`L.A. Law': An HLS Corporate Fantasy

"We don't have time to go around taking moral stands," the voice of Douglas Brackman, the balding managing partner of the mythical Los Angeles law firm of Mackenzie Brackman, booms from the large-screen TV.

Instanteously, hecklers in a crowd of about 250 would-be attorneys respond with a bellowing "Yeeeah!" that rings through a packed room in Harvard Law School's Harkness Commons.

It is Thursday night, and the scene is a familiar one, both on screen and off. On "L.A. Law," photogenic young barristers execute melodramatic cross-examinations. And at Harvard, students live out "fantasy law" with them--en masse.

Without fail, one night a week, 200 to 300 "L.A. Law" groupies leave their law school casebooks behind and gravitate to Harkness Commons to cheer and sneer their idols.

Some come for the law, others for the cheap beer.

Most come for the fantasy of it all.

"It's escapism," says Kevin C. Davis, a third-year law student and a regular at the student center viewings. "It's not about the law, it's about yuppiedom--and that's what people like about it."

But events at the Law School this fall suggest that many students there would like the legal profession to mean more than just yuppiedom. Students were enraged when Dean Robert C. Clark closed the school's public interest law counseling office over the summer. Hundreds attended a rally protesting his action, and about two-thirds of the student body signed a petition calling for the school to do more to encourage its students to seek careers providing legal aid to the needy.

But the fervor may be deceiving, and official figures are telling. According to statistics from the school's Office of Career Services, about 70 percent of its students enter private firms upon graduation.

With education costs skyrocketing, nascent lawyers lured by starting salaries of $70,000 to $80,000 are often inclined to leave their nonyuppie ideals at the Law School.

Thursday nights in Harkness Commons in many ways reflect this tug-of-war between public spiritedness and corporate glamour.

Asked to identify their favorite "L.A. Law" characters, most students in the audience immediately point to those who least often compromise their ideals.

Victor Sifuentes, the firm's ardent champion of the "underdog" client, is the attorney one student finds most endearing.

"Stuart Markowitz is my favorite," says another, confessing his bias for the good-hearted tax attorney. "But," he quickly adds, "all of my friends say I'm going to be more like Arnie Becker." On last week's episode, Becker--the firm's resident womanizer--sold out a seven-year-old girl to bring in a hefty fee.

From the way they talk, it would seem the law students really do identify with these TV attorneys--a couple of years ago, the Law School Forum even invited cast members to speak at the school. (Unfortunately for the students, they were forced to forego their plans when the actors and actresses wanted first-class tickets to Boston.)

But do these future lawyers really think "L.A. Law" accurately depicts the legal profession?

"No way in hell," says first-year student Bret S. Derman. "It's always the glamour--never the boring stuff, which is most of law."

"It's too much of a party," agrees Sara R. Adler, a second-year student.

Public Service

Statistics show that a significant number of Harvard Law graduates who do enter private law directly become disenchanted with the corporate world and leave it for public-service law after five years.

These mid-career lawyers often find that although corporate firms do provide indigent clients with legal aid, many firms' policies make it difficult for attorneys to perform even these volunteer services.

MacKenzie Brackman doesn't have that problem, though. Its attorneys do take on their share of pro bono work. But other aspects of the show sometimes draw criticism from the literal-minded fans in Harkness Commons. "It's the behavior you always think of--Perry Mason pacing back and forth--but you would never actually see that," one third-year student says of the "L.A. Law"yers' courtroom demeanor. "You want to direct attention to the witness and not yourself."

"It's a real trip," agrees Bret S. Derman, a first-year student.

Legal Comaraderie

The show's realism aside, stressed-out students welcome the chance to socialize with their fellows. Together they hiss at judges' decisions, shout criticisms in unison--"They can't do that" is a popular cry--and sometimes, during commercial breaks, even discuss legal issues raised by the show.

"It engenders community spirit," Adler explains. "Whenever you hear law terms, you feel this camaraderie."

"It's interesting to watch it with a couple hundred would-be lawyers because they pick out every flaw," says Davis.

One group of students even say they use "L.A. Law" as a study aid. "It's a good way to review the law," says second-year student Walter F. Fasse. "I think the show is becoming more technically correct."

But diehards already give the show the benefit of the doubt. "You try to look the other way when they do something blatantly wrong," Davis says.

In the opinion of many fans, the only truly inexcusable lapse so far this season was the fact that it didn't begin until November 2. "I was bummed out when they kept postponing," Fasse admits. He estimates that last year he trekked to the Commons for at least one-third of the shows.

He is not alone in his addiction.

Lawrence Taylor, known to the crowd in Harkness Commons as "L.T.", takes pride in being the most hard-core "L.A. Law" groupie.

For the last two years Taylor has devotedly arranged the furniture and television in the student center for the "L.A. Law" sessions every Thursday night. "I turn around the couches and make little trails," he solemnly says. Taylor is also in charge of publicizing the trendy Law School bonding event--a job that does not appear to be too difficult.

Since the Law School ritual began several years ago, by 10 p.m. on Thursday nights there is standing room only in Harkness Commons. "I used to get here at nine and you couldn't get a seat," says second-year student Eric S. Goldberg.

"When I told friends of mine at other law schools what we did here, they thought it was weird--I was surprised to find they didn't do the same thing," he adds.

Weird or not, it doesn't appear that the Harvard students' affection for their West Coast role models--however unrealistic they may be--is fading. Thursday nights in Harkness Commons bear that out.

"The Law School closes, in effect," Derman says. "Everything just stops for `L.A. Law.'"