I was asked for advice about a new lawyer who would like to be a great plaintiff’s trial lawyer. In addition to providing articles and advice, I thought the ideas of my late friend Gerry Spence would be helpful as well. I didn’t find any examples of his actually giving that advice to an individual, so what follows is what I think he might have advised. This is an outline version of what he taught, written in his voice and spirit. It seemed to me to be a good reminder of our true role as trial attorneys.

My young friend,

The courtroom is not a place for perfect people.
It is a place for the broken, the frightened, the betrayed — and for those of us who stand with them.

Before you learn how to speak for another, you must learn to listen to yourself.
What do you fear? What part of you trembles when you rise to address the court?
Do not hide that trembling. It is the sign that something alive is moving inside you.
Use it.

You may think the law is about rules, but rules have never persuaded a jury.
People persuade people. And you cannot persuade another human being until you have learned to be one yourself. Strip off the armor you think lawyers must wear. The jury sees through it anyway. Walk into that room as the person you were before law school taught you to speak in riddles.

Do not rush to argue. Arguments are brittle things, easily broken. Tell the truth instead.
Tell the story you have come to deliver. Tell it simply, plainly, and with the dignity it deserves.
A story well told is stronger than any doctrine, and truer than any citation.

And do not fear your weaknesses. The courtroom is full of people pretending to be stronger than they are. When you stand there — open, honest, uncertain at times — you become the most trustworthy person in the room. Jurors do not demand perfection. They demand sincerity.

When you meet your client, look at them not as a case but as a fellow traveler who has been wounded on the road. If you cannot find love for that person — real human affection — then you cannot speak for them with power. Learn them. Listen to them. Carry them with you.
And when you stand to address the jury, let them see that your heart has made room for the heart of another.

Courage will be your daily companion. Not the loud, showy courage of television trials, but the quiet courage to tell the truth when it costs you, the courage to admit error, the courage to stand up again after the judge has struck you down. Without courage, technique is nothing but dead machinery.

And remember this: The other lawyer is not your enemy. Nor is the judge. Nor even the corporation, though its power may look like a mountain. Your enemy is injustice — the ancient, tireless force that thrives wherever people are silenced. That is the enemy you confront.
And your weapons are not hatred, not cleverness, but clarity, compassion, and truth.

Finally, be patient with yourself. You will lose cases. You will say the wrong thing, miss the point, and forget the question you intended to ask. Good. Each mistake is a stone in the foundation of the lawyer you are becoming. Do not polish them away. Stand on them.

Walk your path with an open heart. Show up as yourself. Fight with gentleness. Speak with honesty. Love your client. Seek justice, not victory. Do this, and you will not merely practice law — you will serve it.

Yours in the struggle,
Gerry