Legal Profession – Creditors Rights 101

There will never be another Tom Lawless

Tom Lawless didn’t care whether you liked him or not.

And there were definitely people who didn’t like him. But those people never took the time to get to know him. They stopped at his politics, were leery of his sharp sense of humor, or were jealous of his self-confident independence. Tom was defined by his politics, but he didn’t play politics by the rules.

One reason Tom didn’t care if you didn’t like him was that, frankly, he knew you were wrong. Tom brought his authentic self to every interaction, to every case. He couldn’t help it.

If somebody was being dumb in court, he’d say it. If his client was being greedy, he’d tell them. If opposing counsel pushed too hard, watch out (and, to be clear, it didn’t need to be Tom who was being pushed–he was genuinely offended by jerks).

Local reporters loved Tom. Always willing to go on the record, and he was a “good quote.” (Though I bet the off-the-record stuff was phenomenal.)

A smart legal mind is a dime a dozen, but the ability cut somebody in half with a sarcastic comment and a willingness to say it? Tom was fearless and absolutely owned that.

He was also a fierce friend.

Tom and I swam in the same waters. We both represented creditors, and so we never had cases against each other. Instead, we were competing for the same clients–a position that maybe was more adversarial than being opposing counsel.

Tom was always good to me. Don’t get me wrong: For the first 10 years of my career, I avoided him. If Tom Lawless was in the business of calling out dumb lawyers for doing dumb things, I didn’t need him paying attention to my little career.

Then, I got to know him. He chaired the Nashville Bar Association Ethics and Professionalism Section, and, for years, he’d host a monthly sit-down session with titans of the Nashville Bar and chit chat with them, about the law, their career, about anything that came to mind, under the guise of a committee meeting. Really wide-ranging, candid conversations that only Tom could have with these people, but open to whoever showed up.

At first, I thought that it was a discrete way for Tom to flatter the important people; after attending a number of those meetings, I figured out that it was a way for those people to curry favor with Tom.

Because you always wanted to be on Tom’s good side. Pre-COVID, I joined the Rotary Club, and I’d generally sit at Tom’s table–at the back of the house–and he just could not keep quiet. He knew everybody and knew everything. A story would come to his mind, a catty comment, and he’d say it. Out loud. Years ago, a friend told me “Tom is like the internet. If you tell him, you need to assume that everybody knows.”

You couldn’t have a call with Tom that lasted less than an hour. He loved to talk and, despite his political reputation, had a genuine interest in people of all sorts. If you needed something, he’d help. A call with him always included a sincere “And how are you doing? Everything good?”

I can’t count the number of times I left the office late or ate a cold dinner, because I took the 5pm call from Tom.

People talk all the time about politics being too partisan nowadays, but, despite being the most conservative of conservatives–in a blue town like Nashville– Tom was always willing to cross the aisle when a helping “a lib” was the right thing to do.

For years, the Nashville Bar Association posted a list of volunteers for its Dial-A-Lawyer pro bono program, and Tom’s name was on it every month. What a thankless service, just answering debt collection questions on the phone for hours, but he was there.

When he passed, I hadn’t talked to Tom for months.

About a year ago, a friend of mine was up for a judgeship, and I reached out to Tom to put a good word in for her. (She got the job.)(Side-note: She didn’t need any help.) Tom took the credit, and I was happy to give it to him. Tom was a guy who did favors and got things done.

I felt guilty, asking for anything, when I hadn’t seen him for a bit. In fact, I volunteered at Dial-A-Lawyer last month (for the first time ever), hoping that maybe Tom would be there, holding court with the other volunteers during the lull in calls. He wasn’t there, and the volunteer coordinator said she hadn’t seen him in a long time.

I got a little concerned. For a few months, I had been meaning to reach out to him. To check in on him, trade some gossip, all of that. I never texted, because I knew, as soon as I hit “send,” he’d call, and I always held off, waiting until I had about an hour to chat.

It’s a busy time, and I’m sure I’ll see him soon.

Sunday night was a shock. Other people knew him far better than I did, but Tom’s passing is a big loss to our community. For all his politics, he was never politically correct. Despite his proximity to power, he’d call out hypocrites and stupidity, no matter the party. His strongest affiliation was to his friends. And, if you needed his help, he’d probably say yes.

Tom will be missed. In Bankruptcy Court and Chancery Court. At the Nashville Bar Association. Over at the legislative offices. On my caller id.

I can’t imagine there will ever be another Tom Lawless.

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…

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.

Nashville Honky-Tonks, Tennessee Two Steps, and a Triple Net Lease

Local Nashville news has been abuzz about the huge tax bill faced by Lower Broadway’s Acme Feed & Seed for the 2025 tax year. Located at 101 Broadway, at the start of the historic Broadway honky-tonks and overlooking the Cumberland River, it’s a prime property on a stretch that has continuously set (and re-set) new records for property values.

For the past 5-7 years, asking prices for Broadway honky-tonks have reached unimaginable heights. You can buy Jelly Roll’s bar for $100Million. Jon Bon Jovi’s is being offered for $130Million.

That’s great for the property owners’ balance sheets, but it’s bad news when the Metro Nashville Assessor starts paying attention. (Increases in tax appraisals generally mean higher taxes.)

2025 Metro Real Property taxes come due later this week, and, if this past week’s news is any indication, nobody is more worried about their 2025 tax bill than Tom Morales, the owner of Acme Feed and Seed.

As a result of the recent re-appraisals, for 2025, the property is appraised at $50,049,200, a huge jump from 2021’s value of $9,577,900.

The tax bill? $589,259.28 (and has not yet been paid).

The public response has been mixed. Lots of people won’t ever feel sorry for somebody whose property value goes up $40+ million dollars (and would fetch far more in a private sale), but those people are missing a key point: Tom Morales doesn’t own the property, per the Quitclaim Deed.

Why, then, would a renter care about the property taxes?

My guess is that he probably signed a triple net lease (often written as “NNN”).

In simple terms, a triple net lease is a lease where the tenant pays not just “base” monthly rent to the landlord, but also all of the property’s operating expenses: real estate taxes, insurance, and common area or maintenance costs. In short, the landlord owns the building, but, per the lease, the tenant agrees to pay all of the expenses of the building, usually in 1/12th increments throughout the year as “additional” rent.

If you don’t work in the commercial leasing realm, it probably blows your mind to think that, as a tenant, you’d be responsible for all of the expenses of a property. Why not just buy the building yourself?

It’s a common leasing structure. From the tenant’s perspective, they can operate out of property, without the cash, credit, or long-term obligations of purchasing an expensive building. Acme Feed and Seed may not have had the credit (or desire) to own a $50 Million property, but it can get it via lease. And what a property it is: On New Year’s Eve, nearly 250,000 people rang in the new year at Acme’s front door, with TV and media coverage you can’t buy.

From the owner’s perspective, a deal like this ties up lots of cash or credit on an fixed asset, but, at least, they don’t come deeper out of pocket for the operating expenses. It sounds like a great deal, sure, but being a landlord still carries risk. Ever hear of a bar going out of business and being vacant? Who pays the mortgage, taxes, and expenses in that situation?

At the end of the day, a commercial lease is a contract, and the two parties are free to agree to whatever they want in a lease. They can allocate taxes, insurance, and maintenance responsibilities in any way, and a Tennessee court will hold them to that bargain, no matter how unfair the unforeseen results can be. A contract will be enforced according to its plain language.

With that in mind, for any tenant considering a triple net lease on a property with potential for this sort of wild change, I’d recommend that the tenant consider a provision to mitigate the risk this could happen.

No landlord would be willing to voluntarily bear this tax increase, especially if the tenant retains all of the use and benefit of such a valuable property. (From the landlord’s perspective, the tenant is, now, paying under-market rent, as if the building was still worth a paltry $10Million, right?)

Instead, this lease could have included a provision that allows the tenant to opt out and terminate the lease, if the tenant could prove this increase in the tax cost was a material change. In that situation, the tenant would have an option to get out of the lease and, on the other side, the landlord would be freed from “the burden” of being bound by an under-market lease and could, then, attempt to enter into a new lease based on the $50MM valuation or capture the value via sale. (In short, the landlord would probably happily terminate the lease and see what the free market says about all of this.)

Without that, a tenant can only hope the landlord will pitch in and help with this cost. If I had to guess, all of this hit the local news after the landlord declined to pay the tax bill.

Broadway has changed a lot since Acme first opened their doors 15 years ago. Even the best commercial real estate attorneys could not have foreseen this when drafting this lease, but it’s something to think about on the next honky-tonk lease.

Will an “early” Motion for Default be granted? One Trial Court said no.

One of the frustrating parts of being a lawyer (there are many) is that, sometimes, you can’t get your case set for hearing as fast as you (or your client) would like it to be. The legal system moves at its own pace, and it’s generally not built for speed.

This is especially true in mid-March (spring break) and mid-October (fall break/judicial conference), when court dockets might be unavailable or closed.

Time is money for my clients, and they tend to want to get in front of the judge as soon as possible. One or two weeks of closed dockets can add 30-60 days of delay.

Under Tennessee law, if a defendant in a lawsuit fails to respond or otherwise defend “as provided by these rules,” the plaintiff can get a judgment by default. See Tenn. R. Civ. P. 55.01. This generally means that, after service of a lawsuit, a defendant must file an answer within 30 days. If they don’t, you file a motion saying that and, generally, you win.

For years, I had this theoretical question: If a plaintiff filed a motion for default prospectively–before the answer deadline had expired–and, if the defendant failed to answer by the 30 day deadline, would a judgment by default be entered?

This spring, I got my answer.

I had a case where defendant’s answer date was approaching, but the court’s motion calendar showed dockets in late March…and then mid-May. Yikes!

The deadline for my defendants to answer was March 15. March 14 was the deadline to get my Motion for Default heard on that last, March 28 docket. Should I file a day early (and see if they file an answer) or should I wait?

I got my clarity: My Motion was denied, with the text of the order noting that my motion was filed “twenty-nine days after Defendants were served.” As a result, the Motion “was untimely since less than thirty days elapsed between the date of service and the date Plaintiff filed its motion.”

In the end, then, it didn’t matter that the defendants never filed an answer, including between the filing date (March 14) and the scheduled hearing date (March 28). The original motion was premised on a condition that had not yet occurred.

As a result, upon receipt of the order, I filed a new Motion on March 28, set it for May 15, and got my default judgment then.

Seller Beware: There’s one small change in the new Tennessee foreclosure laws that you need to know

The practice of law is “form” driven. That means that, once a lawyer drafts a really good document, she tends to go back to that document the next time that same issue comes up.

This is particularly true with foreclosures in Tennessee.

Tennessee statutes strictly define what must be included in a foreclosure advertisement at Tenn. Code Ann. § 35-5-104. As a result, a smart foreclosure attorney might start with an old form foreclosure notice, but then compare that against the statute’s checklist, and use that revised document as a form for all of his future foreclosures. (A dumb attorney would just run with whatever is in the form–or what AI says–and not doublecheck it against the law.)

With a little bit of detail work on the front end, a savvy lawyer has a form document that will guide him for years…until the law changes.

This week, I and the Tennessee Bankers Association taught a class for the Knoxville Bar Association called “Modernization of Tennessee’s Foreclosure Laws“, which tracked the foreclosure law changes that went into effect on July 1, 2025.

The TL;DR version is that the newspaper publications have been reduced from 3 times to 2 times and, now, foreclosing parties must post the notice with a “third-party internet posting company.” See Tenn. Code Ann. § 35-5-101.

If you are updating your form, however, you need to dig in on that other statute. There’s a discrete change in the sale notice requirements.

It’s at Tenn. Code Ann. § 35-5-104(a)(7), which adds that the sale notice “shall…[i]dentify the website of the third-party internet posting company that posts an advertisement pursuant to § 35-5-101(a)(2).”

I’m posting this warning because, candidly, I didn’t catch this change in my first reading of the new statutes. Instead, when I was preparing my first “post-July 1” sale notice, I went online and read other recent advertisements, to see what changes other law firms had made on their forms.

In doing that, I noticed this text in many of them: As of July 1, 2025, notices pursuant to Tennessee Code Annotated § 35-5-101 et seq. are posted online at https://foreclosuretennessee.com by a third-party internet posting company.

That’s weird, I thought. Why are they saying that? That’s when I dug in on § 35-4-104 and found that little change.

Non-judicial foreclosures in Tennessee are tricky. You have to comply with both the letter of the statute exactly and with the terms of the relevant lien instrument. In short, you have to be awesome at paperwork.

Big-picture compliance with the changes in Tenn. Code Ann. § 35-5-101 is easy. This post is a reminder that there’s a very little change in Tenn. Code Ann. § 35-104 that could have a big impact on your sale.

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.