I Teach at Capital – Part 2

Here are three vignettes from my time teaching at Capital University Law School you might find interesting

A Possible Burglary

One of my closest friends and mentors at CULS was Josiah H. Blackmore, who later became Dean of the law school and then President of Capital University. In addition to the following, I will write much more about him in the future.

Faculty offices at CULS were far from opulent. Forming a perimeter along the walls of the Troutman Building, a converted car dealership, that housed administrative and faculty offices and the Law Library, the offices were small, providing space for a desk, a couple of chairs, and perhaps a bookcase and file cabinet. Joe's office was in the front part of the building.

Late one night during final exams, Joe received a call from campus security. It appeared, he was told, that his office had been ransacked. Papers and books were scattered everywhere, and the top of his desk had obviously been severely disturbed, since there appeared to be a random assortment of documents, mail (opened and unopened), and student papers. There was a concern his exam might be compromised.

Joe quickly got dressed and drove from his Worthington home to campus, where he met the security personnel and accompanied them to his office. When the door was opened, Joe surveyed the disorder. "Well," he said, "this is a little embarrassing, but it looks just like I left it this afternoon." Joe was not the most organized person on the planet!

Another One of Them

While most of my memories of CULS are pleasant, one event stands out as exactly the opposite, and permanently and negatively impacted my attitude toward two of my colleagues.

Almost every year the faculty had to act to either fill vacancies or hire new faculty as the law school expanded, particularly in the late 1970s and early 80's. The process involved the solicitation of applications through various means, an initial screening by a Faculty Recruitment Committee, interviews with some applicants, and, finally, extending offers to individuals we believed would be appropriate members of the faculty.

The faculty lounge at the law school was a simple room with a coffee pot and a few tables and chairs. A room divider of sorts contained the faculty mail boxes. One afternoon during the faculty recruitment period, I was checking my mailbox when I happened to overhear a conversation between two members of the faculty, who could not see me while they spoke.

The topic of their conversation was a potential faculty member who had been well-liked by the recruitment committee and who had impressed the faculty members who interviewed him during his visit to Capital. I overheard one of my colleagues say, "He would probably work out, but do we really want another Jew on this faculty. We have more than enough already." "Nope," replied the other, "we certainly do not need any more of them. Before long the pushy bastards will be trying to run the place."

I returned to my office, shocked by what I had heard. For most of my life, I had avoided having to confront the realities of anti-Semitism, and now, here it was, staring me in the face. Never again could I look at the two professors involved without a feeling of revulsion.

We did hire the gentleman they were concerned about. The faculty vote was overwhelmingly in favor of the hire – there were only two "no" votes.

Temperature Control

Most of my classes were taught in a lecture hall in a building on Capital's main campus called the Learning Center. I was constantly frustrated by my inability to control the temperature in the room, which was inevitably too hot or too cold. No matter how much I fiddled with the thermostat, the room was never comfortable.

One late afternoon after I had finished class, I was alone in the room trying, once more, to figure out the intricacies of the temperature adjustment instrument when a custodian came into the room. He said, "Professor, I really don't think you can do much with that thermostat." He came over to where I was twisting the dial, took hold of the demon device, and pulled. It came away from the wall, dangling wires that obviously had not been attached to anything at all.

"I think somebody just stuck that there to cover up a hole in the wall," he told me. 

I Teach at Capital – Part 1

I started teaching full time at Capital University Law School at the beginning of Fall Quarter of 1973. I was a brand new Assistant Professor, and pretty much scared to death. I was 28 years old and just three years out of law school. Many of my students, who had been in military service (this was the middle of the Vietnam war) or worked after obtaining their undergraduate degrees, were older than I was. I had never taught anything to anybody, and, like virtually all law school professors, I had no training as an educator at all.

Like so many significant events in my life, this one had started with a phone call. (Adventures in Family Law: Phone Call) Professor Roberta Mitchell, chair of the Faculty Recruitment Committee at CULS, called and asked if I was interested in a teaching position. I jumped at the chance. I had been very unhappy at the firm I joined right after law school. Firm practice was not for me; the prospect of teaching law was really attractive.

My first office at Capital was among the faculty offices that formed the perimeter of the Law School Administration Building, which also housed the school's library. The building was a converted car dealership, formerly Lex Mayer's Chevrolet, across Main Street from Capital's main campus in Bexley, Ohio. Adjacent to the building was a White Castle restaurant. When the breeze was right, the aroma of White Castle Sliders wafted into the library. Sometimes, we referred to the facility as the Lex Mayer's School of Law or the White Castle Library.

Law school classes were held across the street on the main campus, most in a building called the Learning Center. My first teaching assignments included teaching Family Law and, the real reason I was hired, the series of three courses based on the Uniform Commercial Code called Sales, Secured Transactions, and Negotiable Instruments. Keeping several pages ahead of the class, I started my teaching career.

From the very beginning, I loved teaching law. The students were bright, energetic, and ready to learn. The subject matter was, at least to me, fascinating. And my colleagues on the faculty were, for the most part, happy to be there, friendly, and supportive.

Capital University Law School had its origins in the YMCA law school movement of the early 20^th Century, which grew out of the philosophy that legal education should be available to all interested persons. In 1903, the Columbus Law School, one of 14 YMCA affiliated law schools, was formed to provide night classes in law. The classes were held in the YMCA building.

The Columbus Law School was recognized by the Ohio Supreme Court in 1906. However, World War I interrupted the program from 1913 until 1917. After reorganization, classes restarted in 1917, with 14 enrolled students. The first woman, Esther Brocker, graduated on June 9, 1926. According to the CULS website, “When a touchy subject came up during class, something they felt a woman should not hear, Esther was made to leave the classroom and the class would discuss it without her. Then afterwards, a classmate would have to explain to her what they talked about.”

In 1948, the name of the law school was changed to Franklin University Law School, and full accreditation by the American Bar Association was awarded in 1950. On September 1, 1965, the law school became a part of Capital University, and the first full-time day program was granted approval to start in the fall of 1969. The name was changed to Capital University Law School in 1972.

And, there I was in 1973.