Category: 341 Meeting Stories

On Law Firm Bankruptcies and the Law Firms of the Future

You never imagine that a 160 year old law firm would file for bankruptcy.

That’s why the Daily Memphian’s recent story about the Apperson Crump law firm’s Chapter 11 bankruptcy was such a surprise. This wasn’t some start-up law firm that couldn’t navigate choppy waters; it was founded in 1865 and billed itself as “the oldest continuously operating law firm in Memphis.” The news story was as much about the storied history of the firm as it was about the bankruptcy filing.

On paper, running a law practice seems, frankly, pretty simple. You bill hours, collect fees, and spend less than you collect.

By year 160, what could have tripped them up?

In reality, it’s not that simple. Per the bankruptcy filings, reports the Daily Memphian, the firm suffered a drop in annual gross revenue from $4.45 million in 2024 to $2.01 million in 2025. The firm listed roughly $1.39 million in assets (generally accounts receivable) against $2.7 million in debt. The article suggests that the end was hastened when 7-8 lawyers and 24 staff members left to open a competing firm in 2025, and the remaining 16 lawyers quickly shrunk to 6, in a 15,000 square foot office. The Daily Memphian notes that an eviction lawsuit had been filed.

By the end, the article notes, the firm owed $857,700 to its largest creditors, including its information technology service Adan Technologies, FedEx, Thomas Reuters, and its landlord Boyle Investment Co.

My firm is 6 years old. I look at this and ask “What happened?”

Right out of school, I was hired by a small firm (2, then 3 lawyers), and it was run like a very small business, where every penny was pinched. Paychecks were hand-written by the boss himself. Printer cartridges were not replaced until they had been shaken dozens of times, in order to buy a few more days (or weeks) of printing. Westlaw? Nope; I’d walk and use the courthouse library (which, honestly, was great).

After 7 years there, I was excited to move up to a 40 lawyer firm, to see how “big law” did things.

I got a quick education in law firm management: At the end of my first quarter, I’d billed enough hours to trigger a performance bonus. I didn’t receive it. Instead, I got an email that pointed out the fine print in my offer letter, that the bonus was “conditioned on the firm having sufficient revenue.” My mind was blown. It never occurred to me that they wouldn’t have the money.

Maybe bigger isn’t always better. That firm was run like a big firm, even when the revenue didn’t support it.

Whenever the the younger lawyers asked why the firm did certain things a certain way, the leadership response was pretty specific: “Nashville has lots of law firms. If you don’t like how we do it, you can go work at one of the other ones.” Soon, we quit asking questions.

Ask me how many really good lawyers grew a thriving practice at that firm and then left.

Looking at the list of creditors in the Apperson Crump story, I’m a bit surprised by how boring it all is. No gambling , embezzlement, or extraordinary debts. Just the types of debts you’d expect to see in a law firm bankruptcy filing.

I wonder if the “old fashioned” way of running a law firm was part of the trouble. The big office space. The expensive Westlaw subscription. The heavy IT and computer expenses. Lots of partners. Add in a 2 to 1 staff to lawyer ratio, and it’s easy for expenses get ahead of income.

The mass defection of lawyers also can’t be ignored.

Maybe there’s no single lesson to be learned here.

Modern law firms are in uncharted waters. COVID-era advances in working, technology, and the reduction in hard costs have drastically decreased the complexity and cost of operating a law firm. The post-COVID generation’s shift in mindset matters too; lawyers–even successful, partner level lawyers–are more likely to jump ship than ever before. Legal AI is here to stay and can’t be ignored or vilified any longer. The jobs lawyers have today may look totally different in 10 years. Lawyers have to be open to innovation and change more than they ever have been.

Law is a stubborn industry, grounded in tradition and “the way we’ve always done things,” but law firms have to abandon that approach to stay relevant over the next decade. This is no longer about preserving the status quo and partner origination percentages; it’s about staying in business.

Over the past 15 years, there has been lots of talk in the industry about “succession planning,” i.e. the transition of the law firm management from the old guard to the next generation of leaders. In my experience, law firm management doesn’t transition from the old guard. Instead, the old guard just holds on (way too long) and then sells the law firm to a bigger law firm that has either figured it out or can impose an economy of scale (and higher rates) to paper over the gaps.

I don’t know if that’s what happened in Memphis, but that’s part of what I’m taking away from it all.

For me, I’m not looking to sell any time soon. I’ll be here, pinching pennies and shaking laser cartridges, hoping to buy a few more years of practicing law in Bankruptcy Court (and not appearing as a debtor there).

AI in Law: Don’t Trust and Always Verify

For the sake of transparency, and before you all accuse me of being an AI-In-Law-Technology shill based on yesterday’s post, here’s an interaction I had with Claude today, when a citation in a response didn’t look quite right to me…

Uh, yes, that’s a good catch. The statute literally doesn’t say what the prior response said it did.

Always remember, “Don’t Trust and Verify.”

Recent District Court Opinion out of Memphis “presents a study in the perils” of “unchecked use of AI” (and possibly $48,240 in sanctions)

A few weeks ago, while researching a complicated legal issue, I asked Claude AI to take the first pass before I dug in.

Yes, it’s controversial for a lawyer to admit to using AI at all, but it shouldn’t be. Claude is really good and, frankly, as good as (or better than) your standard issue first-year associate. Having said that, though, you have to treat Claude’s work with the same cautious skepticism that you’d apply to a first-year associate’s work. (My motto? “Don’t Trust and Verify.”)

Here’s why I found Claude’s sources to be eminently trust-worthy…

Yes, in vetting the sources, it was revealed that I am the brains behind the robots! This is either very flattering or terrifying. For now, I’ll accept the compliment.

For 3 years, lawyers have been bombarded by vendors selling AI. Every task, application, or product is AI based or enhanced (and priced accordingly). The future of law is now, and it can be yours for just $755.00 per seat.

At last week’s Tennessee Bar Association Convention and Technology Showcase, every CLE panel related to the use of artificial intelligence. At ClioCon, every exhibitor had some sort of “AI!” product to sell. When I open an app on my computer, I am constantly asked whether I want AI’s help.

Don’t get me wrong; AI is awesome technology, with capabilities that actually match the hype (well, mostly).

But there’s been an equally fervent backlash in the legal profession about the traps presented by the use of AI.

I hear all of that, but, after approaching it with a skeptical mind, I’ve been blown away by AI’s capabilities and believe that it can make competent, smart, careful lawyers better and more efficient at their jobs.

Having said that, though, what about the lawyers who don’t use the AI in competent, smart, careful ways? Let’s ask the Chief Judge for the District Courts in the Western District of Tennessee…

Continue reading “Recent District Court Opinion out of Memphis “presents a study in the perils” of “unchecked use of AI” (and possibly $48,240 in sanctions)”

New Law Firm Advice: Get a Post Office Box

Having started this law firm about 6 years ago, I get asked for advice a lot.

The questions are all over the place. Technology. Marketing. Legal research. Hiring. Finding clients.

One unsolicited thing I tell them: Get a P.O. Box and use that for everything.

It’s rarely followed.

Lawyers put mailing addresses on a pedestal. We think clients view expensive street names or prestigiously high floor numbers as indicators of the quality of work the lawyer provides. In short, the more a lawyer’s rent is, the better the lawyer is, right?

What does a Post Office Box say? Maybe, that you work from home or aren’t serious about all of this. Maybe the lawyer doesn’t have enough work, yet, to have an office.

I had a little bit of that in my mind when I first started.

Inspired by the “new way of doing things,” I was leaving the big firm at the height of COVID and making the plan at the same time. I wanted to practice law in a leaner, more efficient way, and my prime directive was to avoid the big expenses and long term leases that made me so unhappy at the old firm. (To be fair, I was most “unhappy” when the firm couldn’t make payroll.)

But, to me, the lawyers who used PO Boxes all seemed to be solo lawyers, with impermanent and unestablished practices. Maybe, I thought back then, I shouldn’t try to subvert all the old assumptions all at once.

Ultimately, I got a P.O. Box for my firm, but I still tended to give clients the fancy Music Row address of the WeWork where I had an office. Looking back, by not owning it all, I perpetuated the BS.

It was dumb.

Freed from the burden of the old firm’s server rooms and storage closets full of 25 year old boxes, my nimble little firm spent 2.5 years at that fancy address, and also a month in Eulijiro, Seoul, and, after that, I switched to a different WeWork in East Nashville. To this day, though, I still get mail at that old Music Row address.

Here’s the nice thing about using a post office box, especially for a new law practice: You aren’t tied down to one physical address, one law firm entity, or one long term lease forever. You have one central mailing address for the firm, for as long as you need it, for about $200 per year.

What if, just starting the practice, you want to grow, but don’t know when or how much or for how long? What if you want to have a virtual practice and work for stretches from new locations? What if, after you start your practice, you decide this isn’t for you and you want to join another firm?

If you are part of a huge firm, this advice doesn’t apply to you. Sign that 10 year lease and never look back.

But, if you are considering starting your own practice, I urge you to use a post office box for court notices, payments, tax forms, and, well, everything. Use this one address and keep it for as long as you have the firm. Work from home, South Korea, from wherever, but know where your mail is heading.

Generally, the reason people consider starting their own firm is a dissatisfaction about “the way things have always been done” and a frustration that things could be done differently and better. Here’s an easy initial step to break the mold.

More Square Feet, More Billable Hours–Inside Nashville’s Office Space Boom

In the last 7 days, I’ve seen not one, but TWO news stories about law firms renting larger and fancier office spaces.

Maybe it was just a slow news week, but I didn’t realize that was something that justified a news story. (Is it not Super Lawyers or Best Lawyers (TM) season yet?)

Regardless, we’ve come a long way since the days of COVID, when law firms offered “flex” work arrangements, allowing lawyers and staff to work from, well, wherever they wanted to (as long as the work got done). It made financial sense (allowing some firms to downsize, reduce costs, and eliminate those wasteful “corner” offices, in favor of uniform office sizes and more collaborative space) and also met a younger generation of professionals (i.e. the non-old-white guys) where they were at.

Law firms are creatures of tradition, and, as Colliers‘ recently released 2026 Law Firm Trends Report shows, it hasn’t taken long for the old timers to summon the associates back to to their desks. By the end of 2026, Colliers predicts that law firms will expect staff to spend up to 70% of the work week in the actual office.

As for Nashville, Colliers notes the rapid (and rabid) influx of global law firms into the market, which has increased competition for the best office space. Per Colliers, Nashville’s average Class A “asking” rent is $40.40 per square foot.

Having seen the insanely high hourly rates that these new law firms are injecting into the local market, I have no doubt they can afford it.

It seems that we’ve returned to flashy addresses as a signifier of the quality of legal services. The argument for this old fashioned approach is, of course, that “opulent physical spaces suggest success and prestige, which will result in more work from clients.” Said another way, “our marble encrusted tables and leather bound volumes will strike fear in the hearts of enemies and admiration from clients.”

And, yes, the above link takes you to a post by me from 2021, bragging about my WeWork office and how the then-new trends in lawyer office space and lower overhead were so wonderful. (Yes, I’m biased.)

Oh well. The Nashville legal market continues to evolve. But expensive offices, long term leases, and more time at your desk to pay for all that? No thanks.

A few weeks ago, a Nashville lawyer posted a picture on his LinkedIn page. He was visiting his big firm’s Miami office, taking all-day depositions. He posted a picture from the conference room, showing the view out the window.

In the picture, past the visible reflection of the rows of fluorescent lights, you could see people in the distance, having fun on the beach.

On Law Firm Names and Branding

What’s in a name?

There’s a scene in Season 6 of Mad Men that considers this question.

After the merger of “Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce” with their rival, “Cutler Gleason and Chaough,” the partners meet to decide on a name going forward. The secretaries are confused: the official name is “SCDP-CGC,” but many are answering the phones with “Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce Cutler Gleason and Chaough.”

Both are mouthfuls. Every alternative considered is offensive to the partners in different ways. Some don’t like the order of the names. Some don’t like that the deceased partners remain in the title. Some partners don’t like that their own name (or initial) isn’t on the list. Some are just awkward and impossible to say. Every solution is worse than the one before.

In the end, they decide on “Sterling Cooper & Partners,” which is perceived as the least offensive choice (well, except to “Sterling” and “Cooper”).

This reminded me of law firm names.

Law firms have been, generally, named after a few of the lawyers in the firm. Maybe they are the founders and first partners. Maybe they are the rainmakers. Maybe adding a last name to the list is way to recruit the next generation of leaders.

Even though the rules of professional conduct no longer require law firms to use lawyers’ last names, law firm names are still, typically, just a list of last names. And, yes, it can be a mouthful, when it exceeds 3 or 4 names. When I’m typing it out for a letter, all I think about is the back office drama that went into the 7th partner getting his or her name added and how, maybe, that partner is going to fight whoever tries to be the 8th name. When a partner has a hard to pronounce name (like “Chaough”), I wonder if that was a mark against his or her partnership candidacy.

Over the past few decades, as partner ranks have grown, law firms have started to get inventive. In some cases, no matter how many actual partners there are, the firm simply has 2 or 3 partner names listed, following the Mad Men concept of annoying most of the partners equally.

Some mega firms go even more scaled back, using branding that highlights only 1 or 2 names. Sure, lots of people know “Skadden Arps,” but did you know it’s actually “Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom LLP” and that none of Skadden or Arps or any of them are still at the firm?

Having said that, though, if you are reading this blog, you’ve probably heard of Skadden Arps, right? That’s good branding. If you call and ask for Mr. Skadden (or even Mr. Flom), they aren’t there anymore. But, you can be sure that whoever takes your call is going to be very well educated, have great credentials, and will be very expensive and litigious. That’s the “Skadden Arps” way.

I get it. Sometimes, a random assortment of last names has meaning in the market. When you’re a brand name with market cachet, you tend to want to keep that name.

There has been chatter over the past 4 months about the potential demise of Neal & Harwell, PLC, a Nashville litigation law firm that’s been around for more than 50 years. It has been historically regarded as a premier litigation firm in Nashville, based, largely, on the reputation of Mr. Neal and Mr. Harwell. At first, it was second-hand and unsubstantiated whispers, then, about a month later, founding partner Mr. Harwell left for a new firm, and then, over the following weeks, lawyers slowly started leaving for other firms.

Today, the Nashville Post reported that 20 of the remaining Neal & Harwell lawyers will join Womble Bond Dickinson (US) LLP. Womble Bond Dickinson was founded in 1876 in London and has 37 offices all over the world. The picture in the Post’s article is of Womble’s Nashville office managing partner, who has a “202” area code and who is based in both Washington DC and in Nashville.

I don’t know much about Womble Bond, but I remember that it’s one of those big law firms trying to get in on Nashville. I’m sure it’s a great move for all involved, and we’ll be seeing Womble Bond lawyers on the court dockets soon.

I may be biased, but I’ve never liked the long list of last names as a corporate name. Sure, sometimes there’s value (see above), but, sometimes, it’s just about ego, tradition, and lack of creativity. Not to mention that it’s a practice that favors old white guys.

We’ve seen lots of lawyers jumping firms over the past few years, which has included a number of named partners (who are discretely removed from the name), but I can’t remember a founding captain of a firm switching firms and leaving his name behind. Has that ever happened?

Notwithstanding my general dislike of last names as law firm names, I’ve been secretly hoping that one or many of the lawyers at the old firm would decide to simply keep the name and continue practicing as “Neal & Harwell, PLC” for years to come. It’s a brand built with 50 years of effort from many lawyers–and not just Mr. Neal and Mr. Harwell. Lots of unnamed partners have carried that flag for decades, and, just because they weren’t in the name, it doesn’t mean that they didn’t help build up that name.

Did they shut it down when Jim Neal (a huge legal figure) passed away? (No) Are there lawyers all over the country who think of great litigators in Nashville, have no idea about any of this, and will simply tell their Tennessee clients to call the “Neal & Harwell” firm? (Surely)

None of this is my business, and I don’t even know if keeping the old name was possible. (Maybe the Tennessee Rules of Professional Conduct prohibit it.) As somebody who left a firm and has suffered through many e-mail iterations over the last 5 years, maybe I’m just biased about keeping the old name and prefer to avoid the hassle.

But I would have considered it. That name meant something. RIP, Neal & Harwell. You were always a pain in the neck to have litigation cases against, and I respected you and your attorneys.

A remembrance of Professor Tom Nenon and a Reminder of the Value of the Small Things

University of Memphis professor Tom Nenon passed away last week. I want to tell you a very small story about Tom, who had a very big impact on my life.

When I first met Tom Nenon, he’d hadn’t yet been made provost. He was just a professor in the (Memphis State) Philosophy Department.

This was in 1993, and I was starting my sophomore year, still struggling to find my way at a big university.

After a first semester in some difficult pre-med courses, I received a not-so-kind letter from the scholarship office over the Christmas holidays, informing me that, if my grades didn’t rise and exceed a certain threshold, I’d lose my full-ride (and then some) scholarship. My grades weren’t awful, but they were middling.

I was a first generation college student, and my first year was a bumpy ride. As the kid of a grocery store check-out clerk and a factory worker, I had no idea what college looked like or how I fit in there.

When I shared the letter with my family over the holiday break, my parents just shrugged their shoulders and said something to the effect of “Oh well, you tried. College isn’t for everybody.” It’s crazy, but also completely understandable. They had worked every day of their lives to build a great home and life, and they simply didn’t see why their healthy, smart 18 year old son would waste 4 of his prime working years.

It was nice to not get fussed at, but it was also pretty clear that, if I lost this scholarship, it was my problem to solve and, maybe, the end of college for me.

I was terrified. What scared me the most was that my grades weren’t the result of too much fun or partying or enjoying the college life-style. Instead, I was trying as hard as I could and, for the first time in my life, began to wonder if I was good enough to succeed.

I’d love to tell you that the second semester of my freshman year was all redemption and great successes. Nope, it was still really hard. In the end, I got my grades just up enough to keep the scholarship, with Biology II and General Physics making sure to keep me in doubt about my future.

The next year, my sophomore year, I avoided all the science classes. My parents–who were confused why I was even at college–were even more confused to hear about my studies in Sociology, Communication, and Classical Issues in Philosophy.

I was still a bit lost, but felt like, maybe, I was heading in the right direction.

Then I met Tom Nenon, my Philosophy 1101 professor.

If you’ve read this far, you’re probably expecting to hear about an internship or research project or some mentorship that grew into a life-long friendship. This is not that.

Here’s what Tom did for me. A few months into the semester–maybe in October–at the end of a lecture, he asked if “David Anthony was present and could meet me in my office.”

It was big lecture class, with about 75 students, and I remember the looks on my friends’ faces wondering what I had done. I was also a little bit concerned.

In his office, he greeted me as if I was a long-lost friend, and he sat me down and told me how impressed he has been with my work in class. He asked if I had ever considered studying philosophy, and he gave me a sales pitch about the department, the students and faculty, and all the things I could do with a philosophy degree (by that time, I had vaguely identified a law degree as a possible path). I felt like a 5 star point guard in the basketball facility. It was awesome.

In the end, I didn’t become a philosophy major. I took 3-4 more philosophy courses, but followed my heart into the English department. Other than a few hi’s and how are you’s, I’m not sure I talked much with Professor Nenon after that.

But here’s why I’m posting all this. After that day in his office, I never questioned whether I belonged on that campus. I also never questioned taking courses that I was passionate about. I never made anything less than an “A” in any class. And I never forgot the guy who not only saw my potential but made sure to celebrate and encourage it.

When Nenon was appointed Provost years later, I emailed him to congratulate him but also to share my gratitude for that very small moment that had such a ripple effect on my own journey.

His response was very kind and effusive, and I wish I still had it.

But, having read more about his life and passion for others, I am sure that I am just one of the thousands of students, friends, and colleagues whose lives and journeys were touched by Tom, and I’m so glad I was able to thank him, even if it came 20 years after the fact.

It’s a reminder how often we have the ability to help or encourage somebody, with the smallest gesture, and how easy it can be.

Thanks for the final lesson, Professor Nenon.

Foreclosures Are Back! (And what this means for Nashville and Bankruptcy Lawyers)

Maybe it’s a harbinger of a worsening economy, the lack of new commercial lending, high interest rates scaring buyers away, or just that secured lenders are sick of being patient, but Nashville is seeing more commercial foreclosures lately.

Obviously, the pending foreclosure of Plaza Mariachi earlier this month made top headlines, but the increase of foreclosure sale notices in the local newspapers suggest that more lenders are taking that final step.

In full transparency, I wrote we’d see an increase foreclosures back in 2022, and I was generally wrong.

Right now, things seem different. Borrowers don’t have access to the same borrowed funds they had over the past 2-3 years. The exuberant “new money” buyers pouring into the market seem to have slowed down. Both the lenders and borrowers can see the “bottom of the river” regarding cash flow and business income.

As much as we’ve been kicking the can down the road on various deals, we keep ending up at the same place, with foreclosure the only remaining exit strategy.

Next week, I have 5 commercial foreclosures set over the course of two days; the week after that, I have 2.

The next storm cloud on the horizon will be whether Nashville has enough bankruptcy lawyers who can service the needs of a city the size of Nashville.

As that post shows, I’ve been wrong for years about the pending explosion in new bankruptcy cases (it’s largely never happened), so maybe I’m wrong about the lack of bankruptcy attorneys.

I don’t think I am. Faced with a pending foreclosure, Plaza Mariachi filed for chapter 11 bankruptcy, but the lead debtor’s attorney is a firm out of Phoenix, Arizona.

If you are a new lawyer, looking for a viable practice area, I’ll repeat the advice I gave in July 2020:  Learn Bankruptcy.

Smaller Law 101: Advice from Taylor Swift about Bad Client Intake

When I think about my least favorite cases, it’s generally because the client is terrible in some crucial way.

I remember the day I got my own all-time least favorite case. It was about 20 years ago, and my day started with a simple matter in Williamson County General Sessions Court. While I was waiting for my case, there was a dramatic hearing on the docket right before mine.

A contractor had filed a pro se collection lawsuit, and, during the trial, the contractor came with a wild energy, ready to fight. He got into an argument with the lawyer on the other side, threatened the homeowners, had no documents to support his case, and ended the trial by yelling at the Judge (who had ruled against him and told him to hire a lawyer and appeal it, if he thought the decision was wrong).

As the contractor stormed out of the courtroom, yelling at everybody, I remember thinking “I would hate to be that guy’s lawyer.”

In the two hours that it took for me to get lunch and make it back to my office in Nashville, my boss had a new case for me. Yes, it was that guy. He had told his cousin about how he had gotten screwed over by a biased judge and needed a lawyer for the appeal in Circuit Court. The cousin–a client of my firm–recommended my boss, who handed the file directly to me.

I told my boss what I saw in court that day and begged him not to take the case.

I’ll spare you all the details, but that client never got less angry and more reasonable. He was mad at me for asking for paperwork and proof. He didn’t understand why we needed evidence. He was mad at the bills we sent him. He refused to participate in any meaningful aspect of the process. He hated me and questioned everything I said to him about the case. Settlement was never an option. We were going to fight this to the end. My boss took a “hands off” approach.

In the end, he showed up for the trial in Circuit Court, but it was only slightly less wild than the first trial. We lost spectacularly, and my memories of that trial are as vivid to me as my memories of my wedding day and the births of my children.

I tend to think about that case during the holiday season, because, after that trial, I went directly to a real estate agent’s elaborate holiday party in a 6,000 square foot model home in Brentwood (this was the good times, pre-Great Recession). I drowned my PTSD in eggnog.

I was reminded of it all, when I saw Matt Margolis‘ tweet about how better the practice of law can be when you get to choose your clients. Matt recently started his own law firm, Margolis PLLC.

That may be the greatest benefit of running your own firm. At my old firm, you got handed cases, whether you wanted them or not. Some clients are unreasonable. Some have bad claims. Some can’t afford a lawyer. In a big firm, often you don’t always have a choice. It’s too bad, though, because taking on bad cases or bad clients is an easy way to create unhappy lawyers.

Don’t get me wrong: In your own firm, you will absolutely take on bad cases and bad clients, but it’s different when it’s your own choice. At worst, it’s a lesson you (hopefully) learn from. Having recently closed the last of what I referred to as “The Sinister Seven,” I can assure you that it’s a learning process (ask me about the sequel, “The Terrible Two”). Taylor Swift and I both can benefit from some honest self-reflection.

After three plus years of running my own firm, you would be shocked at how picky I have become (I call it The Client Decision Tree, and I’ll do a full post on that soon). Some lawyers see those initial client calls like a job interview, and I do too: But it’s usually me doing the vetting.

I refer out about three times as many cases than I accept, and it’s been a revelation. Some clients simply make things more difficult, and that can impact your entire practice.

To this day, my engagement letters say “the attorney-client relationship is one of mutual trust and confidence,” and it’s not just filler to distract the client from the hourly rate and retainer. If I get a sense from a potential client that she doesn’t respect my role, the legal process, or trust me (i.e. listen to me), that client never gets an engagement letter.

Life is too short and reputations are too fragile to do work for clients who aren’t a good fit with my firm. Say yes to too many bad clients, and you’ll find you have less time, patience, and space for the awesome clients.

Nashville Has a Bankruptcy Lawyer Problem

There are hardly any bankruptcy lawyers in Nashville under the age of 40.

With three law schools in the Middle Tennessee area, you’d think there’d be more than enough lawyers in Nashville to satisfy any and every conceivable legal need. 

If so, you’d be wrong. In my recent experience, Nashville is an under-lawyered city, if you judge from the number of new calls I get (across the legal spectrum) and, as result, the difficulty I have finding a lawyer to refer these callers to.

(As an aside, it might just be that the clients are calling their old lawyers at their new firms and are stunned by the new hourly rates.)

Having said that, I’m really concerned about the lack of young bankruptcy attorneys.

I wrote about this 2020–“The Bankruptcies are Coming, but Where are the Bankruptcy Attorneys“–and my bold March 2020 and April 2020 prediction about the looming wave of bankruptcy filings was totally wrong. In fact, the opposite was true: Bankruptcy filings in Middle Tennessee hit a historic low mark during that time.

As the country braces itself for an economic dip and you hear about law firm layoffs, I repeat my old advice: Learn Bankruptcy.

A bankruptcy practice is one of the best kept secrets in the profession. It’s all based on the Bankruptcy Code, which you can read cover-to-cover in an afternoon. It’s a small, collegial and sophisticated bar (the fact that it’s so small tends to prevent the shenanigans lawyers pull in the broader legal universe).

Plus, starting in a bankruptcy practice exposes you to nearly every legal issue imaginable, since so many state and federal law issues end up in bankruptcy court. Many complex transaction lawyers cut their teeth doing 363 sales in bankruptcy court.

During the last recession, Nashville was lucky and recovered quickly, with real estate prices rising, corporate growth, and a robust commercial lending base in the immediate years after the downturn. 

The downside of that is that we’ve lost a generation of bankruptcy lawyers to corporate, commercial lending, and other (more sexy) practice areas. Today, in the year 2023, the lawyers who file debtor bankruptcies are largely the same ones who were filing those cases fifteen years ago. You can count the firms who file small/medium corporate chapter 11 cases on one hand.

I expect to see more national and local bankruptcy filings in 2024. If you’re a law student or recent grad trying to differentiate yourself from the pack, learning a little bit about bankruptcy law may be a smart move.