I've long been a proponent of an open admissions policy for law school. Rather than selecting future lawyers on the basis of undergraduate cumulative averages, post-college careers (if any), and standardized entrance examinations, I would open the doors to anyone who expressed an interest in attending law school, save for those few who carry criminal records or psychological disorders of a pathological nature, or those lacking an undergraduate degree from an accredited college or university. The best test of a person's ability is administered when the person is given an opportunity.
This position is one I adopted years ago. The defining moment may have been the time when a student admitted from the wait list on the first day of class graded onto law review. That means the person finished in or near the top ten percent, even though the usual admissions guidelines had the person sitting out on the front lawn waiting for the Registrar to tell the Admissions Committee that this or that admitted applicant had failed to show up, thus making room for one or two or three more students. The slots are filled as they open because law school budgets count on a certain number of "tuitions" as they're called in financial discussions.
My position has been solidified as I watch students with numbers "predicting" average accomplishment do well and students with outstanding "predictors" wobble along and drift to the bottom of the class. I suppose it's because the predictors don't measure heart, and willingness to work. Work. That's what we celebrate today, those who work. Or, as I prefer to think of it, those who work hard.
So how would open admissions work? [Ouch, I'm going to hear about that one!] Simple. Open the doors. Something not unlike Dick Vermeil's open tryouts for the Eagles several decades ago now getting attention in the movie "Invincible." There are some gems out there who might otherwise pass unnoticed. It's true in football, and I'm convinced it's true in law school admissions. Of course, open admissions means there will be more students who don't perform at a satisfactory level. That means more students who don't move into the second year, but are instead asked to turn in their playbooks, clean out their lockers, pack up, and go. Don't laugh. There are lockers in this law school. It wasn't just a football analogy.
Is this sort of competition healthy? Yes. Open admissions means a return to the days of "look to your left, look to your right, at least one (or two) of the three of you won't be here next year." In our post-modern world, the idea of failure seems so horrible that too often too many try to make failure obsolete. Sometimes failure is good. It means we tried, and learned what we can and cannot do. Better to have tried and failed than not to have tried at all. [I think I'll hear about that one, too.] Knowing that admission isn't a "ticket" to a "purchased degree" might shake up those students who think the game is won when the acceptance letter arrives. After all, few law students fail to graduate, and those who do fail almost always have done something outrageous or have been afflicted with some sort of catastrophe outside of their academic lives, such as health setbacks, family troubles, or serious financial problems.
The American Bar Association, which accredits law schools, requires that "A law school shall not admit applicants who do not appear capable of satisfactorily completing its educational program and being admitted to the bar." This is in
Standard 501(b). In its Interpretation 501-1, the ABA states: "Sound admissions policies and practices may include consideration of admission test scores, undergraduate course of study and grade point average, extracurricular activities, work experience, performance in other graduate or professional programs, relevant demonstrated skills, and obstacles overcome." In Interpretation 501-3, it explains: "Among the factors to consider in assessing compliance with Standard 501(b) are the academic and admission test credentials of the law school's entering students, the academic attrition rate of the law school's students, and the bar passage rate of its graduates." Nothing makes test predictors the sole criterion, and nothing precludes admitting anyone who has managed to earn a degree from an accredited undergraduate school.
The ABA Standards and Interpretations reflects the following concern. Is it appropriate to charge a student tuition if that student does "not appear capable of satisfactorily completing" law school? Is it wrong to hold out false hope? Is it improper to fleece dollars from someone who lacks the prerequisite skills?
No. Yes. Yes. But what does it mean to hold out false hope? It means law schools ought not send the message, "If you're admitted, then you'll be a lawyer barring some highly improbable turn of events." Yet that's what happens, isn't it, when admission becomes almost a guarantee of graduation. The incentive to work, and work diligently, erodes when that message meets up with mandatory curves and rankings. Is it any wonder so many upperclass law students ease back? And what does it mean to fleece dollars from someone who lacks the prerequisite skills? It means law schools ought not admit students and take their money without making it unquestionably clear that law school requires an amount of work that the student most likely has not achieved at any time in his or her life. That's the nature of a graduate program designed to prepare students for a professional career once they earn their doctoral degrees. What better way to make that clear than to point out the odds of making it to the second year?
So my attention was grabbed on Friday when I saw the
National Law Journal article with the eye-opening headline "Law School Sued for Expelling Students" and the even more eye-stopping byline: "Suit alleges St. Thomas cut 25 percent of first-year class to bolster bar pass rates." I brought the article to the attention of my faculty colleagues early Friday morning, along with a few comments. Some of what I said I've already written. Here are a few more points, elaborating on the relatively short email I sent around to the faculty.
1. Some schools that do the opposite are probably doing more long-term harm to the legal education system. In an effort to rack up rankings points, some schools are restricting their first-year admissions to a very select few with "high numbers" and then make up the lost tuition by "raiding" the top students from other law schools. Never mind the difficulty of adjusting to a new law school one year after adjusting to law school. There always have been a few transfers on account of personal or family issues, but when the average of 2 or 3 departures becomes 10 or 15, or more, something's not right. Thank you, U.S. News and World Reports. My three most recent posts on rankings (
here,
here, and
here) don't disguise the fact that I'm no fan of the rankings game as currently played, and this "false exclusivity" phenomenon is just another reason for my dislike of the game.
2. The attorney for the student who is suing claims that the school is "culling" students it should not have admitted in the first place, and adds, "They're not supposed to accept students who don't have a reasonable prospect of completing law school." The standard is "appears capable" and not "have a reasonable prospect of completing" law school. I have not seen the admissions letter and other information made available to the student, so I don't know whether the student was told that he was not guaranteed success. The student, in my view, paid for the chance to perform well enough to move on to the second year. The view that payment of tuition guarantees graduation and its accompanying degree is one that has become widespread among many students, and perhaps fuels the current litigation. I hasten to add that there is another bit of factual confusion, namely, whether the applicable standard was changed before or while the student was enrolled, because the student's reported grades are sufficient to meet one described standard but not another. Perhaps when the facts are sorted out the issue will be somewhat different from what it appears to be.
3. Provided a student is given timely notice of what must be done to advance and graduate, what's so wrong with dismissing students who, given the chance, cannot perform? I wonder if the law student in question would have sued on some other basis had the law school denied admission because it thought he lacked the requisite ability. There's a bit much of "heads the student wins, tails the student wins" in the situation.
4. It is essential, therefore, that in an open admissions system, the applicant be sent something along these lines, "We don't think you have much of a chance, though you appear capable if you put your mind to it, and because one never knows, we'll let you in if you're willing to pay for the chance. With the chance, you have the opportunity to become a lawyer if you do all that is required with diligence, faithfulness, and maturity. Without the chance, you have no chance of being an attorney."
5. The allegation that the school violated its mandatory grading curve is significant if it flies. Not only do mandatory grading curves (and even strongly recommended curves) disadvantage students who do well but are matched with other students doing well, they also compel (hence the allegation in the lawsuit) giving higher grades to poorly performing students because, reversing the curve in question, 85% of the students must earn a C+ or higher. Sorry, if 40% of the students do C and D work, law schools ought not pretend they've achieved a C+ or higher. That's why measuring against a standard makes more sense.
6. This is a case worth watching if it proceeds. I wonder if the law school will seek discovery of the academic work habits of the students in question. "How many hours a week did you study?" "Did you attend class?" "Were you prepared for class?" "Describe how you prepared for class." "Did you work during the semester or cram at the end?" "Did you participate in class?" "Did you create your own outline, charts, and graphs or did you use someone else's work?" This is important because the law school cannot be at fault for dismissing a student whose failure to progress is caused by the student's inadequate work habits and academic immaturity rather than underlying intellectual deficiencies. It has always amused me to read the answers that Graduate Tax Program students give to the question on the course evaluation that asks how many hours a week outside class they invested in the course. Surprisingly, even though they should be investing six to eight hours a week outside of class, there are students who honestly answer "one," "two" or some other deficient number. I am convinced that the students with the most complaints about the work load and high expectations of the instructors and course are among those who invest so little time. Why we don't ask this question of J.D. students remains a mystery to me. I can't imagine why we wouldn't want to know.
So here is hoping that everyone celebrating Labor Day however they celebrate it can look back and forward to their contribution to working. Working hard.
Happy Labor Day.