What’s a Lawyer Worth in the High Desert?

Early November on the High Desert of Eastern Oregon is the time when ranchers’ cattle have been gathered from the open range and are feeding on the fenced hay lands aftermath, the farmers have about completed their harvest, and there is a lull in the annual work of both. The kids are in school and the parents are in town, the wives shopping for supplies and the men visiting around.

Television was uncommon, of course, in 1949 in the rural communities. For entertainment the men finished their afternoon at the barber shop for a haircut or just visiting. Some would have spent an hour or two at the Courthouse listening to whatever trial was in progress. (One of the reasons why there are so many benches behind the courtroom bar is because the courtroom was the interesting place to be when the Circuit Judge came to town for the Terms of Court. Oregon still calls its trial courts “Circuit Courts”, although there are only  few circuits anymore.)

I had just been employed for $100 a month at my first law office job. My employer had arranged for me to rent a room for $7 per week at the home of the elderly and widowed City Clerk whose husband had died in a highway accident some time before. Her late husband had been a lawyer in a near-by town and on his drive from the County Seat had been met on a curve by a truck, head-on. He was instantly killed and the damage claim was then on trial, a so-called wrongful death action.

About the first day on my job I walked over to the barber shop for a haircut. The seats were almost filled and I took one to wait and listened to the men exchanging views about everything. I didn’t know any of them and I supposed that none knew me, although word gets around quickly. Toward the end of the day a man walked in and was greeted by everyone. “Where’ve you been?”, said one. “Over at the Courthouse”, said he. “What’d you learn over there?”, said another. “I learned what a lawyer was worth”. “Well, what did you find out?”
“I found out that a lawyer is worth fifteen hundred dollars – dead.”

I was glad that no one looked at me and I remained very silent. I shivered a little,  thinking that the talent I was bringing from Chicago to the High Desert was not as welcome as I had hoped!  Later, I thought that maybe it was just their way of introducing me.