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Proceedings of a Conference (Littleton, CO: Fred B. Rothman & Co., 1993) ©Tarlton Law Library The Lawyer as Hero? Gerard J. Clark* INTRODUCTION dedicated to popular legal culture, Stewart Macaulay makes reference to the idea of Clifford Geertz that thinking involves "a traffic in . . . significant symbols . . . used to impose meaning upon experience."1 Cultural patterns, including aesthetics, provide programs or templates for thinking, or processes of social and psychological categorization.2 Popular culture is such a template for thinking about law and lawyers. It is thus relevant to help explain the way in which law operates in American society today. Macaulay quotes Geertz further for the proposition that human beings essentially think in terms of myth or "a complex of characterizations and imaginings, stories about events cast in imagery about principles" and that these myths, somewhat akin to Jungian prototypes, shape human knowledge about law, and indeed everything else as well.3 It is interesting, therefore, to try to describe current myths of law and lawyer. Is the myth of lawyer the sleazy money-grubbing hired gun or the defender of truth and justice? Are courts corrupt bureaucracies or dispensers of truth and justice? over time become characters of mythic proportion. Webster is the famous advocate who argued so many cases before the United States Supreme Court. In doing so, he helped the Court to fashion sound principles of constitutional interpretation. In Luther v. Borden,4 for instance, oral argument lasted for two days and plumbed depths of the Constitution's republican form of government clause. His emotion in the Dartmouth College5 case is said to have brought tears to Chief Justice Marshall's eyes and may well have been determinative in his opinion. The myth is further enhanced by Benet's The Devil and Daniel Webster where Webster defeats the devil himself before a jury from hell on behalf of his fellow New Hampshirite who, in a moment of weakness, made a pact with the Devil. He describes Webster as follows: You see, for a while, he was the biggest man in the With Lincoln, we think of the poor boy from the log cabin who studied law by candlelight. As a lawyer, he represented ordinary people at reasonable prices from his spartan law office where he drafted documents by quill pen and earned the sobriquet of Honest Abe. He used rhetorical skills in the campaign for a seat in the Senate against the capable adversary Stephen Douglas. His inherent morality led him to free the slaves and to save the union. In Darrow, we have the idealistic young lawyer from the country who moved to Chicago to defend unions and progressive causes; in Debs, the defender of the head of the Socialist Party who was charged with espionage for a speech he made against the war. In the Scopes trial, Darrow vindicated the rights of free expression and religion against the "monkey law," which prohibited the teaching in public schools of any interpretation of the book of Genesis but that sanctioned by the fundamentalists. The trial in a hot courtroom in a fundamentalist atmosphere seems inextricably etched in our minds by Spencer Tracy's portrayal of Darrow and Frederic March's of William Jennings Bryan in Inherit the Wind (1960). Fictional characters have provided much to the substance of the myth as well. In perhaps the most famous law film of all time, To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), Gregory Peck, as Atticus Finch, defends Tom Robinson, a black wrongfully accused of raping a white woman in a small Alabama town in the 1930s. He and his children suffer both the fate of outcasts, for being identified with blacks, and the vengeance of the father of the victim, who sees Finch's defense as casting doubt upon the virtue of his daughter. In Otto Preminger's Anatomy of a Murder (1959), the defendant, Frederick Marion, is charged with the murder of a man who raped his wife. After giving the famous "lecture" on the insanity defense, James Stewart supplies a guilty, but morally somewhat sympathetic, defendant with the only defense he could have pled. He skillfully makes the defendant into a sympathetic figure whom the jury finally acquits. But perhaps the greatest of modem American mythmakers is the television character Perry Mason, played by Raymond Burr. A large man with a booming voice who works diligently for clients, Perry's greatest skills are in the courtroom. Over ten years, in 271 episodes, with the reruns as popular as ever, he cross-examines the perjurious witness with such skill, wit and tenacity that they break down on the witness stand and confess to having perpetrated the ill deed with which Perry's client is charged. In the end, Perry, the father figure, makes it right. The lawyer-hero is the independent entrepreneur fighting for justice for the common man with the exercise of superior wit and intelligence and by means of hard work. Courts, staffed by skillful judges, are places where duplicity is uncovered and ultimately where good and evil clash, with good usually winning out. The law is an instrument of justice and progress. The lawyer is the artisan who invokes the law and fashions it into a tool for the good. Perhaps these figures, both historical and fictional, have achieved such maturity in the American mind because they partake of the "templates" to which Macaulay referred in his introductory essay. The template of "hero" is portrayed in the history of Western literature over and over again. The attributes of those classical heroes are quite similar to our lawyer- heroes in popular legal culture. whose "genius is paramount." The world is upheld by good men; "they make the earth wholesome." The good is generative and makes room for itself. The good man is "constructive, fertile, magnate, inundating armies with his purpose." Right ethics are central and go from his soul outward. They cause all things to "continually ascend." The people delight in him and cannot see enough of him.7 The hero, Thomas Carlyle reminds us in his 1840 lectures, is the "living-light fountainhead" which enlightens the darkness of the world, "a natural luminary of natural original insight of mankind and heroic nobleness shining by the light of heaven," whose radiance in- fects all souls.8 Joseph Campbell suggests that the hero steps forward out of the life of the everyday when confronted with a challenge of supernatural dimensions, the solution to which has baffled and troubled the community. After fears about his own capacity for victory, he confronts evil and wins decisively. He returns to the community with the capacity to bestow his boon on his fellow man.9 In ancient Crete, King Minos had banished the Minotaur to the labyrinth constructed by Daedalus. But the Minotaur required a continuous supply of youths or maidens, making it necessary for Crete to conquer new territories continuously lest the Minotaur devour their own lands. Theseus arrives on the scene from Athens with the Athenian youth and bewitches Ariadne, Minos's daughter. The slayer of the Minotaur will need not only skill and courage, which Theseus has, but also the ability to find his way out of the labyrinth. Ariadne consults Daedalus who presents her with a skein of linen thread which Theseus may fix at the entrance and unwind as he goes through the maze. Theseus succeeds and, upon his return, takes Ariadne back to Greece with him, ending Crete's primacy in the ancient world. Other examples abound. Prometheus ascended to the heavens, stole fire from the gods, and descended. Jason sailed through the Clashing Rocks into a sea of marvels, circumvented the dragon that guarded the Golden Fleece, and returned with the fleece and the power to wrest his rightful throne from a usurper. Aeneas went down into the underworld, crossed the dreadful river of the dead, threw a sop to the three-headed watchdog Cerberus, and conversed, at last, with the shade of his dead father. All things were unfolded to him: the destiny of souls, the destiny of Rome (which he was about to found), and in what wise he might avoid or endure every burden. He returned through the ivory gate to his work in the world.10 While awaiting the outcome of the battle between good and evil, the attention of the world appears focused upon the event. For instance, when Moses climbed Mount Sinai to seek guidance after the Jews left Egypt, "flashes of lightning, accompanied by an ever swelling peal of horns moved the people with mighty fear and trembling."11 The actions of our American lawyer-heroes surely fit the mold. Lincoln steps out from among us and fashions a solution to the problem of slavery that has troubled the land since its inception. His solution of emancipation is courageous and unequivocal and changes his people inextricably for the future. Atticus Finch heroically confronts racism over false accusation at the risk of the safety of himself and his family. His method of confrontation is original and patterned to have maximal effect upon his own community. He risks his life and forever changes the perceptions of his community. humanity of the lawyer in a more honest light. The conflict of values paints a more ambivalent picture of the modem lawyer but ultimately the heroic aspect wins out, not only in an external battle of good versus evil, but also in an internal moral confrontation. Three recent best-selling novels about the legal system contain common elements about lawyers and courts that can be generalized into a popular myth or culture with some degree of consistency. In Reasonable Doubt, by Philip Friedman,12 the central character of the novel is Michael Ryan, an attorney. His son is murdered at a party thrown by an art dealer for the purpose of showing young artists' works to rich patrons, including Ryan's son, Ed. At the party, Ed is publicly seduced by a young artist. This so enrages his wife Jennifer that she grabs a platter of hors d'oeuvres and throws it on the floor in the middle of the party. Ed and Jennifer leave the party in a rage. About one hour later, Ed is found upstairs from the party, dead, apparently from head wounds administered by a piece of sculpture. His wife, who is independently a member of high society primarily because of the wealth of her father, is charged with murder and seeks her father-in-law Ryan's representation. After initial shock and revulsion at the idea of defending a woman accused of murdering his son, he agrees to the representation and spends the next six months in trial preparation. Ryan hires a female assistant, Kassia Miller. The two of them work feverishly for fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, for the next six months attempting to uncover what happened that night. Protagonist Ryan is frequently racked with doubt about his client's in- nocence and about whether he can continue with this, the most difficult case of his illustrious career. Their investigation leads them to conclude that the deceased was involved in numerous shady deals involving Medicare fraud, pharmacies that accept false prescriptions, and ultimately drug dealing. Apparently Ed had numerous other enemies, any of whom could have committed the crime. The trial, covered by all of the newspapers, transfixes the public. The district attorney himself tries the case because of its publicity. The courtroom drama is intense and Friedman skillfully brings the reader through the tactics of the courtroom warriors and court rulings. After a highly dramatic presentation of the prosecution's case, Ryan presents no defense and argues reasonable doubt to the jury. After nine days of deliberation, the jury convicts Jennifer of manslaughter. After the trial, Ryan continues his work with a forensic bloodstain specialist who, after securing some missing photographs of where the blood spots wound up in the room, can conclude decisively that a person much taller than Jennifer had to have killed Ed. In addition, Ryan finds a tape recording of a telephone conversation between Ed and Jennifer's father that incriminates her father in the crime. He confronts her father and solves the mystery. He moves to set aside the verdict of guilty and is successful to the great adulation of client and public. The novel closes with a love scene between Ryan and Kassia. In Presumed Innocent, by Scott Turow,13 Rusty Sabich, the chief deputy county prosecutor, is tried for the murder of his colleague and former lover. The crime occurs in the middle of a hotly contested election campaign where the failure to discover the identity of the perpetrator proves to be the undoing of Rusty's boss. The new D.A., Della Guardia, an old enemy of Rusty's, immediately charges the incredulous Rusty with murder. Rusty chooses the skillful Sandy Stem to defend him against the outrageous accusation. The prosecution makes extensive investigation of the victim's body, fibers taken from the rug of the place of the murder, and a glass left at the scene of the crime, all of which appear certain to convict Rusty. The trial again is highly publicized and well litigated, all lawyers doing an excellent job. Stem uses his long experience in the local criminal justice system to learn that Judge Lyttle, who is assigned to hear Rusty's case, was involved in sex and corruption with the deceased. He repeatedly alludes to the "13 file," which contains evidence of these events in his cross-examination of the prosecution witnesses. This causes the judge to dismiss the case. In the end, Rusty learns that his wife actually committed the crime, but declines to prosecute her because it would deprive his son of a mother. Again, the almost certain conviction of an innocent man is averted by the knowledge and resourcefulness of our hero, Stern. In The Burden of Proof,14 Turow continues the story of Sandy Stern. The novel begins with Stern's discovery of the suicide of his wife, Clara. He does not know why and is tormented by the lack of insight. Stern slowly learns Clara's secrets and discovers, with other women, the passion he and Clara had lost. While in mourning, Stern is called upon to defend his brother-in-law, Dixon, the wealthy owner of a commodity futures brokerage firm. Dixon has been in and out of trouble for years, and now a beautiful U.S. attorney is investigating his commodities firm for possible fraud. Stern's inquiries into his brother-in-law's business yield answers he never expected to find. Not only is Stern able to pierce his dead wife's veil of privacy, but he also comes to understand, the awesome price he has paid for his own ambition. Stern's challenge here is to control his sleazy and dishonest brother-in-law who is constantly trying to hide evidence, and Stern ultimately must steal evidence sought by the government in order to keep his brother-in- law out of trouble. In the movie Class Action (1991), Maggie, the rare female hero-protagonist, plays a perfect hero-lawyer role. She is vehemently seeking partnership and talks her way onto the litigation team to defend the firm's largest client in an exploding gas tank case, in spite of the fact that plaintiffs are represented by her famous father, played by Gene Hackman. During the course of the representation, she learns that warnings of a design consultant that the car was a time bomb on wheels were purposefully ignored because a callback would cost more than the cost of the projected wrongful death judgments. Her immediate superior approved - indeed, recommended - the decision. Her skillful father seeks documents relating to consultants' tests. She insists on disclosure but her immediate superior withholds the document. Confronted with a moral decision that she knows will "kill" her chances for partnership, she discloses the identity of other witnesses to the document to her father and then "kills" her immediate superior by eliciting perjurious testimony from him that the documents did not exist, after he was called to the stand by her wily father. The perjurious testimony is then exposed by the witness given by Maggie to her father. Thus, by blowing the whistle on her superior, she breaks ranks with her firm and her client, requiring a $100 million settlement, the probable disbarment of her immediate supervisor, and her own exit from the firm. In each of these cases the lawyer-protagonists are confronted with evil and immoral adversaries who appear very much to have the upper hand. Doing what is right appears unusually difficult and extremely risky to their well-being. After extensive self-examination, each chooses the right path and succeeds in defeating the evil adversary. The TV show "L.A. Law" has a whole stable of lawyer- heroes in the law firm of McKenzie, Brackman, Chaney and Kuzak, a full service law firm with plush well-appointed L.A. offices and a generally sympathetic cast of lawyers. Its fourteen million viewers are treated to some of the most difficult and ambiguous legal issues of our day, including, for example: the termination of the life support-system for a young woman in a coma; the duty of a psychiatrist to warn the intended victim of an apparently violent patient; toxic torts; capital punishment; date rape; insider trading; whether a food company that has hired an Olympic gold medalist to promote its products can annul the contract when the young man decides to reveal his homosexuality.15 Top billing goes to Harry Hamlin for his portrayal of Michael Kuzak. He is handsome, sexually attractive, intelligent, sensitive, well dressed, rich, and a good lawyer. The firm serves its clients well and prepares accordingly. Modem popular culture thus appears enamored of the lawyer as hero. The lawyer works extensive hours with experts from all disciplines, chasing down leads that initially appear futile, researches complex questions of law and drafts papers for the court which the court ponders. In the courtroom, his advocacy and cross-examination are purposeful and usually successful. Judges listen to lawyers, understand lawyers, and carry out the trial process in an efficient and fair way. Lawyers stand for justice and truth and they achieve this through diligent preparation and hard work, the product of which is presented to juries in lengthy trials. In the recent television special "Separate but Equal," it is the diligence, tenacity, and intelligence of Thurgood Marshall, played by Sidney Poitier, that integrate the schools of the nation. Indeed, perhaps it is the practice of law itself which is ennobling. Frank Galvin, the protagonist in Barry Reed's The Verdict,16 played so ably in the movie by Paul Newman, is anything but heroic until he is presented with the case of a young mother who entered a Catholic hospital to have a baby and came out a vegetable. The situation, the client, and the law ennoble him and cause him to fight on for truth and justice. difficult moral and ethical problems, just as their classical counterparts did. For instance, in tile famous lecture in Anatomy of a Murder (1959), James Stewart coaches his client into perjury to prove an insanity defense. Stewart appears to cross the line of zealous advocate becoming instead a suborner of perjury. He has courageously decided, however, that it would be unjust for Marion, who has killed his wife's rapist, to face the death penalty. In Reasonable Doubt, protagonist Ryan faces a motion to disqualify because his defense of the woman who is accused of killing his son is filled with personal conflicts, especially if he concludes she is guilty - which is quite unclear until the end of the book - and be- cause it will have undue influence upon the jury. While legal ethics appear to counsel against the representation, Ryan hangs on to his hope in his client's innocence, follows his instincts, and finally find the true murderer of his son. In Presumed Innocent, Sandy Stern skillfully plays on his knowledge of the past impropriety of tile judge, as it involves the deceased, and subtly blackmails the judge by threatening disclosure of this information, thus causing the judge to dismiss the case against his innocent defendant. In addition, one of Rusty's policemen friend suppresses the evidence, namely the glass with Rusty's fingerprints on it found at the scene of the murder. All, however, is for the laudable goal of freeing an innocent man who appears dangerously close to conviction. In The Burden of Proof, Sandy is confronted with Dixon's continuous desire to suppress a crucial piece of evidence. This causes Sandy, in a comic scene in which Sandy must lie himself out of trouble, to break and enter his client's home and to steal the safe containing evidence, lest it disappear. In Class Action, protagonist Maggie discloses crucial information to the opposing side - represented by her father - again, for the purpose of achieving ultimate justice in the case. Of course, "L.A. Law" hits upon an ethical issue in almost every episode. One of its most common is conflict between the ethical obligation of lawyers and the particular moral sensibilities of one of the lawyer characters in the firm. Examples include: when Grace Van Owen objected morally to her obligation to prosecute the gay man who had killed his lover who was terminally ill with AIDS; or when Victor Sufuentes advised his clients against accepting a generous settlement offer from a hospital which he considered n vasectomy factory; or when Ann Kelsy forces her client to stop polluting the city's water supply. Thus, the lawyer-heroes must often violate the law or the rules of professional ethics to bring about good. Even Perry Mason engaged in occasional breaking and entering to secure that crucial piece of evidence. courts. None of the learned arguments or subtle proofs of the attomey-heroes would be worth much if the courts where they are presented were not sophisticated enough to receive them. However, judges, sitting in their church-like courtrooms in shining and beautiful buildings, listen to the argumentation and work diligently to be fair and to apply the law. The jury trial is the norm; lawyers study the biographies of potential jurors and, after dramatic trials and illustrious closing arguments, juries ponder their decisions for days. However, there is a good deal more equivocation about courts than lawyers in popular culture. Often the courts are part of the adversary of the attomey-hero; the judge at Sabich's trial, for example, is a criminal. In the 1987 film Suspect, Cher plays a public defender assigned to defend an innocent, dcaf, homeless man accused of murder. She is successful despite the court system. She violates ethical rules by working on the case with a juror and ultimately discovers that the judge assigned to the case committed the crime. Likewise, in Jagged Edge (1985), Glenn Close plays the lawyer who successfully represents Jeff Bridges, who is charged with the brutal murder of his wife and her maid. In the end, however, Bridges turns out to be a homicidal maniac who almost kills Close. In Nuts (1987), Barbara Streisand plays a prostitute who is charged with the murder of a customer, even though the killing was in self-defense. Richard Dreyfus defends her and again uncovers a corrupt system which is being manipulated by Streisand's father who had abused her as a child. In 12 Angry Men (1957), Henry Fonda plays the heroic role of sole dissenting juror in a case where the defendant is a Hispanic youth accused of killing his father. Fonda's dissent causes the other jurors to reevaluate the evidence and their own assumptions about the defendant. Ultimately, an innocent man is freed in a story which portrays the judicial process - and ultimately the jury - as an institution that requires a heroic juror in order to achieve justice. The Bonfire of the Vanities, written by Tom Wolfe,17 is a review of the evils of New York and its criminal justice system. The protagonist in Bonfire is non-lawyer Sherman McCoy, a rich bond dealer in New York City, who is wrongfully accused of a hit-and-run perpetrated by his mistress. The prosecutors, abetted by self-appointed black leaders, knee-jerk liberals and radicals, and a scandal- mongering press, portray the drug dealer victim to a credulous public as an honor student that he is not. Wolfe's novel essentially trashes everything that it touches, which includes the city of New York, judges, district attorneys, lawyers, bond dealers, New York high society, politicians, black leaders, and so forth. Assistant District Attorney Larry Kramer is anything but heroic. He eams $36,000 a year, lives in a cramped three and one-half room apartment in Manhattan, and takes the subway to work in the Bronx. The docket of cases he is assigned is a long list of black defendants that plead out. As he comes to work one morning he observes the van bringing "the chow" to the thirty-five criminal sessions of Bronx Supreme Court: Every year forty thousand people, forty thousand Ninety-eight percent are guilty and the caseload is so overwhelming that they don't waste time with the marginal cases. D.A.'s who are late for Judge Kovitsky's court "impede the shoveling of chow into the gullet" of the system. On good days, when the jurors deliberate during lunch, D.A.'s get free lunch. Kramer gets roast beef with mustard - "the mustard in gelatinous sealed plastic envelopes that he had to open with his teeth" - and his office at the Bronx Courthouse is severely government issue. If there is one person whom Wolfe lets off slightly easier than the rest it is Killian, McCoy's defense attorney. At their first meeting Sherman finds it easy to talk to Killian: "like a priest, his confessor, this dandy with a fighter's nose." Killian has made numerous deposits in the "favor bank" and he's therefore in a position to "make contracts" with people in the D.A.'s office. Killian describes his alma mater, Yale Law School, as a "terrific place for anything you want to do as long as it don't involve people with sneakers, guns, dope, lust or sloth." The trial of Sherman McCoy is a travesty of self-interest, but trusty Killian does his best against insurmountable odds. Judge Richard A. Posner suggests that Bonfire is not great literature because it does not alter the reader's understanding of law; it merely describes it in a negative way. In the opinion of the learned judge, true examples of great literature about law include Kafka's The Trial, Melville's Billy Budd, Dickens's Bleak House, and Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice.19 While these observations may or may not be true, it is undeniable that these examples of popular legal culture affect public perceptions. than life. Real courts hold jury trials in less than one percent of the cases. The practice of law is far less interesting than portrayed in popular legal culture. In Friedman's Reasonable Doubt we have two highly paid lawyers spending one hundred hours a week for twenty- six weeks in preparation and trial. The legal fee, which would surely exceed $500,000, is irrelevant because the client's family has unlimited personal resources. Likewise, the legal fee in Reversal of Fortune and Burden of Proof would be far out of the reach of the normal person. No law firm has ever had as many interesting cases as McKenzie, Brackman, or as many sexy, interesting lawyers. Perry Mason seemed to have the luxury of working on one case at a time. Lawyers, I suspect, are not more heroic than doctors or business people or carpenters. Rarely are courts presided over with the wisdom of the judges in "L.A. Law" or Class Action, but judges in real life are not as corrupt as those portrayed in Presumed Innocent or Suspect, either. If we are looking for realism, the wonderful documentary The Thin Blue Line (1988) or Wambaugh's reality- based The Onion Field,20 can supply us with that. Indeed, we can expect books, movies, and docudramas on the celebrated Pamela Smart case which may or may not mirror reality. It is certainly no criticism of the writers of fiction that their scripts lack realism. Their response would surely be, "So what? The script was a popular and financial success." Further, it might prove difficult to create great dramatic tension out of a real estate closing or the preparation of a will. The scriptwriter travels the world in search of dramatic tension, moral ambiguity, and heroic characters. The courtrooms they create are more like dramatic stages than real courtrooms. Nor should it surprise us that the protagonists seem more like Theseus than real lawyers. The purpose is the creation of dramatic tension and entertainment, and since the days of the Greeks the chosen vehicle has been the heroic archetype. The fact that we are the source of all of this attention is certainly in our self interest. The American Bar Association could not hire a more effective public relations firm than the Hollywood of today. However, as students of the legal profession and tile judiciary, we should be careful not to confuse the real with the celluloid fantasy. Yale Law Journal 98 (1989): 1547 (quoting Clifford Geertz, "The Impact of the Concept of Culture on the Concept of Man," in The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Basic Books, 1973), 45). 2. Id. (quoting Geertz, "Ideology as a Cultural System," in Interpretation, 216). 3. Id., 1546 (quoting Geertz, "Local Knowledge: Fact and Law in Comparative Perspective," in Local Knowledge: Further Essays in Interpretative Anthropology (New York: Basic Books, 1983), 215). 4. 48 U.S. (7 How.) 1 (1849). 5. Trustees of Dartmouth College v. Woodward, 17 U.S. (4 Wheat.) 518 (1819). 6. Stephen V. Benet, The Devil and Daniel Webster (Weston, Vt.: The Countryman Press, 1937), 14. 7. Ralph W. Emerson, Representative Men (Boston: Ticknor and Fields, 1864), 3-27. 8. Thomas Carlyle, On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History (New York, N.Y.: Crowell Co., n.d.), 6. 9. Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, 2nd ed. (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1968), 30. 10. Id. 11. 7 Exod. 19:3-5. 12. (New York: D. I. Fine, 1990). 13.. (New York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 1987). 14. (New York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 1990). 15. See Stephen Gillers, "Taking L.A. Law More Seriously," Yale Law Journal 98 (1989): 1608. 16. (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1980). 17. (New York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 1987). 18. Tom Wolfe, The Bonfire of the Vanities (New York: Farrar, Straus Giroux, 1987), 40. 19. Richard A. Posner, "The Depiction of Law in The Bonfire of the Vanities," Yale Law Journal 98 (1989): 1654-55. 20. Joseph Wambaugh, The Onion Field (New York: Delacorte Press, 1973) |
