Earlier this month, I lost a wonderful mentor and friend. The loss has been hard to process, but it’s brought up great memories and encouraged me to take the time to be an unexpected mentor and friend.

When Michael and I met, I was a young twenty-something and in my first year of practicing law. The hours were long, the work stressful, and the performance pressure high. Time was a scarce and expensive resource. My office, located by the ever-shrinking law library, was between a large corner office and another small associate office. It was exactly what you would imagine for a downtown Houston law firm: white walls, dark wood furniture, cascading windows, and law books and paper files covering the shelves and desks. One of the best parts about my associate office was that the adjoining office neighbors were “safe” – people that were generally liked and did not interrupt your workday or conduct full volume conference calls on their speaker phones.

However, this comfort quickly dissipated after my work neighbor in the large office changed firms, and I learned I would be getting a new work neighbor, Michael. As a law clerk I worked with Michael on a few small projects, but did not know him well. The only intel I had on my soon-to-be office neighbor was that we were generations apart (Michael was in his late 60’s), he had practiced law for many years, he enjoyed chatting, and went out to lunch almost every day. The chatting and lunching were two things I firmly believed I did not have time to indulge. Michael moved in and not much changed, until the full volume conference calls and never-ending stream of colleagues, clients, and visitors started. At first, I felt annoyed by the continuos interruption of my workday. I also felt uncomfortable knowing way too much about Michael’s personal and professional life from his conference call broadcasts.

Then, I got to know Michael. It started with polite exchanges of “hello’s” and “how are you’s” and evolved into “hey, I have a quick legal question.” Eventually, I was working almost every case on Michael’s docket. Some cases were exciting, some were favors to friends, and some were just plain awful, but all of the cases were learning opportunities for me and Michael knew it. Michael spared no expense of his time or energy in helping me learn as a new attorney. In the years we worked together, I am certain I annoyed him with my endless overanalyzing, over preparedness, and need for efficiency as he sometimes annoyed me with his perpetual lunch invitations, unnecessarily long calls to old attorney friends for “advice,” and schoolboy humor. But, despite our age gap, different approaches to the day, and mismatched years of professional experience, Michael quickly became the mentor and friend I never knew I needed. 

One of my most comical and treasured memories of working with Michael is an eminent domain hearing we attended in a small county outside of Houston. The hearing was early, I felt we were tight on time, but Michael insisted we had plenty to spare to grab coffee. We eventually made it to the tiny, old courthouse. I was in shock of the ease of parking, quick entrance, and friendly staff, but Michael already knew it would be nothing like the downtown Houston courthouse scene. After a few eternal conversations with the courthouse staff, we were directed to our hearing location, the basement. It was just as it sounds, an unofficial courtroom below ground, with plastic tables and fold-up chairs that we had to arrange ourselves, and we were sharing it with the mechanical base of one of the courthouse elevators. Michael was quick to designate our table on what he said was the “good side,” and then casually told me I would be questioning some of the witnesses. He chuckled at my panicked face. He knew I knew every minute detail of the case and could handle it; he just needed me to believe it too.

The panel of local residents that would preside over the hearing arrived and quickly took to Michael over the less engaging opposing counsel. This connection made it feel like we were starting the hearing with an advantage. The hearing commenced with opening statements, the questioning of a few witnesses, and then the ear-splitting, riotous sound of the elevator machinery coming to life. We had to pause and hold our ears. When the elevator finally completed its task, we all laughed and got back to the hearing. It was time for the star witness, someone our research and evidence revealed was not be trusted, and Michael relished the opportunity to interrogate him in front of the panel. He knew it would make our case. Michael started with a few easy questions, then turned on the heat. At one point, in the witnesses’s grandiose calculations of the value of his property, Michael turned to him and pointedly advised with a serious smile, “pigs get fat and hogs get slaughtered.” I’ll never forget the look on the witness’s face. The hearing ended, Michael and I received the win, and we drove back to Houston. Of course, it was just in time for lunch at his regular barbecue spot, a “where everybody knows your name” kind of place, and as a passenger in his car I was required to join.   

I will always remember and cherish these types of “Michael” memories, but it was his mentorship that impacted me the most. I would not have survived those first years of practicing law if it were not for him. He had a matchless ability to mentor. He made it look effortless; somehow sailing past the awkward mentor/mentee dynamic straight into friendship with a little extra guidance. In the mentor role, Michael asked a lot of questions to teach, sometimes to the point of infuriation, but he always made his point. He provided the right growth and learning opportunities with just enough guidance and did not lose his temper over a little falter. Through these opportunities, he showed he had confidence in me, an invaluable thing for a young attorney.

As a mentor, Michael did not have to preach about making people a priority because he did that daily. He never met a stranger or acted too important to talk to someone, he always kept his social engagements, and genuinely cared about the happenings in people’s lives. A rare and important example in a profession where anything but billing hours is easily treated as an inconvenience. He also did not have to emphasize the importance of family because it was evident from his conversations and calendar that family was a top priority. Michael was generous with his time and wisdom and always added some humor. Perhaps some of this generosity and humor came from his age, but that does not change the fact that Michael was passionate about his mentoring. I know that I am one of many people Michael mentored, and it is wonderful think that he left each of us with such  meaningful gifts: confidence in our abilities and the coveted wisdom of an older generation.

As I sit here now, wishing Michael and I could go to just one more lunch, I feel it necessary to challenge myself and others to mentor like Michael. Whatever your profession or position in life, you have wisdom to share. Your mentorship and friendship can truly make an impact – take the time to be that unexpected mentor and friend.

February 2021