During my last semester at Wellesley, having already taken every political theory
course offered, I enrolled in a class entitled “Courts, Law and Politics.” On the first
day of class, Professor Burke handed out index cards so we could write down the
requisite introductory information: Name, Class, Email, Phone Extension. But he
added one more question: Are you planning to go to Law School? I quickly wrote
down “Yes,” since, for as long as I could remember, law school was always in The
Plan.
When Professor Burke read my card, he took advantage of the certainty with which I
answered his final question. He jokingly commented that the point of his class was to
convince students like me not to go to law school because, as he put it, “most students
don’t really know what lawyers do.” I laughed but vowed not to be swayed. After all,
I hadn’t allowed a frightening introductory class to dissuade me from studying
political theory, a subject in which I later flourished and excelled. Why should I allow
this one professor’s joke to shake my confidence in pursuing law school?
* * *
One afternoon, I barged into Professor Burke’s office unannounced after completing
that week’s class reading, Broken Contract, Richard Kahlenberg’s memoir about his
years at Harvard Law School and his struggle to harmonize his liberal ideals with the
mounting pressure to pursue corporate law. “How is it,” Kahlenberg wrote, “that so
many students can enter law school determined to use law to promote liberal ideals
and leave three years later to counsel the least socially progressive elements of our
society?” The question struck me. Law school and becoming a lawyer had always
held its place in my long-term life plan; yet, looking back, I had also always dedicated
my time and energy to pursuing the liberal trifecta: equality, liberty and justice. From
my first research paper at the age of seven on Susan B. Anthony to my stint on the
Hill learning about Asian Pacific American political causes to encouraging students to
vote as Chair of the Committee for Political and Legislative Action, I had taken pride
in consistently searching for ways to increase opportunity, level the playing field, and
advocate for those whose voices were seldom heard. Rarely had I considered that, as a
lawyer, that might not always be the case. Could I proudly represent both the PG&Es
of the world and the trifecta at the same time?
On that day, in Professor Burke’s office, I panicked. I didn’t want to sell out or give
up my idealism, but at the same time, I recognized that my past studies and work
experiences naturally culminated with a career in law. Part of me was angry—angry
at Professor Burke for assigning me a reading that shattered my confidence. The other
part of me was scared. Never had I so blindly dedicated myself to an idea I knew so
little about. Reading Kahlenberg’s memoir revealed that I had no actual conception of
what it was like to practice law or the demands of the career. I was, as he had said,
just another student planning to go to law school with no realistic notion of what
lawyers actually did.
I can’t recall the majority of Professor Burke’s advice, but I do remember his
assurances: only I could change my beliefs and, if he knew anything about me, he
knew I wouldn’t take a job in a place where I couldn’t be proud of my work. On that
day, I decided that if I was going to go to law school, I was going to enter knowing
exactly what I was getting myself into.
* * *
Almost a year later, on a cold February morning, I sat, surrounded by attorneys and
other paralegals, in a conference room at Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison,
LLP, to hear the latest updates on the largest case ever to be handled at the firm. This
case, characterized by several state and federal investigations and a growing number
of civil lawsuits, was an all-encompassing monster that demanded the cooperation of
almost one hundred attorneys and over twenty paralegals. As associates described the
legal basis for each claim, the ongoing discovery process, and their strategies to
protect the interests of the company, I listened intently and in awe. By then, I had
worked at the firm for almost eight months, and during that time, I saw my
responsibilities grow as I adapted flawlessly to the pace of work, hours and demands
of the firm. I worked long hours, all-nighters, and “all-weekenders” in order to finish
projects on time, and my experience provided me with a realistic picture of attorney
life.
While attorneys presented on ERISA, RICO, securities and derivatives issues, I filled
with excitement as I matched my past projects to the timelines the attorneys spoke of.
In my mind, I saw how my work fit into the larger legal strategy and the story my
firm was trying to advocate to the courts. A senior associate closed the meeting by
simply stating: “No matter what you're doing or where you end up, know that you are
a part of a team that is making history. And that is something you should take pride
in.”
* * *
Six days later on February 9, 2006, American International Group, Inc., the world's
largest insurance provider, agreed to pay $1.64 billion to settle federal and state
charges of fraud, bid-rigging, and improper accounting. It is the largest regulatory
settlement by a single company in U.S. history. While the sum itself is shocking, the
monetary value of the settlement cannot overshadow the value of the commitment our
case team made to ensure that the company fully cooperated with state and federal
officials. The next day, the firm credited “a star team of . . . attorneys and paralegals
who worked around the clock and traveled around the world” for AIG's
“unprecedented” positive relationship with regulators. That day, I was in Bermuda,
scouring AIG’s archives for documents. Covered in dust from moving nearly one
hundred grimy boxes, I read the firm’s press release and beamed with pride, knowing
that I had helped make history. Despite my initial fear of defending large,
profit-driven corporations, I managed to help protect a multi-billion dollar company
from the detrimental effects of its management choices. There is a difference between
a corporation and those who run it, and while there is an obligation to bring those men
to justice, there is an equal responsibility to preserve the company in the interest of
shareholders, other employees and those who utilize the company’s services. At that
moment, I forgot all about the long hours and all-nighters, the monotonous and
tedious tasks, the paper jams in the copiers and the paper cuts, the high expectations,
and the pressure for perfection. I remembered, instead, the lessons I had learned along
the way: communication is key; organization and precision are necessary; patience
under pressure is invaluable; and above all, a flexible perspective is vital. Sometimes
there are large, greedy corporations that prey on the individual, but other times, and in
this case, there are greedy individuals who prey on the companies they run. In that
minute of reflection, a realization crossed my mind: my grandiose view of law was
gone, and in its place was a truer understanding of the practice of law.
My view of law is still idealistic in its effects, but entirely practical in its exercise.
Fusing my knowledge of political theory, which constantly searches for the ideal,
with my experience in a law firm, which celebrates tangible results, I bring a
conception of law that balances its normative nature with its descriptive qualities.
And more importantly, through all this discovery and self-exploration, I created a
personal understanding of law that I can not only practice, but also take pride in.
本文着重介绍自己对法律产生兴趣的几个事件，一次课程，在律所实习学习的经
历，以及帮助一家公司避免损失的经历，从而对公司产生新的认识，也就对法律
产生更多更加现实的认识。这样的一个动态的过程体现了自己对法律的执着于热
情；在最后，作者进行了总结，说明自己对进入法学院的决心。
As I walked into Professor Deatherage’s office my heart was racing. Scott Deatherage
was the Coach of the Decade for the 1990s and had won two more National Debate
Tournament championships by 2003. He had taken me under his wing when I arrived,
wide-eyed in Chicago. Four years later, after the best tournament of my life, I was
going to tell the man who believed in this small town Texan that my debate career
had come to an end. What would he say?
That summer I had spent countless late nights reading everything about global
agricultural policy and had produced a policy proposal that was selected by almost
every team on our squad to defend during tournaments that year. In my freshman year
I had not known where to start on my first research project, but now entering my
senior year I had produced a 700-page file made up of newspaper, book, and law
review articles and congressional testimony on every aspect of agricultural subsidy
policy.
During the season, my partner and I had gone toe-to-toe with the best teams in the
nation. Northwestern debate had brought me from a small town orator to an analytical
strategist. As I moved through my senior year, I realized that I had learned an
amazing amount about myself through debate; however, the time had come to think
about the big picture. Our coaches taught us that in a debate round, if one attempts to
win every point of contention, then he or she will be spread too thin and lose the
entire argument. In the larger picture of my academic career, I needed to choose
between the activity I loved and getting the most of the academic opportunities
available to me. My application to write an honors thesis in the English department
had recently been accepted. The research and critical reading skills that I had honed
over the past four years were now to be turned to novels and theoretical essays. If I
decided to do both debate and my thesis, then I would succeed at neither. As
Professor Deatherage told us again and again, “you must choose, because if you go for
everything you will win nothing.”
Working on my honors thesis illuminated how valuable debate was to my intellectual
development. I read each paper as I had each article for debate. I had been drilled in
argument structure, discriminating between critical and unimportant details and
summarizing the central theses of what I read. With the guidance of my advisor,
Professor Brian Edwards, I did go on to write a thesis of which I am very proud. The
outstanding instruction at Northwestern University exposed me to new worlds of
knowledge, and debate had gave me the tools necessary to develop my own critical
lens to take full advantage of that knowledge throughout my life.
Since college I have moved to the Bay Area with my wife as she pursues her
doctorate. I have used these years to explore my interests to determine my future
career goals. As I researched numerous fields I took an inventory of my skills and
interests. The skills I listed were those that drew me into debate in the first place:
public speaking, critical reading, argument analysis, persuasion, and research. I will
be able to best use these skills in the legal field.
Currently I work for a company that specializes in producing electronic, educational
toys. This has opened my eyes to the complex challenges facing companies dependent
on proprietary technologies and content that, for financial reasons, must manufacture
products in nations without lengthy traditions of copyright and patent protections. I
think Stanford’s Science, Technology, and Intellectual Property Law Program would
be an excellent fit for my personal interests and skills. The close ties with companies
in Silicon Valley and the Bay Area facing these challenges daily makes Stanford the
ideal location for me to pursue my legal studies.
In his office Professor Deatherage warmly listened to what I had decided. I will never
forget the elation I felt when he expressed his pride in watching me mature into the
debater and person I had become. Being from a small town in Texas himself, he
understood what it meant for me to have come as far as I had, and that I was ready to
face another challenge.
本文主要讲述了辩论的经历如何影响自己对法律的选择。辩论一开始与自己的毕
业论文起了冲突，作者必须抉择，最终选择了毕业论文，但是发现辩论赛研究的
经历对于自己做论文也很有帮助；对以后的法学院学习也是一种积累。然后，作
者讲到自己如何发现自己的兴趣，是和自己的太太在 bar area生活，尝试新的工
作，才最终发现自己的兴趣。他在一家玩具厂做
设计
领导形象设计圆作业设计ao工艺污水处理厂设计附属工程施工组织设计清扫机器人结构设计
，发现了知识产权与科技法
律的意义，于是决定去斯坦福学法律。
I peered over my toes at the water streaming fifty feet down to the muddy pool below
me and felt a queer beat in my stomach. For half an hour I had hiked a steep incline
up to the cliff in flip-flops. Clinging tenaciously to the footpads, I skipped across
small creeks, pulled myself up with the aid of jutting rocks and tree roots, and swung
across gaps in the path on branches. But as I stood on the cliff, barefoot now, I forgot
my strenuous climb and remembered that every step was taken for one reason - to
jump. So I stilled the fear bouncing in my stomach, counted to three, hurled my body
into the air, and fell.
I have been climbing uphill in flip-flops all my life. While I am aware that everybody
climbs hills and faces obstacles in their lives, I also believe that the success of those
battles may well be based on the foundation upon which one walks - how firm and
supportive it is. As I look back, I realize that the challenges I have faced have enabled
me to find a strong footing within a situation that was not altogether stable.
As a ten year old I grappled with panic attacks and even ulcers, a physical
manifestation of the fear, guilt, and anxiety I felt primarily as a result of my father, an
alcoholic, manic depressive, and sexually abusive man. Though I do have a few
positive childhood memories of our motorcycle rides and camping trips, they are
unfortunately surrounded and superseded by the majority of my experiences with him.
Before I attended therapy and biofeedback sessions in fifth grade, the best way I knew
to cope with my intense and disturbing feelings was to imagine them away. Every
night before falling asleep I would fold my body tightly together and construct a
world in which my father did not exist. He disappeared in a variety of ways - a chance
fire, a freak accident, an unexplainable vanishing. In his place would appear a new
gentle and supportive father. With these images I wooed myself to sleep every night,
but the following morning I would again awake to the reality of my life. Eventually
my coping mechanism became insufficient, and I began seeing a counselor.
Quickly this woman taught me to transform my paralyzing fears into a determined
drive for success. With this skill learned, my life and my feelings about it improved
immeasurably. My relationship with my father changed dramatically resulting from
both a change in his behaviors and a change in my responses. Now, my drive for
success is no longer fueled by a need to transform my life into something more
positive, but rather a desire to continue its trajectory. I am the first person in my
immediate family to attend and graduate from college, which I was able to do with the
assistance of various academic scholarships. Due to my 64 hour/week job working
with developmentally disabled individuals, I have been financially independent from
my mother since my first step onto campus. In addition I have been able to financially
assist my younger sister who now attends college. Most importantly, I have developed
into a woman I am proud of -thoughtful, determined, compassionate, and forgiving,
even of my father. I know now that though he has left an indelibly negative imprint on
my life, he has also prompted a positive one.
After so many struggles, I'm now emotionally and mentally ready for new hills to
climb and new pools to jump into, one of which I hope will be law school. I believe
that with my now developed determination I will be able to successfully complete law
school and with my heightened sense of compassion I will be able to assist those who,
like me, perhaps began life with a shoddy foundation. As for me, my footwear is
finally more supportive and sturdy. I've transformed my flip-flops into hiking boots.
Growing up, I did a lot of moving around. I was born in Chicago, and before moving
to Minnesota, my family moved between Illinois and Iowa. In Minnesota, I lived in a
neighborhood that was rather diverse: although many individuals think of Minnesota
as being a “lily white” state, the area that I lived in, the south side of Brooklyn Park,
near Minneapolis, was very ethnically diverse, particularly because of the large
number of immigrants from Asian countries, Africa, and to a lesser extent, Latin
America. Growing up in such an environment gave me an appreciation that I would
probably not otherwise have for people of other backgrounds and worldviews.
After my sophomore year of high school, my family moved to Fayetteville, Georgia.
Living in the South further broadened my perspective and shattered my perception of
white Southerners as racists and “rednecks.” Upon graduating in 2003, I matriculated
at Florida A&M University. Although born in Chicago and raised in a neighborhood
with more African-Americans than is typical of Minnesota, I had never been in a
situation in which we black people were the majority, and this experience has been
fulfilling as I have seen students from all parts of the country and who represent the
plethora of black cultures. I therefore believe that having found myself in so many
different social atmospheres has provided me with an outlook open to different
perspectives, which will be useful as I embark upon studies in law that require one to
think critically and examine information from a variety of viewpoints.
While in Georgia, one of the more rewarding experiences that I had was the
Governor’s Honors Program (GHP). In my freshman year of high school, I was able
to fulfill my lifelong dream of learning a foreign language by taking Spanish classes.
After a rough start, I began to excel in the Spanish, and the next year I skipped from
Spanish II to Spanish III. After moving from to Georgia for my junior year, my
Spanish IV teacher nominated me for GHP. I put a lot of effort into trying to make it
into the program, and it was wonderful to know that my efforts had paid off when I
was accepted for the summer 2002 session of the program in Valdosta, Georgia.
As a Spanish student, I met other young people who had the same interests that I have.
In the class, I was able to take me [sic, should clearly be "my"] studies further than I
could in school. In class, we produced several of our own songs and a lot of artwork.
Additionally, my Spanish class, along with the other four classes (Latin, French,
German, and another Spanish class), performed a cabaret for all the other students.
(Many students commented that they thought it was better than the “improve”
performances of the theater majors!) For my final project in Spanish, I wrote a song in
Spanish, about the court painter Diego Velázquez.
In my “minor” field, I was a Science student. In Science, the students had weekly
competitions. Thus, every week, I (as well at the other students) had to perform
creatively, whether it was to create the farthest traveling rubber band car (with limited
resources) or to created, with a few pieces of paper and some straws, a structure with
the longest free-fall. These activities allowed me to meet many different individuals
from around the state, and to appreciate the different perspectives that each brought.
Outside of our studies, the other students and I had many opportunities to participate
in activities and have experiences that we probably would have had at home. There
were concerts every week in different genres of music: jazz, woodwinds, strings,
percussion, dance, and various other forms. The art students had an exhibition in
which they p
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