The Bar in Brief
Last spring, I reached out John McKay to see if he would provide some input into the WSBA’s efforts to engage legal professionals in serving as ambassadors of the legal system in their communities. I didn’t know John well, but I knew of his work as an advocate for civil legal aid and the rule of law. John responded enthusiastically to the call and ultimately was one of many other leaders who stepped up to host a swearing-in ceremony on Law Day. He hosted one of the smaller (but mighty) events in Kelso.
I grew up not far from Kelso and decided to retake my oath close to home. After the event, I had lunch with John and inquired as to his connection to the area. It was only then that I learned that upon retirement, he had become a full-time pro bono attorney. I was touched that after a career that included time as a U.S. attorney, a White House fellow, and work with the U.S. State Department and the Legal Services Corporation, John now spends his days representing people who are being evicted from their homes. I was even more moved when John said that my 2021 column about legal deserts partially inspired this chapter of service. As you will read below, this isn’t easy work, but it is clear that it is meaningful and important.
— Terra Nevitt, WSBA Executive Director
BY JOHN McKAY
When I was young, I thought that retirement involved beaches, mai tais, beautiful golf courses, and all those books I wanted to read but never had the time. So how come I find myself many days in a tie (not drinking a mai tai) on Zoom court defending evictions? If I’m careful and don’t stand up, I get to wear jeans or shorts like most of us did during the pandemic. Still, retirement is nothing like I thought it would be way back then—it’s better.
For those of us who’ve taken advantage of the pro bono status offered by the Washington State Bar Association instead of a retirement idyll, it is a different kind of satisfaction—and comes with more than a few stories to tell. For me, this includes dysfunctional mobile home parks to burned-up RVs, apartments with defective stoves, drafty houses with no working heat or hot water, unreasonable landlords, and unreasonable tenants. But it also comes with the satisfaction of protecting vulnerable victims of domestic violence, keeping kids sheltered, and knowing I’ve done my small part for equal justice. I may not have seen it all, but in four years as a volunteer pro bono lawyer for Northwest Justice Project in Southwest Washington, I’ve seen a lot. And somehow, it’s the most satisfying work I’ve done in over 40 years of law practice.
Before we get started, let’s clear something up. Yes, I spent most of my legal career in federal courts; and no, I never handled family law cases or residential landlord tenant matters, except a few pro bonocases along the way. So yes, I did consider myself to be on the edge of malpractice (if you are with my insurance carrier, I said “edge” of malpractice). And no, I don’t think my present clients are better off without me, although it’s felt like a close call a time or two.
Real Clients, Real Stories
My first divorce case was not going well. “Stormy Barnes” (client names have been changed) just wanted to be rid of her alcoholic, abusive husband. She wanted to take care of her young teenage sons without fear he’d kill them driving his truck drunk again. After meeting Stormy at a quarterly legal clinic in her small town, I helped her get a restraining order. She needed to protect herself and her sons after kicking her husband out of the house. Filling out the online divorce documents, however, was not simple. The documents are made for non-lawyers, but they weren’t easy for me either, and I’m a formerly high-priced lawyer.
I truly thought my head would explode trying to make sense of the financial forms and parenting plans. I even started composing re-retirement emails, only to find solace in a long, long walk on the beach where I live on the north Oregon coast (to all my family law colleagues who know how to do this stuff, you are gods and goddesses). Thank goodness for the helpful judge who corrected my mistakes and set Stormy free to care for her sons. Of course she was very grateful for my efforts, even with all my mistakes.
Not everyone I try to help is grateful, and I’ve learned that’s alright. Experienced and wise career legal aid lawyers know this well, but have the grace to understand that creating a level playing field for people experiencing poverty or who are disenfranchised is reward enough. With “Chelsea,” I knew for a fact there would be no “thank you for a job well done.” That’s because nearly every call with her resulted in her yelling at me, berating me, ordering me to meet with her the following morning (I was more than 100 miles away), or asking me if I was a real lawyer. I learned to deal with her mental illness and get to the facts. It didn’t help that she had already responded in writing to her landlord’s eviction summons for allegedly running a business from her home in violation of the lease banning such pursuits. Only, her letter sought alleged damages for harm to her non-existent business caused by the attempted eviction. Not at all helpful to her case. I managed to defeat that one, but when a second case was filed for non-payment of rent, Chelsea told me she didn’t think her landlord cared that much about the rent. Well, it turns out they did care, as you may have surmised. I hope Chelsea is continuing to get the mental health counseling she needs, and I was glad to be able to help her a bit (even though my ears are still ringing).
Some low-income clients have taught me an awful lot. Like how “Tricia’s” unexpected car repair forced her to choose between paying her rent or fixing the car. Many more folks than just Tricia live on this financial edge every day of their lives. Don’t fix the car—you lose your fast-food manager’s job. Lose your job—you lose your house of five years. If you’re evicted, where will you and your kids live? So, you skip the rent to fix the car, you try to explain to your landlord, but sometimes they have a mortgage to pay, too. Legal aid lawyers and pro bono lawyers like me are sometimes the only thing standing between mercilessness and the single moms trying to do their best. This kind of pressure wears them down. One young man struggling with mental illness and unable to find a job summed it up, “Hey, I just suck at life.” I helped him and his young family stay in their apartment for a few months longer, hopefully until things stabilized.
Lest you think it’s all darkness or without a lot of hope for those among us who are less fortunate, try doing an adoption. No one ever told me joy could fill a courtroom. As a long-time litigator and prosecutor, I can assure you never has everyone been happy at the same time in courtrooms I’ve frequented. But with adoptions, it’s another story. Phillip’s grandmother, truly the only mother he’s ever had, explained that he was upset to learn at age 11, that, “Wait—what? I’m not adopted yet?” This despite being raised by his grandmother and her husband all but a few days of his life. With a genetic mother who had substance abuse issues and an incarcerated genetic father, we needed to move fast to terminate parental rights and get to that happy moment of adoption. And oh, when that day came, what a celebration. Smiles all around as the judge signed the Adoption Decree and Phillip’s wait was over. Tears of joy, smiles from the lower bench, the judge coming down to pose for photos. Wonderful.
A ‘Legal Desert’ of My Own
As I approached retirement from my downtown Seattle law firm in 2021, I read in these pages a column by WSBA Executive Director Terra Nevitt. Terra wrote briefly, but movingly about her father’s optometry practice in Raymond and how at 71 he couldn’t find anyone to take his place. She included a map showing the “legal deserts” of our state, where very few lawyers practice at all, let alone those who might help low-income folks in desperate need of legal assistance.
I cut that map out and taped it to my office wall as I thought about my next life chapter. With plans to move to the Oregon coast, I turned to the southwest corner of Washington state and knew I’d found my next calling. I quickly focused on Washington’s pro bono status: giving up paying clients for good, aligning with a legal aid program, and reducing or eliminating bar dues. A few CLE classes later, I joined Northwest Justice Project as a volunteer lawyer working with a fantastic, young, and small crew out of the Longview office. However, I rarely go there.
Instead, I conduct quarterly legal clinics and take cases from a rural women’s shelter and eviction cases from all over Southwest Washington. I control my own caseload and often remind myself that my role is a limited one: I’m not a social worker, I am a lawyer. And every time I’m able to use my skill and experience to help someone less fortunate, I consider myself thrice blessed.
During these times, when our legal institutions are under attack, I find it deeply satisfying to be doing this work for those most in need in our state. What better antidote to fear, suffering, and injustice than using my skills to serve those without power or resources?
As I often told law students during my law teaching career at Seattle University, “It is good being a lawyer.” True, now more than ever.
SIDEBAR
WSBA Pro Bono Admission
Washington’s pro bono admission is governed by APR 3(g) and provides: “A lawyer, LLLT or LPO admitted to practice in Washington State may apply for pro bono status when the lawyer, LLLT or LPO is inactive or otherwise fully retired from the practice of law. A pro bono status lawyer, LLLT or LPO shall provide legal services in Washington State only for a qualified legal service provider as defined in these rules.”
Find more information at www.wsba.org/for-legal-professionals/license-renewal/status-changes.
About the author
John McKay was United States attorney in Seattle and served as the national president of the Legal Services Corporation before “retiring” to the Oregon coast with his faithful dachshund, Tippy.