A Formative Friendship Remembered

I am in the air on my way to Ann Arbor, Michigan to attend a football game with my oldest son. Don was born in Ann Arbor a few days following my graduation from law school. Shortly after his birth, I returned to Humptulips County to begin my career and have lived here ever since. Don has been back to Ann Arbor on at least one occasion, but has never been inside the Big House to see a Michigan football game. He and I decided it was time to remedy that lack, and the icing on the cake is that we chose the game with Michigan State – a prime rivalry.

I truly enjoyed my three years in the Midwest. The people are very friendly and the education I received at the University of Michigan Law School was first-rate. Law school served as my introduction to another level of scholarship and intellectualism. Not many law students seem to really enjoy the experience, but I have to admit that, for me, it was wonderful. The professors were approachable while intent on scholarship, and the resulting tone was perfect for a young man seeking a higher place in the world.

The Law School is steeped in beauty and tradition and sets an intellectual tone, modeled as it is after many of the colleges in Oxford. It comprises a stand-alone unit of lecture hall, library, visitor facilities and residence halls. New structures added to the Law School over time have been sensitively designed to integrate with the original buildings and not destroy their integrity and beauty. In the middle of the buildings is the Law Quad, a wondrous outdoor space of grass, trees and walks which fosters reflection and rest. The Michigan Law buildings were all built from the substantial donations to the school of one man, William Cook, a railroad/cable company lawyer in the late 1800’s. The size of his donation allowed the original architects to achieve unity of design and function for the complex of buildings.

I hadn’t been back to Ann Arbor for 38 years before my return two years ago. In the interim, the city had grown, many of the buildings were new, and the Michigan campus had become decidedly more urban. At first I did not recognize the Law School from its exterior, as it no longer is as isolated as it was when I was in school, space being at a premium in central Ann Arbor. But the instant I walked into the front door of Hutchins Hall, memories flooded in. The main building, the Law Library and the Law Quad are as much a part of my life as Humptulips County – in fact, are a part of my Humptulips County.

The purpose of my 2010 visit was to attend a 40^th Law School class reunion, the only reunion I have managed to make. While there, I discovered to my delight that Doug Kahn, one of the professors from my era, was still teaching. To my surprise, I discovered that he has been designated the Paul G. Kauper Professor of Law. I was able to speak briefly to Professor Kahn about Paul Kauper and those far distant years when I attended the school. We both enjoyed a few moments remembering Paul Kauper with great mutual fondness. When our relationship began, Paul was a somewhat skeptical boss who had hired me because of his needs rather than my abilities, but by the time it ended due to his untimely death from leukemia in 1974 he had become my true friend and mentor.

I clerked for Paul Kauper for two and a half years, and was fortunate to co-author a Michigan Law Review article with him following my graduation. He was a highly regarded constitutional law scholar who specialized in First Amendment issues relating to church and state. While working in a ball bearing plant in June following completion of my first year, I learned that Paul had an opening for a researcher due to the unexpected departure of his previous clerk. I quickly applied, ball bearings not seeming to be a critical part of my future. I was immediately hired, quit the plant, and began the role as his clerk that would last until graduation. The friendship we eventually forged lasted well beyond graduation. My last conversation with him was in the Spring of 1974 by telephone when he was in the hospital from which he would not return. His voice was weakened, but his will and his friendship were strong. I think of that phone call as one of the best I’ve ever initiated, since it gave me one last chance to thank a man who unselfishly offered me his hand and his powers of critical analysis and advice.

Why it was that a senior member of the Michigan Law faculty took a chance on a young man from another public university to the West – not the East – of Ann Arbor, is a mystery I may never divine. He probably did so since he was free of the usual academic bias toward Eastern private universities, but more likely my initial hiring occurred simply because I was available and he was in need. I was one of a handful of students remaining in Ann Arbor when his previous clerk quit, and the only one aware of his need. The decision to go to work for him and give up my sovereign rights to the broom I wielded on the floor of the ball bearing plant was one of the best I ever made – and a no-brainer.

Some time during that first Summer, we became colleagues with regard to his passion for church/state matters. I worked hard on his assignments, finding myself strangely attracted to the world of the free exercise and establishment clauses of the First Amendment. The work was fun both because it was challenging and because the more I did of it, the more I learned about an esoteric discipline. It was work that lasted two and half years; it was work that never seemed work. I suspect that Paul may have been surprised by the dedication I gave to matters and, hopefully, by the quality of the research I, the accidental clerk, performed for him.

I spent many hours cocooned in the Law School stacks during those years, hours in which the world whirled by outside. During this period Martin Luther King, jr. and Bobby Kennedy were assassinated, the Viet Nam War constantly roared from afar, and anti-war crowds roared from nearby –across the street for the most part and, on one memorable occasion, within the Law School itself. And while all of these things screamed for my attention without, within the stacks I was immersed in world of scholarly pursuits free from their stretching, grasping fingers. Within the stacks, I was safely ensconced in the world of church property disputes, annual reviews of the preceding session of the Supreme Court, and scholarly research in support of Paul’s varied and prolific writings.

Seen from now, that time has a golden tinge. I thoroughly enjoyed the work, was gratified by my ever-increasing responsibilities, and satisfied that I was learning a great deal in and out of class. But I appreciated his friendship and mentoring more than the learning, for he began to take a personal interest in my welfare and my family that went well beyond the usual professor/law clerk model.

As much as I recall the scholarly pursuits with pride and satisfaction, I better remember the personal moments. For example, one day, after seeing a tax textbook on his bookshelf with his name on the spine, I asked if he had once taught federal income tax. He replied that he had. When I asked when he quit, he gave me a one word response in his typical deadpan style: “1954”. He said nothing further, and simply stared at me. The penny took only a moment to fall. Congress produced a major overhaul of the tax code in 1954, and he clearly had taken the occasion to turn his attention to something of far greater personal interest. So I returned his stare with one of my own and said: “I got it.” To this reply he gave one of his trademark small smiles – the ones that involved just the corner of his lips – his eyes alight with his joy over my connection of the dots. No more was said about the matter or needed to be said. I think that may have been the moment we became friends.

In my senior year, Helen Hayes, Jimmy Stewart and others of the original cast of the movie version of Harvey revived the play and gave it an off-Broadway try out in Ann Arbor. Paul was as excited as I by the news and made me a proposition: if I would be willing to stand in line to get tickets for both of us, he would pay. So stand I did – for 8 hours in a line that snaked upstairs and down before reaching the cashier. When I returned, he asked what had happened to me as he had expected me hours earlier. Following my explanation, he expressed great regret over what he had asked of me. I quickly assured him it didn’t matter as I was delighted to be able to see a play I couldn’t otherwise afford (which, by the way, was a roaring success).

He continued, however, to feel bad about my experience in line and later, by way of intended recompense, gave me tickets to the opera Carmen, to be performed in English by the Canadian National Opera Company. The performance was, to say the least, unfortunate. My wife and I left at intermission, after the first act closed with a tenor running up a ramp while loudly singing “What next?” Thinking this a good question, I pondered a bit and took the opportunity to extricate us from the horror of the performance. Paul read the terrible reviews the next day and apologized anew. He asked what else he might do in reparation. When I opined that he had done “quite enough,” his eyes crinkled and the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. We never spoke of that matter again either.

During my senior year I took a Church/State seminar from Paul and wrote a paper about the history of incorporation of churches in America. He seemed intrigued by the subject matter (he likely suggested it), and asked me, following graduation, if I might be willing to collaborate with him on a law review article. I quickly agreed. For the next two years we made desultory progress given the distance between us and the fact that I was a young associate with a new job. He grew somewhat impatient and asked whether I could take a month off and come to Ann Arbor to work on the paper if he were able to secure a place and a stipend for me.

And so I returned to Ann Arbor in the Summer of 1972 and worked with him on the paper we subsequently published. It was a rich time for me, but I became increasingly homesick for my wife and young son and left about a week earlier than planned. I think Paul was disappointed, even though he understood that I missed my family. It was probably the moment when I elected active practice over a life of scholarship, but I had my doubts about whether I could succeed in the latter. We finished the article shortly thereafter and upon its submission to the Michigan Law Review it was quickly accepted for publication.

When I returned home two years ago following my 40^th reunion and the conversation with Doug Kahn, I found the correspondence file I’ve kept all of these years about our collaboration on the article. My initial intent was to re-read Paul’s many letters to better recall the experience of authoring the article. I quickly noticed bright shards of personal advice and humor amid the dry exchanges of scholarly collaboration. I soon realized that I had rediscovered the correspondence of a friendship, a realization that reinvigorated my long-held love and respect for this man. As I re-read everything, I found myself once again immersed in a kinship with this quiet, stern, caring man who had taken a chance on, and an interest in, me so many years ago.

And I remembered again, his response to my query about how I might ever repay him for all he had done for me: “When you are older and have more experience, pay me back by mentoring others in the profession. In that way you will help me repay those who assisted me many years ago, people you never met but who are important to me.” Paul, I have tried to do so and I continue to try. I can only hope you somehow know this.

I miss Paul. I miss his smile and his crinkly eyes. I miss his enthusiasm for his scholarship and the intense energy he spent upon it. I miss his incredible analytical skills. I miss his mentoring. His friendship lives on inside of me.

So when I visit the Law School with Don later today and show him the scene of a vital part of my life, I know Paul will be walking beside us – unseen to Don, but visible to me, his eyes crinkling in joyous appreciation and approval of the young lawyer my son has become, the young man I had to return to Humptulips County to be with that long ago Summer of 1972.

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