The library.
Indiana University School of Law - Bloomington Alumni?
View from the 51st floor of Jones & Walker.
Working hard...
Hardly working?!?
View from the NOLAC office. (New Orleans Legal Assistance Corporation)
Monday, December 17, 2007
12/17/2007
Jones & Walker
The library.
Indiana University School of Law - Bloomington Alumni?
View from the 51st floor of Jones & Walker.
Working hard...
Hardly working?!?
View from the NOLAC office. (New Orleans Legal Assistance Corporation)
The library.
Indiana University School of Law - Bloomington Alumni?
View from the 51st floor of Jones & Walker.
Working hard...
Hardly working?!?
View from the NOLAC office. (New Orleans Legal Assistance Corporation)
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Winter Break Trip 2007
The IU Public Interest Law Foundation is proud to announce that 25 law student and attorney volunteers will travel to New Orleans to do legal work for Hurricane Katrina survivors over winter break. This is the IU School of Law's fourth relief trip, and the second trip planned by the IU Public Interest Law Foundation. We thank all the volunteers for giving their time and effort so generously.
We are incredibly grateful for the support of Indiana University and the School of Law community. This trip would not have been possible without the funding provided by the IU Student Association, IU Student Foundation, and Carwina Weng.
We are incredibly grateful for the support of Indiana University and the School of Law community. This trip would not have been possible without the funding provided by the IU Student Association, IU Student Foundation, and Carwina Weng.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
One at a time
My favorite part of law school and law-related work is the interaction with clients, and that has been the best part of this experience.
I also enjoy the purely intellectual aspects of the law -- research, writing, etc. -- but I have a very hard time motivating myself to do that work unless I know it's going to somehow help someone solve a problem. For example, I hard a really hard time getting excited about working on my moot court and LRW assignments -- I knew that at the end of the day, the only one who reaped any direct benefit from my work was me. And I felt that I could use that time better.
I don't even particularly care which problem I'm helping to solve, or how much I'm contributing to a solution, but I do care that there is a living, breathing person whose life will be at least a little easier (or not worse) because of my efforts. I measure my professional skill and progress by the scope of problems I can solve, and my skill and efficiency in solving them.
For these reasons, I am enjoying the work here immensely. My files include many very personal details about my clients and their families, enough that I feel very emotionally invested in helping them through their successions proceedings. One client's home was right in the middle of the Lower Ninth Ward, and the succession will help her receive much-needed assistance. I've met her and spoken to many of her children on the phone; I've gleaned personal details about her husband and their father; I've traced the growth of their immediate and extended families -- and when I work on their file, I'm determined to do everything as perfectly as I can, to help them get the help they need as quickly as I can.
I've worked with clients before, through student clinics and the like, but I've never felt such a strong sense of responsibility before. The significance of the work didn't really hit me until I spoke to my second client, a man still grieving the loss of his parents and several other recent tragedies. He seemed overwhelmed, and was incredibly grateful to just have the opportunity to speak to someone about his problems. I wished I could offer far more advice than professional ethics permits, but I told him everything I could. He actually cried, "what?" when I told him I was leaving at the end of the week, begged me to keep working on the case from Indiana. I refused to consider, and refused to let him consider, the possibility that it would be a long time before someone else worked on his file. And I am determined to resolve all the issues in his file tomorrow, however difficult or improbable that may be.
I also enjoy the purely intellectual aspects of the law -- research, writing, etc. -- but I have a very hard time motivating myself to do that work unless I know it's going to somehow help someone solve a problem. For example, I hard a really hard time getting excited about working on my moot court and LRW assignments -- I knew that at the end of the day, the only one who reaped any direct benefit from my work was me. And I felt that I could use that time better.
I don't even particularly care which problem I'm helping to solve, or how much I'm contributing to a solution, but I do care that there is a living, breathing person whose life will be at least a little easier (or not worse) because of my efforts. I measure my professional skill and progress by the scope of problems I can solve, and my skill and efficiency in solving them.
For these reasons, I am enjoying the work here immensely. My files include many very personal details about my clients and their families, enough that I feel very emotionally invested in helping them through their successions proceedings. One client's home was right in the middle of the Lower Ninth Ward, and the succession will help her receive much-needed assistance. I've met her and spoken to many of her children on the phone; I've gleaned personal details about her husband and their father; I've traced the growth of their immediate and extended families -- and when I work on their file, I'm determined to do everything as perfectly as I can, to help them get the help they need as quickly as I can.
I've worked with clients before, through student clinics and the like, but I've never felt such a strong sense of responsibility before. The significance of the work didn't really hit me until I spoke to my second client, a man still grieving the loss of his parents and several other recent tragedies. He seemed overwhelmed, and was incredibly grateful to just have the opportunity to speak to someone about his problems. I wished I could offer far more advice than professional ethics permits, but I told him everything I could. He actually cried, "what?" when I told him I was leaving at the end of the week, begged me to keep working on the case from Indiana. I refused to consider, and refused to let him consider, the possibility that it would be a long time before someone else worked on his file. And I am determined to resolve all the issues in his file tomorrow, however difficult or improbable that may be.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
'Tell Them What You Saw Here.'
My reason for coming to New Orleans was curiousity, plain and simple. I wanted to see how the reconstruction of the city fared. I was surprised, at both how normal things felt, and the obvious wounds of the city. Coming in, the most shocking thing to me was the billboard advertising the knocking down of homes for cash. Later, I would see one offering to remove the concrete foundations for free. However, the main drag of the city in the French Quarter seemed fairly functional if a bit devoid of people, although construction proved to be a hassle on the way to work. Bourbon Street, the center for tourism here, also seems to have recovered fully from whatever damage it has taken, and the nights I have been there have been full of people, watched over carefully by the NOPD.
Other areas of the city are near empty. Several of us visited the Lower Ninth Ward, the area hit most harshly by Katrina. Without exception, every residence bore the scar of a clean-up worker's mark, an x with information noting the bodies and the date of exploration between the lines. I was surprised that the houses survived with as little damage as I witnessed; however the presence of mold after the storm caused mass long-term evacuation and many houses have since been gutted to their metal girders. All appear to have had anything of value removed, though remants of the owners' former life lay in their front yards, strewn about. The only sign of life was in the FEMA trailers parked outside in the yards, some in groups. The more practical had spray-painted their houses with various messages. One requested that their home not be bulldozed; several more advertised the phone number of the owner who now wished to sell. There were many cardboard signs hung in the neighborhood, serving as markers for businesses that had returned. The street signs were not the metal ones I had come to recognize, but wooden boards painted white with black lettering.
At one point, we pulled over to a gas station to find out if there was anything else in the neighborhood that we should witness. Though I struggled as to how to express this without sounding like some tragedy voyeur, the clerk took my awkward questions with remarkable grace. She pointed to the photo of the store up to the roof's lettering in water, and told us of the troubles following the storm. The reconstruction of telephone lines in the ward has yet to happen (everybody uses cells now), and there is no organized system of sewage. Instead the trailers have their own individual tanks. She further invited us to come back when the town was dark, to see the complete absence of lights in the area, and charged us with the following: 'When you go back home, talk to your friends and tell them what you saw here.'
We drove to where the levee broke, and a bit further down the road we passed a sign, admonishing us:
TOURIST
Shame on You
Driving BY without Stopping
Paying to see MY PAIN
1600+ DIED HERE
There is a charge of profiteering off tragedy, as apparently some tours include a visit of the Lower Ninth Ward, which leaves some uncomfortable, justifiably so.
(I have criminally neglected to bring a reader for my camera, and so I can only direct you to some superior camera work, albeit a bit older at http://scoutneworleans.blogspot.com/. While the extant of the damage remains, more rubble has been cleared than the pictures here show.)
I noticed other profiteering when I walked down Bourbon tonight. Meaning to visit the T-shirt shops since Sunday, I stopped in to see the general attitude of the city regarding the storm. This included such insights as FEMA: Federal Employees Missing Again, and FEMA's Emergency Plan: Run B*tch, Run! This scathing contempt was not limited to the federal; one shirt had 'NOPD: [New Orleans Police Dep.] Not Our Problem, Dude.'
Many people here were college students on spring break. For them and others, the town had several tours available at night, including Voodoo, Vampires, Cemetaries, and Ghosts & Legends. It was the last of these I went on, along with 24 others. We were treated to a two-hour presentation on the history of New Orleans and some entertaining tales of the area. The site that would be New Orleans was determined to be a strategic point for control of shipping and, like many fine cities, was founded by French convicts and later prostitutes when it was determined that women would be necessary for the city's long term survival. This rich history resonates today, found on T-shirts sporting slogans such as 'French Quarter Hookers: rebuilding New Orleans one job at a time!' The tour guide told us several horror stories, and finally wove the story of New Orleans' victory against the English in 1814 outside a statue of Jesus shadowed against a very large building. The statue was either raising its hands in triumph or glorifying the latest touchdown.
I witnessed one final treat as I walked back to the hotel: an older white-bearded man was busily busking away, dressed in red plaid and overalls. He sang slow Eric Clapton love songs interspersed with rap lyrics threatening anyone who hit on his wife. My words here cannot do justice to this comic scene; if walking down Bourbon street you happen to see this man, stay and listen. He is a funny, funny man.
Other areas of the city are near empty. Several of us visited the Lower Ninth Ward, the area hit most harshly by Katrina. Without exception, every residence bore the scar of a clean-up worker's mark, an x with information noting the bodies and the date of exploration between the lines. I was surprised that the houses survived with as little damage as I witnessed; however the presence of mold after the storm caused mass long-term evacuation and many houses have since been gutted to their metal girders. All appear to have had anything of value removed, though remants of the owners' former life lay in their front yards, strewn about. The only sign of life was in the FEMA trailers parked outside in the yards, some in groups. The more practical had spray-painted their houses with various messages. One requested that their home not be bulldozed; several more advertised the phone number of the owner who now wished to sell. There were many cardboard signs hung in the neighborhood, serving as markers for businesses that had returned. The street signs were not the metal ones I had come to recognize, but wooden boards painted white with black lettering.
At one point, we pulled over to a gas station to find out if there was anything else in the neighborhood that we should witness. Though I struggled as to how to express this without sounding like some tragedy voyeur, the clerk took my awkward questions with remarkable grace. She pointed to the photo of the store up to the roof's lettering in water, and told us of the troubles following the storm. The reconstruction of telephone lines in the ward has yet to happen (everybody uses cells now), and there is no organized system of sewage. Instead the trailers have their own individual tanks. She further invited us to come back when the town was dark, to see the complete absence of lights in the area, and charged us with the following: 'When you go back home, talk to your friends and tell them what you saw here.'
We drove to where the levee broke, and a bit further down the road we passed a sign, admonishing us:
TOURIST
Shame on You
Driving BY without Stopping
Paying to see MY PAIN
1600+ DIED HERE
There is a charge of profiteering off tragedy, as apparently some tours include a visit of the Lower Ninth Ward, which leaves some uncomfortable, justifiably so.
(I have criminally neglected to bring a reader for my camera, and so I can only direct you to some superior camera work, albeit a bit older at http://scoutneworleans.blogspot.com/. While the extant of the damage remains, more rubble has been cleared than the pictures here show.)
I noticed other profiteering when I walked down Bourbon tonight. Meaning to visit the T-shirt shops since Sunday, I stopped in to see the general attitude of the city regarding the storm. This included such insights as FEMA: Federal Employees Missing Again, and FEMA's Emergency Plan: Run B*tch, Run! This scathing contempt was not limited to the federal; one shirt had 'NOPD: [New Orleans Police Dep.] Not Our Problem, Dude.'
Many people here were college students on spring break. For them and others, the town had several tours available at night, including Voodoo, Vampires, Cemetaries, and Ghosts & Legends. It was the last of these I went on, along with 24 others. We were treated to a two-hour presentation on the history of New Orleans and some entertaining tales of the area. The site that would be New Orleans was determined to be a strategic point for control of shipping and, like many fine cities, was founded by French convicts and later prostitutes when it was determined that women would be necessary for the city's long term survival. This rich history resonates today, found on T-shirts sporting slogans such as 'French Quarter Hookers: rebuilding New Orleans one job at a time!' The tour guide told us several horror stories, and finally wove the story of New Orleans' victory against the English in 1814 outside a statue of Jesus shadowed against a very large building. The statue was either raising its hands in triumph or glorifying the latest touchdown.
I witnessed one final treat as I walked back to the hotel: an older white-bearded man was busily busking away, dressed in red plaid and overalls. He sang slow Eric Clapton love songs interspersed with rap lyrics threatening anyone who hit on his wife. My words here cannot do justice to this comic scene; if walking down Bourbon street you happen to see this man, stay and listen. He is a funny, funny man.
Monday, March 12, 2007
N.O. Problem
Arriving in New Orleans (N.O.), LA in the daylight was a completely different experience than the late evening trek we made from Biloxi, MS back in December. In the daylight it was clear from the highway just how devastated the area was… even almost a year and a half after the storm. Driving above the wreckage we could see neighborhood after neighborhood of once homes, now barely assembled shacks, most without roofs, walls or windows. Some of the blocks had also been completely blackened by fire or leveled to the ground.
Coming here I wanted to help. While volunteering back in Biloxi we had a lot of interactions with people in the local community doing surveys about grant & loan dispersements from federal and state agencies. Seeing how grateful these people were for the limited help we could provide as volunteers was definitely a motivating factor in my decision to spend another week in the Gulf Coast area.
I feel blessed that I have been so privileged in life. I am (reasonably) intelligent, active and able to work. My ability to study the law and enter this profession creates an enormous sense of responsibility in me to use this education and influence to help others who have been less fortunate in life.
Listening to Fed. Dist. Ct. Judge Zainey, here in N.O., tell his frontline stories about lawyers’ impact in this community was very inspiring. The staff and volunteer attorneys working here at the Pro Bono Project are also amazing individuals. Hosting 49 students at law firms around the city this week has been a hugely stressful undertaking for their office of six staff attorneys; Yet they have been very gracious, encouraging, and efficient in training us to work on pending cases.
Today was my first day volunteering in N.O. Currently, I am working in the family law division on IN FORMA PAUPERIS (poor folk) uncontested divorce cases for the Pro Bono Project; I am placed in the Murray Law Firm at 909 Poydras Street. My supervising attorney, Jessica Hayes, has been very kind and helpful… Well… okay, since about 2:30pm this afternoon. :) We first met around 1pm but we didn’t talk much before she submitted her (almost late) appellate brief… She was very very busy frantically typing... Déjà vu?! (It turns out the procrastination tactics you master in law school carry over into real practice too!)
I currently have four cases in different stages of the divorce process. Some need personal service certification, motions filed with the court, or one last client signature to finalize the proceedings. Sadly, these cases have been passed around to volunteer lawyers for so long that some have been pending years when they only needed 30 days. I have a client coming in tomorrow to finalize a truth affidavit that will allow us to file a motion for default and finalize her divorce that has been pending since January of 2006. Finalizing these proceedings seems merely clerical to some, but to the individuals involved it makes all the difference in the world. (Financial freedom, future investments/property, future family planning, child support, credit ratings, etc.)
I'm here
I missed the pre-trip 'why I'm here' post so I'll abbreviate part somewhat. I'm here because I wanted so settle both my curiosity about New Orleans and my desire to contribute to rebuilding.
Day One was tough. For the first two hours that I was working, I was pretty lost. It took that lost for me to start to get some idea of what was going on and what I was supposed to be doing. I think that tomorrow will be better. I'll be able to get into it more quickly.
The city is a mixture of contrast and irony. On one had, the majority of the buildings in downtown are in good shape and occupied. On the other hand, there is always at least one ramshackle building within sight waiting to be renovated or demolished. The vibrant and indulgent Bourbon Street looks as if it doesn't know that the rest of the city is in such a dire condition. It's clear, though, that New Orleans was a great place before Katrina and it seems likely that it's near turning around and coming back.
Dinner time!
Day One was tough. For the first two hours that I was working, I was pretty lost. It took that lost for me to start to get some idea of what was going on and what I was supposed to be doing. I think that tomorrow will be better. I'll be able to get into it more quickly.
The city is a mixture of contrast and irony. On one had, the majority of the buildings in downtown are in good shape and occupied. On the other hand, there is always at least one ramshackle building within sight waiting to be renovated or demolished. The vibrant and indulgent Bourbon Street looks as if it doesn't know that the rest of the city is in such a dire condition. It's clear, though, that New Orleans was a great place before Katrina and it seems likely that it's near turning around and coming back.
Dinner time!
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