottrell or Jacob Needleman, it is interesting that all three of us have a similarity of thought as to the nature of God and how important human relationships are to that nature.


* - For fascinating information on The Sun, go to www.thesunmagazine.org.

It's Safer Being a Dog

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Yesterday was Veterans' Day – a day set aside to honor all of the men and women who have served our country in the armed forces. Over the history of the United States, there have been three “conscriptions,” more commonly known as the “draft,” where young men registered with the government in order to fill vacancies in the various divisions of the forces which could not be filled through voluntary means. Of course, during war, these numbers swelled. The last iteration of the “draft” happened in 1940 in the build up to World War II. It lasted until 1973 when we went to an all-volunteer Army. However, the Selective Service System remains in place today as a contingency plan. All young men between 18 and 25 have to still register so that a “draft” can be readily implemented if needed.

Both of your grandfathers served under the last conscription – PopPop in the Coast Guard and Captain in the Army National Guard. Captain actually was a member of the Selective Service Board for 25 years for the 4^th Congressional District in South Carolina. Had there been a need, he would have been involved in the call up of young men to serve.

Your great grandfather Schaefer was part of what is historically described as “The Greatest Generation,” those people who fought in World War II. In 1941, he had just finished law school and was in the process of opening a practice in Greenville. He and Mamaw were engaged to be married and she busily planned their wedding in Houston, Texas. The attack by Japan of Pearl Harbor on December 7 of that year changed their personal trajectory just as it did for the entire world.

Granddaddy was drafted by the Navy into what was called the “Ninety-Day Wonder School,” an intensive course of study for lawyers in the service assigned to the Judge Advocate General Corps. He hastily left Greenville to his station at the Northwestern Training School in Chicago where he immersed himself in the military system of both defense and prosecution of transgressions that servicemen might commit and in the rules of courts martial.

Mamaw found herself having to dismantle the wedding in Houston and move everything to Chicago. She and your great, great grandmother Eva Bethany, traveled by train for over 24 hours. Other members of the wedding party sacrificed time and money to make the trip as well. On May 14, 1942, she and Granddaddy said their vows to each other at the Howe Chapel on the campus of Northwestern University.

From 1942 until the beginning of 1945, Granddaddy's tour of duty kept him in the United States, out of harm's way in the battlefronts of both Europe and the Pacific. He and Mamaw stayed in Chicago for a while and then transferred to Miami. In early 1945, Granddaddy was given the option to stay in Miami or join the JAG officers in Okinawa, an island in the Pacific that the United States captured from our enemy Japan. He was conflicted, not wanting to leave Mamaw but also not wanting to be so selfish that he would never put himself at risk as so many other men had done. After a long, serious deliberation, he determined to go to Okinawa.

Granddaddy and Mamaw packed up their few possessions and headed West to Houston where she would stay with Eva until he came home. Mamaw took him down to the station and put him on the train. I'm sure it was a heart-wrenching moment – with her waving to him from the platform as the conductor yelled “All Aboard!” and the cars jolted with the engine pulling forward, the wheels silent at first until their speed obtained a rhythmic “clicketty-clack.” From within, granddaddy watched as Mamaw's figure diminished – oh, such a sweet precious sight – until she vanished into his memory.

Little did he know that she was carrying his child. They had always talked about having a family after the war. But she had determined otherwise – lest she never see him again. Your great Uncle Bryant was born on November 6, two months after the war ended, while Granddaddy remained on Okinawa.

Right before that, on October 9, a typhoon named Louise pounded the island with such a force that 12 Navy vessels sank and 222 were grounded. Thirty-six people died and forty-seven were listed as missing after the storm. As the typhoon raged, Granddaddy took refuge in a Quonset hut with several other men. When the storm surge hit, water began seeping into the hut along with snakes and wharf rats. All of the creatures – men, snakes, rats alike– huddled in their own corners with one thought on the collective mind.......survive the storm.

Years later, at 3 Lakecrest, Granddaddy was in his bed sound asleep. Our cat Jinks found the door to the bedroom slightly open and stealthily – without a sound – pushed it enough to slink inside. One hop onto the chair, another to the bedside table placed him within sniffing distance of Granddaddy's slight snore. Gingerly, as cat's are prone to do, Jinks tested the bed with a paw before making his way onto it and across Granddaddy's body.

BAAAAH-------LAM!!!!

In an instant, Jinks had been hurled across the room and slammed into the wall with such a force, one could hardly believe that it came from an unconscious man. The noise woke Granddaddy and he was shaking. Jinks screeched and raced out of the bedroom.

Apparently, the cat walking across him had subconsciously taken him back to that hut in the middle of Typhoon Louise, with the water rising, and he thought one of those wharf rats was attacking him. Poor cat – never went back in that bedroom again!

The Healing Power of Barbecue Sauce

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Today would have been your great Uncle Bryant's 69^th birthday. A large and larger-than-life character, Bryant was one of those rare individuals whose strength and manliness lay in his gentleness and compassion. He was intuitive, a listener, a leader (look at the yearbooks from high school and college), a gentle giant, and above all else – even before being ordained – a minister. He majored in Philosophy at Washington and Lee University and received his Doctor of Divinity Degree from Duke University.

Bryant's pastoral career followed that of many, but he ended up going to Bowman Gray Medical School in Winston-Salem where he initially served as the Chaplain to the medical students. Over time, his responsibilities grew and he became a more integral part of the faculty. He not only taught Medical Ethics but also worked with the Department of Gerontology where he administered a grant studying the power of professional prayer in the healing process. Operating on the premise that an experiment on prayer could never be pure since you could never know what patients were receiving what prayers, Bryant was in charge of matching participants with clergy, clerics, Rabbis, priests, nuns, monks from all over the world. He became an expert on the topic and spoke at conferences all over the United States.

Bryant also pursued personal hobbies at which he gained the same proficiencies and recognition as in his professional life. He loved fishing of any sort, especially fly-fishing. He cultivated a knowledge and collection of fishing lures. However, his past-time passion centered around the culinary art of barbecue – the development of sauces particularly.

In 2000, this amazing life came to an end suddenly and unexpectedly when Bryant suffered a heart attack.

Several months after his death, a story surfaced that I think encompasses the totality of Bryant's being better than any other. For the sake of ease of its retelling, I will call the author Jim.

Jim had been, in his mind, unceremoniously removed as head of one of the departments at the medical school. The action wounded him deeply, leaving him unable to interact with his colleagues and inclined to an uncharacteristic introversion that relegated him to his office except when teaching. He was sitting at his desk one day when a knock came at the door.

“Who is it?”

“It's Bryant. May I come in? I need a favor.”

“Sure, please do.”

Bryant came into the office with two jars in his hands.

“I want you to try each of these sauces and let me know which one you like the best,” Bryant said. “I made them and have tasted them so much, I've lost my way in deciding what they could use. Sort of need a fresh tongue.”

Jim sensed this was a thinly veiled attempt on Bryant's part to cheer him up, but he didn't want to be rude even though the effort failed.

“I'll do it,” he responded. “Just leave them here on the desk.”

“Great!” Bryant put the jars on the desk and started to leave. “Hey, thanks.”

A few days went by and Bryant once again popped his head into Jim's office.

“Have you had a chance to taste those sauces yet?”

“Not yet, but I will. Promise.”

This went on for a while and then one day, Bryant walked fully into Jim's office and took a seat.

“Got a minute? 'Cause I have an idea I want to float by you.”

Even if wanted to decline, Jim couldn't. Bryant was already established in the notion that he did have a minute.

“Remember a while back when you were telling me about your collection of old TV shows? You know – Dr. Kildare and Ben Casey, MD?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, I was thinking what a great teaching tool that would be for my Medical Ethics class. I mean …. the situations in many of those episodes ….. we could discuss them and see what should be done or not. What do you think?”

Jim pondered the suggestion. At first he mentally dismissed it, but the more Bryant elaborated, the more intrigued he became. And for the first time in a long time, his heart sparked.

“I'll have to check my schedule, but maybe I could put something together,” he answered.

“Just let me know. I'd really appreciate it,” Bryant said. “By the way, have you tasted my sauces?”

“Not yet, but I PROMISE to do so by the next time I see you!” Jim actually laughed a little.

For the next six weeks or so, Jim found himself after work in his study at home pouring over hours of old episodes of the TV shows. He narrowed his choices down to a manageable number and took all of the videos to the Bowman Gray graphics department where Bryant had arranged to have them compiled into a backdrop for Jim's lecture. After a couple of practices, Jim informed Bryant that he was ready.

The morning came. Bryant stood up in front of the class to introduce Jim.

“Students, this morning we are privileged to have Dr. Jim Smith of the Department of Internal Medicine to give us what I am sure will be the most unforgettable lecture you will have while here at Bowman Gray. You may not know any of these TV shows, but you will always remember them after today. Jim, the floor is yours.”

Jim took the podium and began his lecture. He had never felt so invigorated, so alive. The students looked back at him with great anticipation. As he began, he looked to the back of the classroom and saw Bryant standing there, a wry smile on his face, eyes twinkling with pride. Jim was flush with the realization that this lecture was the culmination of his rehabilitation that Bryant all started with a request to taste barbecue sauces.

“Before I start, let me get one administrative thing out of the way. Bryant – I like the Lexington Pepper sauce the best. And, thank you for everything.”