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The Last Days of the Philadelphia Lawyer
By Tom McGrath
But associates aren’t the only ones for whom the rules of the game have changed. While once it was enough for a partner at a firm simply to be a smart practitioner who understood the law and served his clients well, today the focus is less on what you do in the courtroom or boardroom than on what kind of business you bring in the door. In the past, becoming a partner at a big firm was pretty much like becoming a tenured college professor — you were there for as long as you wanted to be. Today, it’s not unheard-of for a partner to be de-equitized — essentially, pushed back to being a salaried employee — or driven out completely. “I know some lawyers in their 50s who have been asked to leave their firms because they don’t have a book of business,” says Steve Cozen, of Cozen O’Connor. “The problem is, they were never told they had to have a book of business. It used to be enough for them just to be good lawyers.”
In some firms, it’s no longer enough even to have clients — they must be clients who can pay hourly rates hefty enough to support an insatiable appetite for profits. Over the past few years, Dechert has rid itself of several practice areas that simply didn’t command high enough rates from clients, including media law, which was led by respected First Amendment attorney Amy Ginensky, who last year moved to Pepper Hamilton after 28 years at Dechert. Ginensky says she could have stayed, but she didn’t like the constraints the firm’s economic strategy placed on her. “I didn’t want to decide what cases to take based solely on how much money they would make,” she says. Dechert’s strategy is one any businessman would understand instantly — if a product line isn’t profitable enough, you discontinue it and move on to something else. But for the lawyers involved, who were asked to practice a different type of law or simply to leave, it’s a tough adjustment to make. “We’re dealing with human capital, not widgets,” says legal recruiter Michael Coleman. “I don’t know if when you’re 45, you want to be retooled.”
That said, you can’t argue with Dechert’s success — at least, the way success is currently measured. Over two years, the firm’s profits-per-partner have nearly doubled, to $2 million per year. In the most recent Am Law ranking, it jumped from 40th in the country to 27th.
IF THERE WAS a particular period when the Philadelphia Lawyer reached his highest status — when income, intellect, security and civic contribution combined to give lawyers their greatest power — it was in the decades immediately following World War II. At the time, the big firms in the city mirrored the biases and attitudes of Philadelphia’s establishment: They were made up almost solely of white men, they were divided between white-shoe WASP firms and prominent Jewish ones, and the practice of law could be described in a word: clubby. Clients were almost exclusively Philadelphia-based corporations, run by men the lawyers either had gone to school with or saw frequently at their country clubs, and their legal partners were very much that — partners, men they worked shoulder-to-shoulder with, often for their entire careers. “There was a lot more camaraderie and firm loyalty,” says Charlie Kopp, who started at WolfBlock in 1960 and rose to become co-chair of the firm from the mid-’80s to the mid-’90s. “And there was a lot more identity between the lawyer and his law firm.”
Things began to change in the late ’60s and early ’70s. First were the social changes: By the middle of the Me Decade, the divide between the Waspy firms and the Jewish ones had eroded (“The worst thing that ever happened to us was other firms starting to hire Jews,” cracks one lawyer at Wolf), and by the ’80s, women — and, to a lesser extent, minorities — had a significant legal presence. Just as important, though, was what was happening with clients: Not only were some of the best ones starting to be poached by aggressive New York firms, but Philadelphia’s corporate base began to crack, first with the decline of institutions like the railroads and Curtis Publishing, then with consolidation in the banking and insurance industries. Today, when it comes to business, maybe the only thing Philadelphia is known for is how little we’re known for.
Throughout the ’80s and ’90s, firms responded by growing — although some were more aggressive and successful than others. There’s clearly no better success story than Dechert, which under the leadership of chairman Barton Winokur has gone from being just another Philadelphia law firm to an international law firm that happens to be based in Philadelphia. Winokur, a Harvard Law grad who started practicing in the mid-’60s, saw the game changing early, and was determined that he — and his firm — not be left behind. “I wasn’t going to wait behind the walls of the city as the invaders were skimming all the cream off our milk,” says Winokur. “We were going to meet the enemy on their territory and compete with them there.” Since becoming chairman of Dechert in 1996, Winokur has followed a singular vision: Over time, he’s said, 10 to 20 huge law firms will handle most of the corporate legal work around the world, and he wants Dechert to be one of them. Not everyone is convinced Dechert is actually at that level, but it, along with Morgan Lewis & Bockius, has largely separated itself from the rest of the Philadelphia firms in terms of size and profits.
In some firms, it’s no longer enough even to have clients — they must be clients who can pay hourly rates hefty enough to support an insatiable appetite for profits. Over the past few years, Dechert has rid itself of several practice areas that simply didn’t command high enough rates from clients, including media law, which was led by respected First Amendment attorney Amy Ginensky, who last year moved to Pepper Hamilton after 28 years at Dechert. Ginensky says she could have stayed, but she didn’t like the constraints the firm’s economic strategy placed on her. “I didn’t want to decide what cases to take based solely on how much money they would make,” she says. Dechert’s strategy is one any businessman would understand instantly — if a product line isn’t profitable enough, you discontinue it and move on to something else. But for the lawyers involved, who were asked to practice a different type of law or simply to leave, it’s a tough adjustment to make. “We’re dealing with human capital, not widgets,” says legal recruiter Michael Coleman. “I don’t know if when you’re 45, you want to be retooled.”
That said, you can’t argue with Dechert’s success — at least, the way success is currently measured. Over two years, the firm’s profits-per-partner have nearly doubled, to $2 million per year. In the most recent Am Law ranking, it jumped from 40th in the country to 27th.
IF THERE WAS a particular period when the Philadelphia Lawyer reached his highest status — when income, intellect, security and civic contribution combined to give lawyers their greatest power — it was in the decades immediately following World War II. At the time, the big firms in the city mirrored the biases and attitudes of Philadelphia’s establishment: They were made up almost solely of white men, they were divided between white-shoe WASP firms and prominent Jewish ones, and the practice of law could be described in a word: clubby. Clients were almost exclusively Philadelphia-based corporations, run by men the lawyers either had gone to school with or saw frequently at their country clubs, and their legal partners were very much that — partners, men they worked shoulder-to-shoulder with, often for their entire careers. “There was a lot more camaraderie and firm loyalty,” says Charlie Kopp, who started at WolfBlock in 1960 and rose to become co-chair of the firm from the mid-’80s to the mid-’90s. “And there was a lot more identity between the lawyer and his law firm.”
Things began to change in the late ’60s and early ’70s. First were the social changes: By the middle of the Me Decade, the divide between the Waspy firms and the Jewish ones had eroded (“The worst thing that ever happened to us was other firms starting to hire Jews,” cracks one lawyer at Wolf), and by the ’80s, women — and, to a lesser extent, minorities — had a significant legal presence. Just as important, though, was what was happening with clients: Not only were some of the best ones starting to be poached by aggressive New York firms, but Philadelphia’s corporate base began to crack, first with the decline of institutions like the railroads and Curtis Publishing, then with consolidation in the banking and insurance industries. Today, when it comes to business, maybe the only thing Philadelphia is known for is how little we’re known for.
Throughout the ’80s and ’90s, firms responded by growing — although some were more aggressive and successful than others. There’s clearly no better success story than Dechert, which under the leadership of chairman Barton Winokur has gone from being just another Philadelphia law firm to an international law firm that happens to be based in Philadelphia. Winokur, a Harvard Law grad who started practicing in the mid-’60s, saw the game changing early, and was determined that he — and his firm — not be left behind. “I wasn’t going to wait behind the walls of the city as the invaders were skimming all the cream off our milk,” says Winokur. “We were going to meet the enemy on their territory and compete with them there.” Since becoming chairman of Dechert in 1996, Winokur has followed a singular vision: Over time, he’s said, 10 to 20 huge law firms will handle most of the corporate legal work around the world, and he wants Dechert to be one of them. Not everyone is convinced Dechert is actually at that level, but it, along with Morgan Lewis & Bockius, has largely separated itself from the rest of the Philadelphia firms in terms of size and profits.
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