Across the Guild

Attorneys talk. It’s in their interest to engage recruiters. We’re the eyes and ears for their volatile industry. Having briefly served as a lawmaker myself, I’m often moved to solemn reflections, whenever I cold-call, to think of the work we’re influencing. Laws are thorns, first discerned then put to test, dutifully applied by those credentialed. Lawyers, mercenary as they may seem, present a foundational class. Uniquely intertwined with all aspects of society,?they are the chief arbiters of our discourse and transactions. They alone wield the most exacting levers presiding over the pace of change. Armed with precedent, ritual, and refined speech, attorneys map the course of reason as it probes the law. By words of art learned tricks of trade—tied binding ethics—firms get paid to disagree.

I send this text to Carter: “Do you think most attorneys would still consider their trade a guild? Or has the law become entirely corporate?”

“I’m afraid more the latter,” he replies. The CEO expects further mergers.

There’s mounting fear Artificial Intelligence (AI) will author hardships, make redundant half the labor lawyers train and put elite experience out of reach. Lucrative business and time-honored billing models may be rendered obsolete. The system ensuring mentorship, as law is read and handed down to posterity, could displace an entire generation of professionals, unless their relic guild rallies to intervene.

Such a pursuit would humanize the legal profession again and help recommit communities to their laws. The industry’s ambitious journeymen and women offer brutal honesty. They’re the junior partners trapped at firms, pressed into service roles; wary they’re being pigeon-holed. Feeling undervalued, many wonder whether the prospect of inheriting clients is worth the wait and if they can afford to take a risk? The best example I know of is my cousin. Entirely by coincidence, I’ve seen Andrew navigate critical inflection points as his career evolves.

We’d lost contact in ’09, and given our past, I honestly doubted whether I’d ever hear from him again. Our families keep apart, but once when we were thirteen and fourteen, Andrew and I were sent on a trip together. Our grandmother drove us across the South; from Myrtle Beach to Florida, stopping at Civil War battlefields, Charleston, Savannah… I remember a forest fire raged near Jacksonville, traffic ranged for miles, sunken lowlands, hazy skies. We had escaped the humidity in air-conditioned restaurants, Pizza Huts and fabled diners. There we ordered endless shrimps, hushpuppies, pizza with pepperoni. It was a wonderful trip, but we lost touch soon after and several years ticked by. My grandmother passed away when we were in college. By her last will’s bidding, junior year—studying abroad—we made a point to meet in Prague. We had our laughs and some adventure but I’d come down with a terrible cold, and couldn’t stand the smoky bars or fully indulge. I remember he lived near the Communist Memorial. The last time I saw Andrew was a year-and-a-half later in New York. He was a paralegal at W—, and I was teaching preschool. Josh had given us baseball tickets.

Neither of us can remember who the Mets were playing, but we had good seats and beers to drink. Estranged as we’d been raised, we shared the banter of cousins.

“You’re like a nomad!” Andrew laughed to hear my survival sublet stories and plan to fly to Israel.

Andrew was applying to law school. As much as he loved the city, he also wanted out. “I feel like I could blink here and wake up in my eighties,” he said.

The game ended. We said goodbye. Six years passed without a word between us.

I mentioned Josh.

In 2014, My wife and I had made up our minds to move back to New York. I’d slipped into the city on a mission to find us an apartment and get myself a job.

“Yo!” Josh said, shocked to receive my call.

“Blast from the past,” I answered. “How’s the boy?”

We’d first met uptown in ’08 at the Barking Dog Diner where I was the host for weekend brunch. When he came in with his wife and one-year-old son, wearing a Cornell T-shirt, I told him I’d just graduated from there. Then, eager for work, I’d offered to babysit. He took me up on that, and ever since we’ve been great friends.

“Are you Stateside?” Josh asked.

“Exactly. We’re back! I need two things from you: A motivational speech and ideas for a job.”

Josh laughed and said, “your timing may actually be perfect.”

So much can change with a phone call. That’s why it takes courage to answer. Like old times we met for lunch, and that’s more or less how I became a recruiter.

Josh has always been my mentor in the industry. Many a morning, we’d both come in early. I’d find him—feet-up-desk—listening to Boomer and Carton on WFAN. Always a new joke or anecdote to start the day. I’d fix us coffee, we’d reminisce, and then I’d listen to his first calls. There is so much character to convey in the way a caller breaks the ice to greet the morning. Big laughs, familiar tone, I’ve never seen someone warm first impressions faster. Josh and his wife work together, sourcing temporary attorney labor for law firms staffing up to support large-scale litigations. Carter, out of Dallas, had recruited them both to lead, establishing the firm’s New York presence. This brought an air of start-up fervor to the sense of opportunity we all were savoring. The new firm initially was housed at Regus and later moved to the 75th floor of the Empire State Building. I remember putting together all the office furniture.

One morning Josh was out and I was the first to arrive at our crow’s nest suite. As I unlocked, I heard the phone ring. I hustled inside. The call was coming from the conference room. I ran to answer. It was an associate at a prestigious firm down in Texas. He wanted to move back to New York with his girlfriend. He’d found our firm by Google search for “Attorney Recruitment Agencies in Texas”. I hadn’t caught his name, but he’d heard mine. Halfway through the call, the lawyer interjected, “this is really awkward,” he said. “I’m actually your cousin.”

I remember looking out, Brooklyn-Manhattan, my thoughts filled static. I still had my backpack on. The shocking coincidence, an act of fate, to hear my cousin’s voice again. Novice as I was, I couldn’t fathom how, at that stage in his career, I could be of much help. Andrew had to get to a meeting. Confused, estranged, we forgot to exchange personal phone numbers.

Years later, after my wife and I had moved on from New York and had our first child, I learned from an attorney database that Andrew had indeed made it back to the city. He'd joined one of the most elite firms in the world, and, no small feat, had even made partner. For years, every time I’ve come across Andrew’s name on my lists I’ve always made a point to call. He never answered or returned my messages. In January 2024, when I saw that he had made a move to another firm, I tried again and this time got through. He was out in California for a conference. It’d been nearly a decade since we last spoke. This time we really talked. I learned that Andrew got married two years ago. In the most bizarre twist, he’d bought a home in Long Island down the street from where my younger sister lives. She and her husband actually met Andrew at a barbecue last summer. She had no idea she was speaking to her cousin but was already friends with his wife…

We live up North now. In a downmarket year, consumed by uncertainties; war, inflation and elections, firms are slow to hire and partners err on caution. There was an opportunity to do some travel, and good reason to visit with old mentors.

“I’ll be in New York,” I tell Sarah my plan to meet my cousin and see Josh as well as associate recruiters, Travis and Kevin.

The best partner recruiters connect all dots in service of their client. That’s Sarah to a tee. We’ve collaborated for years now, carefully bridging client and candidate without compromising confidentiality. Sarah is one of the most thoughtful, innovative, and meticulous job creators I’ve ever encountered. Plotting niche practice synergies on her vast and brilliant map, she and her business partner, Brent, have been influential forging legal dream teams at elite firms. An attorney himself, Brent brings incredible knowledge of the inner workings of AM-law ranked shops; their unique business models, key managing partners and platform bench depth, to initial conversations. “Our primary mission” he rightly asserts, “is to help client firms resolve operational inefficiencies.” Only the right partners paired will make a group excel, achieve specialization and cross-sell effectively. Timing is everything. Brent’s clear-cut market analysis sets a foundation for trust while Sarah prepares the candidate to weigh all options as the process for making a lateral move evolves. Their work reveals the earnest collegiality existing across the guild as partners weigh old loyalties in pursuit of growth. When Sarah asks a candidate “do you feel valued,” and “what would be important to you if you were ever to make a change?”, outlines of an attainable career trajectory yielding life-balance and personal milestones emerge. Always good to have someone who can be a sounding board and help you tell your story. That’s the most honest approach a recruiter can offer. Sarah and Brent lead devotedly. The deals they close are heartfelt.

Round about, this time I took the Ferry: Port Monmouth bound Manhattan. At the Battery I disembarked and sought the nearest subway. The first night I stayed with a friend on the Lower East Side. The next morning I walked uptown to meet my colleagues. Before COVID, they’d moved the office near Grand Central.

Josh, unfortunately, was laid up with flu he’d caught on a college visit with his son. Absurd to learn sixteen years had blurred with that “blink” of eye. There was so much to celebrate, but he had to cancel. Thankfully, Travis and Kevin were still free for lunch. Kevin had put me in the system as a visitor. I got my pass and rode on up. The unlocked door opened unto a hall lined with all that furniture I’d built years ago.

Travis was on a call when I arrived, but Kevin had cleared his plate for the morning.

“Think you guys have enough water?” I said, surprised by their vast stores of Poland Springs five-gallon jugs.

Kevin admitted having several tanks on hand was something of a hangover practice instilled by the pandemic. That said, it makes sense to keep the office well-supplied. “Phone people” drink a lot of water. Kevin has always been one to seek true art in our pursuit. “That’s not recruiting!” he’ll slam his fist down on his desk and criticize any headhunter sending excessive emails. “That’s throwing spaghetti against the wall to see what sticks,” Kevin says. Unless you’ve made it personal, interrupted someone’s day at work and helped them assess their value on the spot, in light of opportunity, then there’s no service rendered. Eccentricity may be a pre-requisite for success. One must enjoy speaking on the fly, know how and when to listen. The secret is: Be curious.

Travis’ door opens. Standing tall above a ficus, he’s the only one of us who has ever managed to keep an office plant alive. Then there’s the line of different phones across Travis’ desk, essential means of preserving confidentiality. A wide grin drives his calls. I’ve always credited Travis for making me realize the value of my work. “You have something no-one can teach,” he told me early on. In light of my phone skills, he said to ask: “but for me?” at the close of every deal. “But for you, would anyone know the candidate’s name or of their desire to leave?” He says. Attorneys must ask the same question at every stage of their career. In my view, parts are equal when it comes to recruiting. It’s in the candidate’s interest to know they have an entire team assisting with their exploration of the market and the interview process.

“You want to record?” Travis asks.

I tell him about my cousin and this essay.

“I’m not succinct,” Travis jokes as we begin. It’s worth noting, as proof of aforementioned disruption, AI summarizes our recorded dialogue with surprising eloquence:

…The conversation centers on the evolution of a legal recruiter's career, spanning 25 years. Initially driven by a desire to avoid big law firms, the recruiter found fulfillment in the entrepreneurial and relationship-building aspects of recruiting…

“We’ve disrupted the fabric of a lot of the cultures of firms,” Travis admits over lunch. Crediting the numerous industry metrics lateral moves highlight, “Free Agency,” was the phrase he landed on to describe how partner movement impacts the“Associate World” and experience. Over the course of seven to eight years an attorney’s fate is sealed. “A lot of the decisions are going to be made for you at some point, if you don't pick your head up and start thinking,” Travis says. “You’re either trained to be a cog, or given the volition that you may want.”

“Back when I first started…” Travis turns nostalgic. “Different partners brought different talents and skills to the table. Now what we're saying is that if you can't make it rain, you're less valuable.” As a consequence, he notes, “the training, mentoring, sponsorship piece—from the partner to the associate—the paying it forward piece; the grooming associates to become the next generation of partners…I don't want to say it's non-existent, but it's definitely not as robust as what it used to be.”

It’s clear there has been some measure of abdication. It strikes me that our disruption of the legal industry is both symptomatic of broad cultural shifts and a symbiotic driving factor. Rising star attorneys have never been so individually empowered at the onset of their careers and yet left to sink or swim among competing partners. “But for” recruiter calls, how siloed would most attorneys feel?

Squeezed brief between his puzzle piece day, packed with shifting meetings, Andrew texts me a revised window and suggests we meet at the Sea Fire Grill uptown. I hurry out, say goodbye to Travis and Kevin, my mentors and true colleagues. An optical illusion, the vast, pristine shined-mirror immediately inside the restaurant reveals Andrew’s suited reflection seated at the bar. I almost turn the wrong way to greet him. There’s our first laugh. Blue Moon for Andrew, whiskey for me, homage due Grandma, we order shrimps and calamari.

There’s barely time to scratch the surface, but the fact we’ve met again has already changed the course of our lives. A link between families has been restored. Andrew tells me what it took to make partner at such an elite firm. How he’d nearly lost his breath at the height of this pursuit and succumbed to his 2008 fear that he’d blink and wake up in old age. And yet, to hear Andrew relate adventures, I don’t believe I’ve ever met a more natural risk-taker. He’d bought a house when he first became an associate down in Texas, and says he got “absolutely rolled” on that investment. Then the return to New York taxed his ambition to the utmost of his courage. He had the right stuff to cut a path to partnership, but bore the scars of billing hours. One cold call had helped him pivot. He now partakes in his firm’s succession planning where autonomy and the opportunity to build his own practice await him.

The “nomad” in me has always sought to live according to my whims. New York taught me life moves faster than reason. Our actions never end. Through rushed interims, deprived reflection, we feel how real our lives become. Andrew remarks how difficult it is to change gears when the treadmill feels ingrained. “Sometimes I still find myself alone pacing the office at 2AM waiting for work to come down the pipeline,” he admits, “but I know that’s not an efficient use of my time anymore.” Between changing firms, his marriage and the new house, he’s struck a better balance. Something more to celebrate, Andrew and his wife are expecting a baby. Health concerns necessitated the use of a surrogate to carry the pregnancy. Of course there’s nerves, but excitement brews for adventuresome parenthood. The immense contract Andrew hired an attorney to prepare, in order to manage the unique risks involved with starting their family, reveals how intimate and truly human the law remains.

Time dwindles. With hasty laugh for fated paths we say farewell. I spend the night in a hotel and take the train home in the morning.

Ever since New York last spring—these interviews—I’ve often thought of Hannah Arendt’s prescient work, The Human Condition. Writing in 1958, she confronts the possibility that humanity “has already begun to leave the whole modern age behind and to substitute for a laboring society the society of jobholders.” My cousin’s career trajectory defies the stagnation haunting that claim. If free agency is confounding the training of junior attorneys and automation is prompting despair, then genuine recruiters making long term investments in candidates are the antidote ensuring collegiality endures. “What I propose, therefore, is very simple:” Arendt writes in prologue to her book, “it is nothing more than to think what we are doing.” Recruiters mining synergies among practitioners provide this essential service. The realm of the law is vast and written, full of precedence and contested visions. One must feel valued to define fulfillment. Lest attorneys forget their passion for protecting interests, every cold call rings with coincidence, a chance connecting dots across the guild.

*The names in this essay have been changed to protect identities