Why Should White Guys Have All the Fun? (13 page)

A number of my friends were more excited than I was about my having “made the cut,” and thought Paul, Weiss was my kind of place. I decided to stay cool and see how things played out. The New York visit did go well. I met three associates who subsequently became partners: Alan Thomas, Mark Alcott, and Donald Moore. All three were down to earth and struck me as being very good.

In early December, Paul, Weiss made me an offer to come and work with them. I would either be in the corporate or litigation department—the firm would decide which—and I was to make about $10,000 per year. Only after I had a concrete offer in hand did I become excited. I called Deke Miller at Piper & Marbury and told him to remove my name from consideration at that firm. I got a call from Matt DeVito, who expressed disappointment and let me know he had been fighting for me. I felt a little down because I knew Matt had good judgment. Furthermore, Piper was a known quantity—as was Baltimore—and here I was opting for Paul, Weiss and New York, which were big unknowns. However, I liked the idea of New York and Paul, Weiss was definitely considered one of the hot firms.

I accepted the offer and headed for New York.

       
Building His Own Law Practice: The Years of Struggle

Reginald Lewis was brimming with excitement as he and his stepfather, Jean Fugett, Sr., drove up the New Jersey Turnpike toward New York City in the summer of 1968.

For him, as for so many others, Manhattan was the end of the rainbow. It was where he would meet his wife, raise a family, and build an international business empire. He had no way of knowing that, at the age of 25, his life was already half over.

He and Fugett entered the Holland Tunnel, cruised under the Hudson River, exited into New York City and promptly got lost.

Manhattan was a real scorcher during July and August of 1968. I found an apartment, a five-floor walkup on 21st Street on the west side of Manhattan. It had one bedroom and the rent was $150 a month. I could afford a lot more, since Paul, Weiss raised salaries to $15,000 in response to a move by rival Manhattan firm Cravath, Swaine and Moore—I’ve always had a warm spot for Cravath as a result. But the idea of saving as much as possible was irresistible. I
did splurge on a stereo, about $1,500, and a few custom-made suits and shirts, items I’d always bought off the rack. I decided against a car because of the expense and inconvenience of parking.

I’ll always remember my first day at Paul, Weiss. I recall catching the E train at 23rd and 8th, getting off at 50th and Madison and then the feeling of walking up Madison Avenue to the firm’s office at 57th and Madison. The day was clear and sunny and everyone was in a hurry. The moment had arrived—it was time to get going.

One of the administrative people gave me some forms to complete and I met my deskmate, Mark Weinstein, who was starting the same day. He was kind enough to let me sit closest to the window without the slightest argument. Mark is now general counsel at Viacom and a good friend. Edward Korman was also beginning that same day and we have remained good friends. Ed today is a federal district court judge in New York.

The firm had decided to assign me to the corporate law department. Luckily for me, it was a very busy place and young lawyers were given a lot to do. Paul, Weiss had a reputation for being a “sweat shop,
”
but I found that to be completely unfounded. No one ever insisted that you stay late. However, they did tend to hire people who were generally ambitious and were just used to working hard. I got the feeling the place was well run.

The relaxed, cool attitude I had my first day at Paul, Weiss disappeared quickly and I began to feel really uptight. I felt a lot of pressure to prove myself and it affected my performance somewhat, but I stuck it out and pretty soon began to get the lay of the land, so to speak.

A number of people at Paul, Weiss went out of their way to be helpful. Leonard Quigley, who I think is one of the best corporate lawyers around, was especially supportive. Alan Thomas, one of the really fine men of the bar, Morty Rochlin, Neale Albert, Sy Hertz, and Charles Dickey all really tried to get me to relax and ease up a little.

I developed many other friendships among the younger associates. Ted Parnall, Phillip Kissam, Gary Schonwald, Bill Levine, Robert Smith, Mike Luey, Peter Haje, and Al Youngwood were all young associates everyone said had a light around them. Youngwood was especially nice to me. We’d all go out to dinner around 8:30
P.M
. and Al would sort of hold forth among the younger associates.

I did the usual work doled out to beginning associates: Setting up corporations, preparing joint venture agreements, securities law filings, some not-for-profit corporate work. I worked on a series of transactions involving small venture capital type deals that were particularly instructive, and on several initial public offerings (IPOs) which were then all the rage. Len Quigley was an especially good teacher and the way he attacked problems and moved projects along was really good. I still use many of the approaches he took to get at the root of a problem.

Paul, Weiss was one of the elite, blue-chip, New York law firms but, in contrast to some of the others, it was relatively “democratic,
”
in the sense that it was more open to minorities of all stripes. On the average, the firm hired 20 to 30 associates fresh out of law school every year. Out of this group, maybe two or three would make partner.

Outwardly, Lewis was perceived by his peers as a bright, ebullient, outgoing individual. Mark Alcott, who interviewed Lewis, vividly remembers the Lewis of 1968. “He was much more mature than any of the other new candidates. Clearly ambitious. He had set for himself certain goals which he intended to meet. It was obvious that things had not been handed to him on a silver platter but, in spite of that, he had already achieved a lot.”

Lewis was in the corporate law department, which included such luminaries as Arthur Goldberg, Lloyd Garrison, and Theodore Sorensen. This must have been heady stuff for a fresh law graduate, even one from Harvard. But Lewis longed to be on his own.

The Paul, Weiss experience was a very good one for me. My skills developed and matured enormously, but at the risk of offending my many friends there, it was not an especially happy time for me and I never really felt at home or able to relax. This was undoubtedly more a matter of sensing my own shortcomings than any attitude or action by the firm itself. So after a couple of years I was ready to leave and maybe try to do my own thing.

In the summer of 1970, I got a call from Fred Wallace, a Harvard Law School graduate, class of 1964. I was familiar with his name but didn’t know him personally. Fred was working for Gene Callender at the New York Urban Coalition and had a mandate to create
more housing for low- and moderate-income people. Fred wanted to recruit some lawyers in order to form a law firm to service this aspect of the coalition’s programs. Fred’s opening line was, “When are you going to leave that place and start doing something serious?”

We got together and the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of starting my own practice. Fred was offering a floor on income for a year or so and the coalition would pick up most of the overhead in exchange for getting a priority on its work. Not a bad deal.

When he found out about Lewis’s desire to leave, Leonard Quigley pulled out all the stops in an attempt to convince him to stay. He’d found Lewis to be a quick study, dependable and mature, and a proficient attorney. “You haven’t done every kind of merger deal, you haven’t done every kind of public offering, you haven’t done every kind of partnership agreement, so stick around and learn how before you go off and hang out your shingle,” he told the young lawyer.

Lewis listened politely for a few minutes and then replied quietly, “Nope. I know what I need to know.” He thought the world of Quigley, but Reginald Lewis was his own man and knew what was best for him. He could never settle for being a faceless Paul, Weiss drone no matter how well he was treated or compensated.

Colleagues at Paul, Weiss were surprised when Lewis informed them of this decision. To leave Paul, Weiss for another top law firm, Davis Polk maybe or Cravath, Swaine, was understandable. But to leave an established firm two years out of law school to start your own firm?

“It was definitely a bold move. It made me nervous,” says Alcott. In fact, he cannot remember anyone else at Paul, Weiss who made a similar move. In hindsight, it is hard to imagine Reginald Lewis spending his career as a corporate lawyer at Paul, Weiss. Many in his Harvard class saw the firm and others like it as the pinnacle of success. But not Lewis.

In addition, something else had happened at Paul, Weiss that strengthened Lewis’s resolve to leave. A partner at the firm implied that Lewis might not make partner; however, he told Lewis that the firm could get him a teaching position in Connecticut if a career in academia appealed to him.

Lewis took the news calmly but it reaffirmed the correctness of his decision to go out on his own.

Building a successful law practice calls for something not taught in law school: The ability to hustle and self-promote. No one beats a path to an unheralded lawyer’s door. The phone is usually quiet and when it does ring, chances are a bill collector is on the other end.

Lewis realized all this when he left Paul, Weiss in 1970. As always, he had a plan. He joined Wallace and a handful of other attorneys in starting a black-run law firm geared toward business matters affecting New York City’s black community. The firm has the distinction of being one of the first black law firms on Wall Street—if not the first. Its name was Wallace, Murphy, Thorpe and Lewis, but in time only Lewis would remain.

The firm was located in Manhattan’s financial district one block from the New York Stock Exchange, on the 19th floor of an office building at 30 Broad Street.

I met the three other people Wallace had recruited, Charles Laurence, Rita Murphy, and Josephine Thorpe. Rita and Jo were especially bright and savvy, although they didn’t have a great deal of experience. Charlie Laurence was much older and had been a sole practitioner for many years in Brooklyn. Fred would also be a partner, but not share in any fees from coalition work. We took offices at 30 Broad Street.

Things worked pretty well and I brought a lot of value to the group. I spent my days on coalition work and in the evenings began meeting entrepreneurs and a lot of banking types. There was a ready market in black economic development work, essentially involving small business trying to raise capital. Nonprofits were also an active area. I began to develop some friendships and attract some clients.

I joined the Harvard Club and learned to listen to a lot of hopes and dreams. After a while, I became very good at separating the men from the boys, so to speak. I was also absolutely uncompromising about my fees. It’s hard not to laugh about it now when I think about how I had to fight for real peanuts, but it’s just part of the process.

In any case, the firm prospered. Rita and Jo decided to leave after about two years and Charlie Laurence became a judge. I’d had some nasty conversations with Rita and Jo before subsequently buying them
out for about $30,000, which seemed like a fortune at the time. I also assumed all of the firm’s liabilities, which had been at the heart of the dispute and, of course, drove me up a wall. However, wise counsel from Amayla Kearse, whom I had retained, suggested that I pay them off and move on.

I had already hired Charles Clarkson as an associate and hired Diana Lee, who was then in her third year of law school at New York University.

I was already working about 12 hours a day and for the next year I must have kicked it up to about 18 hours a day during the week and 6 to 8 hours on Saturdays and Sundays. As I think back on it, it was probably driving everyone nuts, but we all had a good time and felt we were making something happen.

Within a few years, the client list grew to include General Foods, Equitable Life, Norton Simon, the Ford Foundation, and Aetna Life. We developed real expertise with small business investment companies and our practice was truly national. In fact, we did a couple of small international deals, too.

When Lewis was a child, his mother always told him: Mean what you say and say what you mean. The advice hit home. When Reginald Lewis told a client he was going to accomplish something, he delivered. And he did so sans hyperbole and overblown predictions.

Lewis’s drive and ego meant that there could only be one kingfish at 30 Broad Street. As he began to bring in more business, Lewis also began to flex his muscles regarding decision making. Sparks would fly when anyone dared to counter Lewis.

In 1972, the real estate work from the Urban Coalition began to evaporate because of problems inside the Urban Coalition. This development played right into Lewis’s hands. He was now the major revenue earner in the firm, or rainmaker, as they say in legal circles.

At this point, a new side of Lewis began to emerge, that of the tough, goal-oriented taskmaster. Lewis had a sense of urgency that many of his employees didn’t necessarily share. He would never tolerate
their viewing his law practice as a mere job. Everyone had to give maximum effort all the time. Anything less would prompt Lewis to dismissively utter one of his favorite phrases, “That is not acceptable.”