August 23rd, 2010
The Spring final exam period was over. Exams were filtering in from the registrar one by one. The majority, if not all, of the professors dreaded this period. It was probably the most laborious and time consuming of any of their duties. Answers to complex fact patterns would drone on and on as if the student vomited up everything they possibly knew about the subject on the paper. To make matters even more difficult, the students regurgitated this information as fast as possible due to the unrealistic time constraints placed upon them.
However, Joseph did not mind grading exams. In fact, he actually enjoyed it. There was not one aspect of his job that he did not like. The chance to help young law students cultivate their knowledge and craft to become successful and educated lawyers truly excited him.
He was not a believer of the time pressured exam; it was not indicative of true practice, especially within his own particular speciality. While he understood that one of the goals of law school was to induce a certain pressure, he appreciated the immense stress that many students were under, especially at a top tier school. Accordingly, he always gave them an hour or two extra on most exams.
This past semester he taught three classes: The History of the Common Law; Introduction to Civil Law; and a seminar on the American Jury System. He had finished the exams and papers to all classes except the one on the Common Law. In fact, he saved those exam papers for last because of the fun he had with them.
Understanding that law was not always about facts and figures but sometimes about true creativity, he gave the students an option of either answering three incredibly difficult essay questions or to write a poem about the history of the common law which incorporated everything they learned that semester from the Norman Invasion to the effects of the New Deal. Most students opted to write the poem.
He hunched over his desk with a red pen, his hand tickled by his bow tie, he squinted his eyes with an intent glare through his thick glasses carefully scrutinizing the prosody. Suddenly, a knock at his door startled him. Jerking back from his intense posture, he accidentally spilled red ink all over his shirt. Of course, he was no stranger to accidents such as these since he tended to be rather clumsy.
With a kind tone and dripping with ink, he invited the visitor at the other side of the door to come in. However, when no one entered the door he was forced to navigate to it through his office filled with papers, law review articles, and stacks of books. In fact, the faculty had unofficially voted his office the most dangerous and messy.
Finally, getting to the door after tripping over several stacks of paper, once he opened it no one was there but a single book laying on the ground in front of the door. Picking it up he closely examined it and smiled. It was an English Year Book facsimile dated from the 13th century. He had been looking for this book in the library for several months now as it was crucial to his research this summer on the writ of covenant.
Joseph navigated and waded back through the obstacle course of his to his chair where he began to peruse the dusty old tome for a very special case.
The Spring final exam period was over. Exams were filtering in from the registrar one by one. The majority, if not all, of the professors dreaded this period. It was probably the most laborious and time consuming of any of their duties. Answers to complex fact patterns would drone on and on as if the student vomited up everything they possibly knew about the subject on the paper. To make matters even more difficult, the students regurgitated this information as fast as possible due to the unrealistic time constraints placed upon them.
However, Joseph did not mind grading exams. In fact, he actually enjoyed it. There was not one aspect of his job that he did not like. The chance to help young law students cultivate their knowledge and craft to become successful and educated lawyers truly excited him.
He was not a believer of the time pressured exam; it was not indicative of true practice, especially within his own particular speciality. While he understood that one of the goals of law school was to induce a certain pressure, he appreciated the immense stress that many students were under, especially at a top tier school. Accordingly, he always gave them an hour or two extra on most exams.
This past semester he taught three classes: The History of the Common Law; Introduction to Civil Law; and a seminar on the American Jury System. He had finished the exams and papers to all classes except the one on the Common Law. In fact, he saved those exam papers for last because of the fun he had with them.
Understanding that law was not always about facts and figures but sometimes about true creativity, he gave the students an option of either answering three incredibly difficult essay questions or to write a poem about the history of the common law which incorporated everything they learned that semester from the Norman Invasion to the effects of the New Deal. Most students opted to write the poem.
He hunched over his desk with a red pen, his hand tickled by his bow tie, he squinted his eyes with an intent glare through his thick glasses carefully scrutinizing the prosody. Suddenly, a knock at his door startled him. Jerking back from his intense posture, he accidentally spilled red ink all over his shirt. Of course, he was no stranger to accidents such as these since he tended to be rather clumsy.
With a kind tone and dripping with ink, he invited the visitor at the other side of the door to come in. However, when no one entered the door he was forced to navigate to it through his office filled with papers, law review articles, and stacks of books. In fact, the faculty had unofficially voted his office the most dangerous and messy.
Finally, getting to the door after tripping over several stacks of paper, once he opened it no one was there but a single book laying on the ground in front of the door. Picking it up he closely examined it and smiled. It was an English Year Book facsimile dated from the 13th century. He had been looking for this book in the library for several months now as it was crucial to his research this summer on the writ of covenant.
Joseph navigated and waded back through the obstacle course of his to his chair where he began to peruse the dusty old tome for a very special case.