Professor Driver Delivers Address at the 2015 Entering Students Dinner
When Dean Stone invited me to deliver these welcoming remarks, it caused me to reflect on how much beginnings matter—both for individuals and for institutions. It quickly dawned on me that when it came to the origins of this institution, the University of Chicago Law School, I knew desperately little. O.K., I exaggerate; I knew nothing at all. I resolved to remedy my glaring deficit, and thought that in so doing I might be able to prevent one or two others from suffering a similar fate.
My research in this vein eventually led me to a front-page article that ran in the university-wide newspaper on October 1, 1902—the first day that the law school ever held classes. The Daily Maroon’s headline commemorating the event appeared as follows: “NEW LAW SCHOOL A SUCCESS.” That means that before a single student attended a single class, the law school was already being hailed as successful.
There are at least two ways of understanding that headline. One, perhaps uncharitable, way of understanding the headline is to view it as the product of blind boosterism. After all, how could the newspaper writers, or anyone else for that matter, know with absolute certainty that the law school would eventually turn out to be one of the nation’s leading legal institutions and not, say, an unmitigated disaster? Other articles appearing on the Daily Maroon’s front-page of October 1, 1902 do not exactly allay the suspicion that the newspaper specialized in puffery. The article proclaiming the law school’s success appeared in the second column sandwiched between two other articles. On one side, a piece celebrated the “AUSPICIOUS OPENING” of the Autumn Quarter. On the other side, an article touted the “NEW DAILY PAPER.” The self-referential, though certainly not self-conscious, sub-headline followed: “Gratifying Interest in Publication of The Daily Maroon Founded To-day.” Puffery, you might conclude, appeared in the newspaper’s genetic material.
Yet there is a second, perhaps more satisfying, way of understanding the old headline “NEW LAW SCHOOL A SUCCESS.” Rather than focusing narrowly on the events that would unfold at the law school on the morning of publication, or even on the days and months that lay ahead, the article’s optimism might instead be justified by examining the years of work and preparation that had already occurred. The newspaper article itself actually addressed some of the law school’s extensive planning. It noted, for example, that the law school would be the first in the nation to confer the degree of Juris Doctor, the J.D., whereas other institutions offered the bachelor of laws, the LL.B. degree. The article further noted the “well appointed” library contained enough volumes to make it the finest law school library “in the West.” Finally, the article also briefly referenced the school’s “eminently capable faculty.” I can assure you that this last reference was much too fleeting from the perspective of at least some of us who are assembled here tonight. Happily, though, the article did take the time to mention Professor Ernst Freund, who had dedicated much of the preceding eight years from his post in the university’s political science department to reconceptualizing legal education from the ground up and to identifying potential professors to join the nascent law school’s faculty.
Some of you—perhaps many of you—are now thinking: “What does this ancient history have to do with me? Nineteen hundred and two is a long time ago.” Although I appreciate this note of skepticism, I believe that this page of institutional history contains a great deal of relevance today, as you embark upon your legal education here at the University of Chicago Law School. The primary reason is simple: What is true of the law school as an institution also applies with considerable force to you as individual students. Long before the law school opened its doors to its inaugural class, the foundation for its success had already been established. The law school’s founders lavished a great amount of time on ensuring that it conferred the right degrees, gathered the right books, tapped the right professors, offered the right curriculum, and—oh, yes—attracted the right students.
Long before you arrived here for your orientation, the foundation for your law school success had also already been established. You worked hard in college. That hard work brought you success as an undergraduate, or otherwise you would not have been admitted. I emphasize your prior academic successes tonight because the beginning of law school can be a nervous time, as many students experience a sharp sense of dislocation. Students encountering their classmates in law school are sometimes surprised to discover that they are virtually all able, ambitious, and diligent. That discovery can be disconcerting. Some amount of nervous energy can be productive, but in excess proves debilitating. So please take a moment here at the outset, before classes begin, to remember that each one of you belongs here at this law school and that your years of preparation leading up to this point have left you primed for success.
If that alone is not enough to get the job done, you should also take heart in the fact that your professors here are deeply invested in your academic success. University of Chicago professors view teaching students as a highlight of the day, not some chore to be endured. This dedication to teaching students comes across even in everyday interactions among faculty members. When I was a visiting professor here three years ago, one of the most striking things I noticed was that as faculty members were heading off to teach – casebooks and seating charts in hand – they often said to one another, “Have a good class.” (Indeed, I can remember then-Professor Stone saying that to me on more than one occasion in Autumn 2012.) It is of course a simple wish, but its very ubiquity conveys our institutional commitments. It stems from an understanding that the classroom is a vital place for the active exploration of ideas, a place where professors—along with their students—rigorously interrogate ideas to assess their merit. The overarching principle during classes is a basic agreement that our discussions are, as a wise person once expressed it, governed “by the sovereignty of reason.”
The Daily Maroon piece from 1902 mentioned the “well appointed library,” and the truth is that the law school’s current library remains well appointed today. But the best thing about our library is not the womb chairs, the sturdy bookshelves, or even the voluminous collection. The best thing about our library, in my estimation, is the layout. Faculty offices are located in the library and right outside of them is not a phalanx of support staff, but instead student carrels, and beyond those carrels are big desks where students often study. This layout unmistakably communicates the lesson that professors and students are engaged in a common enterprise, and that our success is interdependent.
Another feature of the Daily Maroon’s early coverage of the law school is worth mentioning here this evening. An editorial stated that some of “the Laws,” as the students were called within the university, joined the collegiate football team and noted that law students in general “will support our athletic teams loyally.” There was even a particular football cheer that early law students coined, and would—apparently—chant at games. The cheer itself was truly dreadful, so I am not recommending that you revive it. Nor am I recommending that you attend a football game, at the University of Chicago or anyplace else for that matter. I am, however, recommending that you follow the lead of your intellectual forbearers, and make an affirmative effort to retain some part of your pre-law school self during your time here. Law school is almost invariably a significant period in one’s life, changing in elemental ways how we view the world. (Soon, you will not be able to read the newspaper in quite the same way as you do right now; enjoy it while you still can.) So, while law school will likely be a transformational experience, please do not permit it to become an all-consuming one. If you now periodically enjoy going to the movies with your spouse, going for long runs by yourself, going to a political protest, or even going to watch mediocre collegiate athletic events, then by all means you should continue to do so after Monday. Today, you all have an astonishingly diverse range of interests and talents and perspectives and backgrounds, and I very much hope that all of that will remain true at the end of your time here. Academic institutions are better places if they welcome diversity in its many guises, ranging from the intellect to the identity.
I am happy to report that this broad message of inclusion resonates with the law school’s history. An editorial in the Daily Maroon in 1902 assumed that only male students were in the law school’s entering class. But that assumption was incorrect. The University of Chicago Law School has admitted women since its inception—a practice that some peer institutions did not embrace for decades. On the racial front as well, the Law School was a pioneer, as it became the first predominantly white law school to have a black faculty member back in the 1940s, something that peers again would not accomplish for decades. Now, it would be inaccurate to contend that the institution has invariably been the very model of inclusiveness. Yet when we highlight and commemorate these remarkable achievements in our institutional past, we simultaneously recommit ourselves to vindicating the underlying principles of those achievements—even in the context of different times.
I would like to close by drawing on an old literary expression that has been attributed to various people at various times. It holds roughly, “Great literature only has two stories: a hero goes on a journey and a stranger comes to town.” It requires no extraordinary powers of observation to appreciate that these two stories can actually be reduced to one; it is the perspective on the story that changes from the heroic outsider to the townsperson insider. Right now, you understandably feel as though you are at the beginning of a long journey. My hope, though, is that in a relatively short time the perspective will shift and you will view your law school narrative as townspeople rather than outsiders. This is all a long way of saying not only do you belong here, but this place also belongs to you.
On behalf of my colleagues and myself, I welcome the JD Class of 2018 and the LLM Class of 2016 with these three final words: May you flourish.