Legal Ethics Course Name

86px-US_Department_of_Justice_Scales_Of_Justice.svgThe October 2009 edition of the National Jurist magazine includes a statement from Jack Crittenden, the publication’s editor-in-chief, calling for law schools to begin teaching morality.  Citing the embarrassing role played by lawyers in the financial meltdown of 2008, Crittenden writes that “our law schools should be discussing the concepts of fairness and compassion in relation to the law and representing clients.” He further notes: “Today, it is the institutions of higher education that must carry forth the banners of morality, virtue and responsibility in order to keep America great. And law schools play a greater role in that responsibility than perhaps any other institution of higher learning.”

How to teach ethics and morality, or even if it is appropriate to do so, has been a much discussed topic in the legal academy, going back at least to the Watergate Crisis of the mid-1970’s.  One aspect of the debate has involved what to call the basic course in legal ethics and professional responsibility required of all law students.  Should the course be primarily about the formal rules governing lawyer conduct or should it focus on the ethical conduct of lawyers separate and apart from the rules that govern them?  Although course titles can be misleading, they often reflect the way that a particular institution has answered this question.

Marquette’s experience has reflected the uncertainty over the proper name for the course that used to be universally known as “legal ethics.”  While the course at Marquette traditionally was called “Legal Ethics” at some point that title was abandoned, and the over the past twenty years it has been known variously as “Professional Responsibility,” “Law and Ethics of Lawyering,” and the current “Law Governing Lawyers.”  At Marquette, the term “ethics” was in the course name, then it wasn’t, then it was brought back, albeit in a secondary position to “law,” and then it was dropped again.  Although the current course description refers to “ethical principles” they are listed as second to “legal principles,” and the course’s focus is described as primarily a “study of the principal ways in which lawyers are regulated.”

From 1997 to 2000, Marquette had a second required course on the legal profession, called “The Lawyer in American Society.”  Initially, the primary text for this course was American Legal Ethics by the noted ethical theorist Thomas Shaffer of the Notre Dame Law School.  Shaffer’s book was not about the Rules of Professional Conduct but about the moral consequences of becoming a lawyer.  After the first year, the Shaffer text was abandoned, although one section did replace it with another Shaffer book entitled, Lawyers, Clients, and Moral Responsibility. By the end of the second year of the four year experiment, the ethics focus of the class was largely abandoned.

Why does Marquette Law School, a branch of a Christian university, seemingly have such difficulty in holding itself out as a teacher of ethics and morality?   Why don’t we still call the course “Legal Ethics”?

I am not suggesting that individual professors do not raise questions of ethics and morality in their classes. I am certain that many do.  But at the level of course names, we seem to be reluctant to use words like “ethics” and “morality,” as our inability to settle on a permanent name for our required course on professional obligations suggests.

This phenomenon is not limited to Marquette.  As an experiment, I examined the web pages of 20 leading law schools to determine how each school deals with the question of what to call its basic course in professional obligation.

Of the twenty schools, only Notre Dame refers to the course simply as “Ethics,” but five others include the word “ethics” in the course title.   Northwestern still uses the traditional “Legal Ethics” and at Washington University, the course is “Lawyer Ethics.”  Other schools combine “ethics” with other concepts as Marquette did in the most recent former name of the course.  The University of Michigan uses “Ethics and Law of Lawyering—the Marquette version of this switched ethics and law.  At the University of Chicago, the title is “Legal Practice and Ethics” while it is “Ethics, Business, and Lawyers” at the University of California-Berkeley.

The most popular name for the course is the ethically neutral “Professional Responsibility” which is how the course is known at the University of Virginia, Georgetown, Penn, Columbia, Texas, Stanford, Vanderbilt, Washington & Lee, and UCLA.  Wisconsin, apparently to emphasize the multiplicity of obligations, calls it “Professional Responsibilities.”  At NYU, it is “Professional Responsibility and the Regulation of Lawyers;” while at Yale it is “Professional Responsibility and the Legal Profession.”  Harvard, being Harvard, uses its own name, “Legal Profession.”

If law schools do decide to follow Crittenden’s recommendation and focus much more explicitly on ethical and moral behavior on the part of lawyers and clients, a good way to start would be to return to the use of “Legal Ethics” as the name of the basic courses in … legal ethics.

I will acknowledge that teachers of this course in Wisconsin do face a type of pressure to orient their courses around the formal rules governing the practice of law that does not exist in other states.  Forty-six states now require prospective lawyers to take the Multistate Professional Responsibility Examination, a separate examination that requires knowledge of the American Bar Association’s Model Rules of Professional Conduct.  Law students in these states invariably take an MPRE review course which provides them with a systematic presentation of the Model Rules.  Three of the other four states test knowledge of ethical rules as part of the regular bar examination and the topic is covered, sometimes extensively, in bar review courses for those states.

Wisconsin’s diploma privilege, however, means that the only exposure that students at Marquette and the UW receive to the rules governing law practice is what they are exposed to in their required Professional Responsibilities or Law Governing Lawyers course.  However, I do not find persuasive the argument that there is not time in this class to provide both a thorough explication of the Wisconsin Rules and to challenge students to think systematically about the moral and ethical obligations that follow from bar membership.

I, for one, would be happy to see the name of our course returned to “Legal Ethics.”

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Our Long National Patent Nightmare is Over? Tafas v. Kappos and the New Patent Administrative State

USPTO LogoThe citizenry of the United States awoke to shocking news this morning . . . the United States Patent and Trademark Office has rescinded its controversial continuation application rules package (what was that about a Nobel Peace Prize?).  The link to the press release is here.

These controversial rules—which sought to limit the number of continuation applications, a type of patent application that claims priority back to an earlier filed application—had prompted vociferous opposition from the patent community because it would limit strategic choices related to patent prosecution.  Indeed, I derived the title of this blog from comments posted today on the Patently-O Blog.

I had long threatened a blog post that advised newly appointed Commissioner Kappos what he should do in response to the issues posed by Tafas.  Conveniently, Commissioner Kappos actually undertook the strategy that I would propose—rescinding the rules, filing a motion to dismiss the case, while at same time seeking to vacate the federal district-court decision (a motion joined by one of the plaintiffs, GlaxoSmith Kline).  As I have discussed in an article published last year (First Things, First: A Principled Approach to Patent Administrative Law, 42 John Marshall L. Rev. 29 (2008)), the decision of the district court was filled with a number of mistaken premises about the nature of substantive notice-and-comment rulemaking in the patent administrative state.

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The “Who Owns the Baseball” Issue Just Will Not Go Away

baseballEarlier this week, the Philadelphia Phillies decided to return the baseball that Phillie Ryan Howard hit for his 200th career home run to the fan that caught the ball.  This particular baseball is significant because Howard reached the 200 home run mark in fewer games than any player in baseball history.   The “historic” home run was hit in Miami on July 16 in a game against the Florida Marlins, and the lucky fan was twelve-year-old Jennifer Valdivia, who was sitting in the right-field bleachers at Land Shark Park.

Valdivia and her fifteen-year-old brother attended the game without an adult companion.  After catching the ball, the Miami resident was escorted by Florida Marlins employees to the Philadelphia clubhouse, where she was given cotton candy and talked into exchanging the home run ball for a different baseball autographed by Howard.  Upon learning of these events, her family retained lawyer Norm Kent and formally requested that the ball be returned.  The team refused to give the ball back for almost three months, but decided to do so after Kent filed suit on Monday, October 5.

Although the Phillies have so far refused to comment on their decision to return the ball, they most likely did so to avoid the bad publicity that would follow widespread reporting that the team had taken advantage of a twelve-year-old fan.  What is more interesting is that the Phillies appear to have accepted that the ball did belong to Valdivia, rather than to the home team Florida Marlins or Major League Baseball.  Had they believed the latter, they could simply have requested that the Marlins retrieve the ball for them, and they would not have had to barter with the young girl.

Historic home runs balls have become objects of great value in recent years, and the “ownership of balls batted into the stands” issue has been much discussed.  However, the legal aspects of the matter have rarely been understood even though it is not really a complicated question.  The right to such baseballs can be established through the application of basic property law principles.

The first task is to establish the owner of the ball before it is hit into the stands.  Ordinarily, this is the home team, which is obligated to provide baseballs meeting major league specifications.  The baseballs are given to the umpires prior to the game, but neither that action nor the use of the balls in pre-game practice or in the game itself reflects a transfer of ownership, as evidenced by the fact that any leftover baseballs are returned to the home team when the game is completed.

Logically, a fan retrieving a ball hit into the stands is legally entitled to keep the ball only if the home team’s ownership rights have been somehow transferred or relinquished.  Ownership rights are transferred only by abandonment, gift, or sale.  If there is no abandonment, gift, or sale, there is no change in ownership.

Although it is often stated that baseballs are abandoned once they leave the playing field, there is no legal basis for such an assertion.  At football and basketball games at all levels and at amateur baseball games, fans are expected to return balls that travel into the area where spectators are seated.   To lose control of an owned object is not tantamount to abandonment.  If two boys are playing catch and an errant throw lands in a neighbor’s yard, they may not have the legal right to retrieve it on their own (because of trespassing laws), but that does not mean that they have abandoned their property rights to the ball.

Moreover, abandonment as a theory will not work in situations where representatives of the home team go into the stands immediately after the ball lands for the purpose of retrieving it.  Obviously, the owner is not abandoning the ball if its agents are trying to get it back.  Only if no effort is made to retrieve the ball, and it appears that the owner has relinquished any intention of reclaiming it, can the ball be said to be abandoned.  Consequently, if the fan has a legal claim to a ball that the owner wishes to retrieve, the claim cannot be based upon a theory of abandonment.

A better argument than abandonment is the argument that the ball is a “gift” from the home team to the fan.  Gifts require both donative intent (the intention to make a gift) and actual or constructive delivery.  Otherwise, the change of possession represents either a bailment or theft, but in neither of those situations is there a change of legal ownership.

One could argue that when a fan enters the seating area of the stadium, the home team “prospectively” gives him or her any ball hit into the stands that he or she might retrieve.  However, there are problems with the gift analysis.   Although prospective interests can be the subject of gifts — I can give away a five percent interest in the profits (ha!) from my next casebook — the law of gifts normally requires that the donor control the object of the gift at the time of delivery and that the object of the gift can be defined with specificity.  There is also a fine line between gifts of prospective benefits, which are enforceable, and promises to make a gift in the future, which are not.

Of course, if the home team decides not to make an effort to retrieve a particular ball hit into the stands and instead allows the fan that recovered it to keep it, one can argue that a gift has been made at that point.  However, this rationale provides no legal protection for the fan in cases where the owner or its representatives are in the stands demanding the return of the ball.

The better analysis is that the ball belongs to a fan as a matter of contract.  When one purchases a ticket to a professional baseball game, the buyer is led to believe that he is purchasing a number of entitlements — among which are the right to watch the ensuing game without interference and the right to sit in the seat identified on the ticket.  Because of the longstanding practice, dating back at least to the 1920’s, of allowing fans to keep balls hit into the stands at professional baseball games, the “right” to keep such balls, I would argue, has become an implicit part of the contract between the team owner and the ticket buyer.

When you purchase a ticket to a baseball game, part of what you are purchasing is the right to keep any ball, hit fair or foul, that you retrieve when it passes into the stands.  Every baseball fan knows this.  To demand the return of a ball at this late date would constitute a breach of contract.  Even if the fan were not entitled to the return of the ball itself, if it were improperly taken away, the fan would be entitled to the cash equivalent of the ball’s value.

This analysis would not prevent a team from announcing a new policy that all balls batted into the stands must be returned if requested, but it seems highly unlikely that any team owner would adopt such a policy, which would surely anger fans and give them reasons not to purchase tickets.

So the Phillies were actually right.  The ball did belong to Jennifer Valdivia.  It was hers under the terms of the contract between young Jennifer and the Marlins that was created when she purchased her ticket.  What the Phillies did wrong was to try to defraud a young girl whose family knew how to find a lawyer who understood the sports memorabilia market.

The Miami Herald story reporting the return of the ball and a video of an interview with lawyer Norm Kent can be found here.

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