As the longest-serving member of the Harvard Law School student body, I am happy to offer a few words of advice to incoming 1Ls. As you embark on this exciting new phase of your life, here are a few things to keep in mind. The law is a terrible profession. Judicial opinions are nothing but […]
Let me begin by saying that the “free press” in this country is a sham, and The Record is no exception. I recently submitted two pieces for publication in this paper: one, an exposé entitled “Time-Travelling SS Officers at Harvard” (with chilling video evidence), and the other, a detailed proposal for replacing the Harvard Law […]
About the author: Fenno is a long-time contributor to the Record, recently returned from hiatus. A perpetual Harvard Law student, Fenno never ages, graduates, or experiences liver failure, but continues to sporadically attend classes whenever a busy recreational schedule permits. I woke propped like a plank across two leather footrests in Caspersen Student Center. I […]
Note: This series is fictional. The First-Year’s Guide to the Law School has this to say on the subject of Thanksgiving break: They say that time is an illusion; the reading period, doubly so. Law students have for decades observed the strange changes in the rate of time’s passage that occur each and every late-November. […]
Note: This serial is fictional. Fenno skipped out of class, his step light. He had finished his 1L classes. The past year was suddenly a blur: it had humbled him, challenged him, shouted him down, shook him to his very core, revealed to him the horrible inconsistencies of the law… And yet it was over. Not […]
Note: This serial is fictional. As the summer neared, Fenno could barely focus on his studies. His section was abuzz with a new puzzle, even more shiny and scary than exams: EIP. Although EIP was the path of least resistance and Fenno was not the kind to resist, he had began to be besieged by tiny little […]
Note: This serial is fictional. Fenno returned from Spring Break with a sense of dread. He had frittered it away enjoying the comforts of home: the praise of his parents and relatives, the relaxed attitude of his high school friends, the now-alien pleasure of reading without his grip tightened around a highlighter. But now that he […]
Note: This serial is fictional. “Look, man, I really need your help,” the Prisoner of Concord pleaded. Fenno tried to remain unswayed. Prison Legal Assistance Project received dozens of such pleas a week. Fenno had joined because the time commitment, an hour a week, was negligible and the gaping white space on his resume demanded to […]
Note: This serial is fictional. Fenno had entered law school with so many dreams. As a 0L, he had basked in them, colorful and different, each one vibrant and warm. He would wake up every morning during that lazy summer before 1L and try on a new dream: he was an ambassador to Syria, a BigLaw partner, a […]
Note: This serial is fictional. The first person Fenno told about his LP was an OCS advisor. It struck him that his confidant was not a family member or a friend, but this stranger who recited assurances that he would get a job, but it would take work, hard work. He wanted to tell her that it […]
Note: This serial is fictional. Fenno’s heart stopped when he saw it. The “LP” next to “Torts” was tiny, yet it seared him. A thousand thoughts ran through his head, and his tiny dorm room spun. He lay on the floor, wishing it would just swallow him already. He remembered his college friends teased him about […]
Note: This serial is fictional. “You will all fail on January 26.” The words had appeared mysteriously on the white board beside Fenno’s room in Ames dormitory. When Fenno saw it this morning, still groggy from sleep, that terrible knot that had occupied his stomach since the end of finals stirred and tightened. Just as […]
Fenno stood on a long, narrow dock flanked by the tranquil, turquoise waters of the Gulf of Thailand. How could it be, he thought, that he was leaving behind serene Ko Samui for the snows of Cambridge? He took a whiff of the Gulf’s sweet, salty air, trying to forget the images of sooty slush that kept returning to him as he recalled what had led to this moment: the end of his semester in paradise, and his return to the spiritually moribund corridors of America’s runner-up law school.
IT WAS the last day of class, and students seemed alert: the sound of keyboards being tapped echoed through the classroom like digital rain beating on its desks. Fenno looked to his left, where one student was engrossed in eight simultaneous GChat conversations (and even an MSN Messenger chat with someone in Europe) and then to his right, where someone was furiously composing last minute emails to the owners of several cramped New York apartments he was scrolling through on craigslist.
FENNO WAS WOKEN up by the annoying ping on his laptop. “dude, did u register yet?” some annoying former section-mate was inquiring via GChat. The sun, high in the sky, shone through Fenno’s blinds, intensified in the refraction of the empty gin bottles lining his windowsills, and stung his sleep-deprived eyes.