Many law schools are competing to survive, and some rightfully won’t exist ten years from now. Prospective law students are confronted with a new reality regarding whether to go to law school and, if so, where.
In this context, I’ve been thinking about what I would want to ask those seeking to recruit me as a potential future student — but with the benefit of my knowledge and experience in legal academia.
First, I’d start by asking whether the person pitching the law school is a law professor or even a lawyer? I would want to know substantively about the classes I’d be taking and the opportunities I’d be provided. If the person speaking with me isn’t directly involved in providing legal education, then I’d want to speak to someone who is. First-hand knowledge is almost invariably better than indirect information or, certainly, the repetition of often-vacuous talking points.
If I didn’t initially get an opportunity to talk with an academic, then at least I’d want him to be a lawyer. A lawyer can speak with some knowledge about law school, having gone through it. Thus, while a non-academic is suboptimal, a lawyer is basic. If I didn’t get that, I’d walk away.
Second, I’d find out what school is a close competitor to the one sending a representative to recruit me and ask that individual to detail those elements concerning the other school that are superior to his own school. If the representative has no substantive response, I’d walk away. Competitor schools, by definition, fight for marketplace. As such, each must have some advantage.
Car salesmen know this and often game the question by contrasting their product with a non-comparable competitor’s option. A Corrola is not in the same market place as a Maxima. The consumer must herself decide which schools occupy a similar space and then ask for the comparisons. I have walked away from salesmen who were flim-flam artists. I recommend that others do the same, whether they’re literally or figuratively car salesmen.
Third, I’d determine where my LSAT scores and undergraduate GPA would place me in the class of the school pitching its wares. If I were fortunate enough to place in the top of the class, I’d ask why I shouldn’t go to a higher-ranked school, particularly one relatively close by. For example, if I had been admitted to Boston University with outstanding scores, I’d ask BU why I shouldn’t go to Harvard (if I got in!). My state, Arkansas, has two law schools. So, it’s logical to ask each school why the other is better and worse. I would demand real answers. If I didn’t get them, I’d walk away.
In contrast, if my scores put me in the bottom of the class at the school sending a pitch person to speak with me, I’d ask whether I’d be better served by going to a school with a class more aligned with my abilities. Research supports that such an environment is better for students on the whole. School representatives should be frank about chances for success. And “success” in law school has a real and measurable meaning, i.e., graduating and passing the Bar. These are quantifiable metrics, and applicants should be informed about them. In contrast, if the school’s agent presents squishy, allegedly “qualitative,” claims about working hard and succeeding and eschews hard data, I’d walk away.
Fourth, I’d ask how many classes professors at the school teach per year. The top law schools typically have their professors teach three classes a year. The middle schools require four classes a year. And struggling schools are seeking to save revenue by requiring an even higher course-load. This has a direct and negative impact on students.
When professors teach too much, they are able to focus less on individual classes and students. And increasing course-load results in decreasing scholarly output. Students often don’t perceive how important research is for teaching. The best professors integrate their research into the classroom. Reduced scholarship directly impacts classroom performance and student learning.
Also, struggling schools have all sorts of difficulties that will indirectly manifest themselves. The increased class-load is an indication that the school is struggling, and this should be strongly considered.
Fifth, I’d ask to see an index of professors’ recent publications. Schools will very often simply proclaim their faculties are intellectually productive, but the data speak the unvarnished truth. Students are better off with faculty who are academically engaged, and that means writing real scholarship.
Moreover, while having a teacher who wrote a textbook often can be interesting, legal textbooks are compilations of cases and articles. This is not scholarship in the truest sense. So, when evaluating faculty scholarship, I’d look for original writing, not textbooks and other compilation pieces, which don’t effectively represent intellectual engagement.
Sixth, I’d ask about tuition and financial scholarships. Costs matter. This doesn’t mean one should necessarily choose the cheapest school, of course. Sometimes you get what you pay for. But most decisions in life involve balancing costs and benefits. Making an informed decision is critical.
Relatedly, if offered a financial scholarship that is dependent on class rank for continuation, I’d ask what percentage of the class competes for this award. Some schools will give, say, half the incoming class scholarships that require the student to be in the top third of the class for the award to continue in subsequent years. This practice is deceptive unless the school affirmatively discloses this arrangement in advance. The school’s initial offer creates an expectation absent countervailing information.
Seventh, I’d ask about recent or forthcoming changes to the curriculum and program. Higher education is prone to fads, and successful hucksters profit from selling change for change’s sake. Improvements, by definition, are good. Puffery is not.
Meet the Press has been on television for 67 years. When Chuck Todd took the reigns from the unceremoniously dismissed David Gregory, Todd made a series of cosmetic changes to the set. He also added the trendy Colbertesqe affectation of the host walking across the set to greet the guests, albeit Colbert did so mockingly — Todd, not so much. The changes are irrelevant.
Undoubtedly, Todd’s version of the show got a bump in ratings simply because people were interested in observing the change, and the modified visuals help highlight the mere act of transition. But in the end, Meet the Press remains a show where reporters talk to politicians and then skewer them. The show is much the same as it was in 1947. The drop in viewership most likely has more to do with the fundamental way in which news content is delivered today, as well as the body politic’s level of cynicism. Many changes in legal education look like Todd’s shifting of the seats on the set of the perhaps Titanic-like television-news landscape.
For example, somewhat shortly before I attended my law school, Columbia, it changed its grading system to one with grades including: Excellent, Very Good, Good, Satisfactory, and Unsatisfactory. These were not designed to simply align with, or displace, standard letter grades. Someone, undoubtedly, came up with this idea at the time as an “improvement.” And someone undoubtedly took credit for this innovation. It was, predictably to an outsider, a miserable failure. The school later rightfully abandoned this system. But my transcript still reads like a kindergarten report card.
The effect of other curricular changes at law school remains unclear. For example, a few years ago, Washington and Lee Law School dramatically reformed its third-year program to include the following: “A two week long skills immersion [course]. . . . elective courses, one real-client experience . . . and three additional problems-based, practicum style [classes]. At least forty hours of law-related service. [And p]articipation in a semester-long professionalism program.”
Noted Scholar Deborah Merritt observed: “Surely graduates of this widely praised program are reaping success in the job market? Sadly, the statistics say otherwise. Washington & Lee’s recent employment outcomes are worse than those of similarly ranked schools. The results are troubling for advocates of experiential learning. They should also force employers to reflect on their own behavior: Does the rhetoric of ‘practice ready’ graduates align with the reality of legal hiring?”
W&L bounced around the mid-20s to the mid-30s from 2008 to 2013 in the US News law-school rankings. In 2014, W&L fell to 43. It’s 42 this year. The cause has not, at this juncture, been proven to be the new program, but it’s a rather unhappy development for students in attendance.
Merritt also recognizes that she is unable to prove that the new program caused the problematic employment outcomes that she observes — although she aptly raises that possibility. In fact, she supports increasing so-called experiential learning. But prospective law students should consider both the potential negative and positive effects on learning, job opportunities, and school rankings of dramatic program swings, in deciding which law school to attend.
Finally, I’d ask about the placement office at the law school. Getting into law school is important. So is getting out and a job thereafter. Does the employment office have a lawyer who worked in at least some of the relevant legal markets for graduates of the school? If so, did he work in the sector of interest to the particular student (e.g. private, public, law firm, in-house)? And, of course, what are the school’s employment data?
In fact, I’d ask to see the data stratified by law-school GPA. I’d be less interested in seeing the overall employment numbers, than how well the top, middle, and bottom of the class separately fare. If the numbers are depressed overall, that’s problematic. If the top of the class places very well, with the effect showing a predictable but not excessively steep decline across downward movement in law-school performance, that’s good news.
In the end, of course, there will be factors and attributes that cannot be foreseen and adjudged prior to attending law school. But students who do their homework should be able to make much better decisions about whether to go to law school and, if so, where.
Robert Steinbuch is a Professor of Law at University of Arkansas at Little Rock, Bowen School of Law and Fulbright Scholar.
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How a legal academic would choose a law school
How a legal academic would choose a law school
Many law schools are competing to survive, and some rightfully won’t exist ten years from now. Prospective law students are confronted with a new reality regarding whether to go to law school and, if so, where.
In this context, I’ve been thinking about what I would want to ask those seeking to recruit me as a potential future student — but with the benefit of my knowledge and experience in legal academia.
First, I’d start by asking whether the person pitching the law school is a law professor or even a lawyer? I would want to know substantively about the classes I’d be taking and the opportunities I’d be provided. If the person speaking with me isn’t directly involved in providing legal education, then I’d want to speak to someone who is. First-hand knowledge is almost invariably better than indirect information or, certainly, the repetition of often-vacuous talking points.
If I didn’t initially get an opportunity to talk with an academic, then at least I’d want him to be a lawyer. A lawyer can speak with some knowledge about law school, having gone through it. Thus, while a non-academic is suboptimal, a lawyer is basic. If I didn’t get that, I’d walk away.
Second, I’d find out what school is a close competitor to the one sending a representative to recruit me and ask that individual to detail those elements concerning the other school that are superior to his own school. If the representative has no substantive response, I’d walk away. Competitor schools, by definition, fight for marketplace. As such, each must have some advantage.
Car salesmen know this and often game the question by contrasting their product with a non-comparable competitor’s option. A Corrola is not in the same market place as a Maxima. The consumer must herself decide which schools occupy a similar space and then ask for the comparisons. I have walked away from salesmen who were flim-flam artists. I recommend that others do the same, whether they’re literally or figuratively car salesmen.
Third, I’d determine where my LSAT scores and undergraduate GPA would place me in the class of the school pitching its wares. If I were fortunate enough to place in the top of the class, I’d ask why I shouldn’t go to a higher-ranked school, particularly one relatively close by. For example, if I had been admitted to Boston University with outstanding scores, I’d ask BU why I shouldn’t go to Harvard (if I got in!). My state, Arkansas, has two law schools. So, it’s logical to ask each school why the other is better and worse. I would demand real answers. If I didn’t get them, I’d walk away.
In contrast, if my scores put me in the bottom of the class at the school sending a pitch person to speak with me, I’d ask whether I’d be better served by going to a school with a class more aligned with my abilities. Research supports that such an environment is better for students on the whole. School representatives should be frank about chances for success. And “success” in law school has a real and measurable meaning, i.e., graduating and passing the Bar. These are quantifiable metrics, and applicants should be informed about them. In contrast, if the school’s agent presents squishy, allegedly “qualitative,” claims about working hard and succeeding and eschews hard data, I’d walk away.
Fourth, I’d ask how many classes professors at the school teach per year. The top law schools typically have their professors teach three classes a year. The middle schools require four classes a year. And struggling schools are seeking to save revenue by requiring an even higher course-load. This has a direct and negative impact on students.
When professors teach too much, they are able to focus less on individual classes and students. And increasing course-load results in decreasing scholarly output. Students often don’t perceive how important research is for teaching. The best professors integrate their research into the classroom. Reduced scholarship directly impacts classroom performance and student learning.
Also, struggling schools have all sorts of difficulties that will indirectly manifest themselves. The increased class-load is an indication that the school is struggling, and this should be strongly considered.
Fifth, I’d ask to see an index of professors’ recent publications. Schools will very often simply proclaim their faculties are intellectually productive, but the data speak the unvarnished truth. Students are better off with faculty who are academically engaged, and that means writing real scholarship.
Moreover, while having a teacher who wrote a textbook often can be interesting, legal textbooks are compilations of cases and articles. This is not scholarship in the truest sense. So, when evaluating faculty scholarship, I’d look for original writing, not textbooks and other compilation pieces, which don’t effectively represent intellectual engagement.
Sixth, I’d ask about tuition and financial scholarships. Costs matter. This doesn’t mean one should necessarily choose the cheapest school, of course. Sometimes you get what you pay for. But most decisions in life involve balancing costs and benefits. Making an informed decision is critical.
Relatedly, if offered a financial scholarship that is dependent on class rank for continuation, I’d ask what percentage of the class competes for this award. Some schools will give, say, half the incoming class scholarships that require the student to be in the top third of the class for the award to continue in subsequent years. This practice is deceptive unless the school affirmatively discloses this arrangement in advance. The school’s initial offer creates an expectation absent countervailing information.
Seventh, I’d ask about recent or forthcoming changes to the curriculum and program. Higher education is prone to fads, and successful hucksters profit from selling change for change’s sake. Improvements, by definition, are good. Puffery is not.
Meet the Press has been on television for 67 years. When Chuck Todd took the reigns from the unceremoniously dismissed David Gregory, Todd made a series of cosmetic changes to the set. He also added the trendy Colbertesqe affectation of the host walking across the set to greet the guests, albeit Colbert did so mockingly — Todd, not so much. The changes are irrelevant.
Undoubtedly, Todd’s version of the show got a bump in ratings simply because people were interested in observing the change, and the modified visuals help highlight the mere act of transition. But in the end, Meet the Press remains a show where reporters talk to politicians and then skewer them. The show is much the same as it was in 1947. The drop in viewership most likely has more to do with the fundamental way in which news content is delivered today, as well as the body politic’s level of cynicism. Many changes in legal education look like Todd’s shifting of the seats on the set of the perhaps Titanic-like television-news landscape.
For example, somewhat shortly before I attended my law school, Columbia, it changed its grading system to one with grades including: Excellent, Very Good, Good, Satisfactory, and Unsatisfactory. These were not designed to simply align with, or displace, standard letter grades. Someone, undoubtedly, came up with this idea at the time as an “improvement.” And someone undoubtedly took credit for this innovation. It was, predictably to an outsider, a miserable failure. The school later rightfully abandoned this system. But my transcript still reads like a kindergarten report card.
The effect of other curricular changes at law school remains unclear. For example, a few years ago, Washington and Lee Law School dramatically reformed its third-year program to include the following: “A two week long skills immersion [course]. . . . elective courses, one real-client experience . . . and three additional problems-based, practicum style [classes]. At least forty hours of law-related service. [And p]articipation in a semester-long professionalism program.”
Noted Scholar Deborah Merritt observed: “Surely graduates of this widely praised program are reaping success in the job market? Sadly, the statistics say otherwise. Washington & Lee’s recent employment outcomes are worse than those of similarly ranked schools. The results are troubling for advocates of experiential learning. They should also force employers to reflect on their own behavior: Does the rhetoric of ‘practice ready’ graduates align with the reality of legal hiring?”
W&L bounced around the mid-20s to the mid-30s from 2008 to 2013 in the US News law-school rankings. In 2014, W&L fell to 43. It’s 42 this year. The cause has not, at this juncture, been proven to be the new program, but it’s a rather unhappy development for students in attendance.
Merritt also recognizes that she is unable to prove that the new program caused the problematic employment outcomes that she observes — although she aptly raises that possibility. In fact, she supports increasing so-called experiential learning. But prospective law students should consider both the potential negative and positive effects on learning, job opportunities, and school rankings of dramatic program swings, in deciding which law school to attend.
Finally, I’d ask about the placement office at the law school. Getting into law school is important. So is getting out and a job thereafter. Does the employment office have a lawyer who worked in at least some of the relevant legal markets for graduates of the school? If so, did he work in the sector of interest to the particular student (e.g. private, public, law firm, in-house)? And, of course, what are the school’s employment data?
In fact, I’d ask to see the data stratified by law-school GPA. I’d be less interested in seeing the overall employment numbers, than how well the top, middle, and bottom of the class separately fare. If the numbers are depressed overall, that’s problematic. If the top of the class places very well, with the effect showing a predictable but not excessively steep decline across downward movement in law-school performance, that’s good news.
In the end, of course, there will be factors and attributes that cannot be foreseen and adjudged prior to attending law school. But students who do their homework should be able to make much better decisions about whether to go to law school and, if so, where.
Robert Steinbuch is a Professor of Law at University of Arkansas at Little Rock, Bowen School of Law and Fulbright Scholar.
Robert Steinbuch