TREATING SYMPTOMS; IGNORING THE DISEASE

On May 22, 2017, The Wall Street Journal ran an article about the legal profession’s enduring problem: psychological distress. For decades, attorneys have led most occupations in the incidence of serious psychological afflictions — depression, substance abuse, even suicide. Now some law firms are “tackling a taboo,” namely, the mental health problems of their lawyers.

Some observers theorize that a special “lawyer personality” is the culprit. In other words, we have only ourselves to blame, so no one should feel sorry for us. Then again, no one ever feels sorry for lawyers anyway. But attorney psychological distress has become a sufficient problem that, as the Journal reports, some big law firms are now “offering on-site psychologists, training staff to spot problems, and incorporating mental health support alongside other wellness initiatives.”

Stated differently, law firms are following the unfortunate path that has become a dominant approach in the medical profession: treating symptoms rather than the disease. Perhaps that’s because law firm leaders know that curing it would cut into their personal annual incomes.

The Facts

Other workers have serious psychological challenges, too. But attorneys seem to suffer in disproportionately high numbers. The Journal article cites a 2016 study of US lawyers finding that 20.6 percent of those surveyed were heavy drinkers (compared to 15.4 percent for members of the American College of Surgeons). Likewise, 28 percent experienced symptoms of depression (compared with eight percent or less for the general population). According to a 2012 CDC study cited in the Journal, attorneys have the 11th-highest suicide rate.

Now add one more data point. According to an ABA survey in 2007, lawyers in big firms are the least satisfied with their jobs. Anyone familiar with the prevailing big firm environment knows that it has deteriorated dramatically since 1985.

The New World

What has changed? For starters, just getting a job at a big law firm is more difficult. Corporate clients have found cost-effective alternatives to young attorneys billing $300 an hour to review documents. At many firms, demand remains soft.

But the real psychological problems begin after a new associate enters the door. For most of them, promotion to equity partner has become a pipe dream. In 1985, 36 percent of all lawyers in The American Lawyer’s first survey of the nation’s fifty largest firms were equity partners. In  2016, the comparable number was under 22 percent. More than 40 percent of all AmLaw 100 partners are now non-equity partners. The leverage ratio of equity partners to all attorneys has doubled. Stated another way, it’s twice as difficult to become an equity partner today as it was in 1985. That’s what’s been happening at the financial pinnacle of the profession.

The Business Model

There is nothing inevitable about the underlying business model that produces these outcomes. It’s a choice. In 1985, average profits per partner for the Am Law 50 was $300,000 — or about $700,000 in 2017 dollars. Today’s it’s $1.7 million. And the gap within most equity partnerships reflects their eat-what-you-kill culture. Instead of 3-to-1 in 1985, the ratio of highest-to-lowest partner compensation within equity partnerships often exceeds 10-to-1. As the rich have become richer, annual equity partner earnings of many millions of dollars has become commonplace.

At what cost? The future. As law firm leaders rely upon short-term metrics — billings, billable hours, and leverage ratios — they’re pulling up the ladder on the next generation. Too many associates; too few equity slots. Let the contest begin!

But rather than revisit the wisdom of the model, some big firm leaders have made what the Journal characterizes as a daring move: bring in a psychologist. It’s better than nothing, but it’s a far cry from dealing with the core problem that starts with the billable hour, moves through metrics that managers use to maximize short-run partner profits, and ends in predictable psychological distress — even for the so-called winners. The Journal notes that a psychologist at one firm was offering this sad advice to its attorneys: Take a cellphone reprieve by turning off all electronic devices between 2:00 am and 6:00 am.

But even such input from mental health professionals seems anathema to some firm leaders. According to the Journal, Dentons’ chairman Joseph Andrew says that his fear of offering an on-site psychologist was that “competitors will say we have crazy lawyers.”

Former Acting Attorney General Sally Yates recently told the New Yorker about her father, an attorney who suffered from depression and committed suicide. “Tragically,” Yates said, “the fear of stigma then associated with depression prevented him from getting the treatment he needed.”

For some firm leaders, “then” is still “now.” And that’s truly crazy.

WHO REALLY PAYS FOR LAW STUDENT DEBT?

More public interest lawyers for our nation’s underserved citizens would be a good thing. More public debt to subsidize law schools that shouldn’t exist at all would be a bad thing.

In recent years, law schools have promoted debt forgiveness programs as a solution to rising student loan obligations. In some important ways, they are. Income-based repayment (IBR) can be a lifeline in a drowning pool of educational debt. It can also open up less remunerative options, including public interest law, for those willing to forego big bucks to avoid big law firms. But now everyone seems surprised to realize that, when all that debt is forgiven years hence, someone will have to pick up the tab.

Well, not quite everyone is surprised. More than two years ago, Professor WIlliam Henderson, one of the profession’s leading observers, saw this train wreck coming. “Unless the government’s actuarial assumptions on student loan repayments turn out to be correct,” Henderson wrote, “federal funding of higher education is on a collision course with the federal deficit.”

Tuition increases without regard to value added

Recently, the Wall Street Journal made that collision a front page story. In “Plans That Forgive Student Debt Skyrocket,” law students took center stage — and for good reason. For a decade, new lawyers have outpaced everyone, even medical students, in the rate at which they have accumulated educational debt.

Am Law columnist Matt Leichter has reported that from 1998 to 2008, private law school tuition grew at an annual rate of almost 3.5 percent, compared to 1.89 percent for medical schools and 2.85 percent for undergraduate colleges. Public law school tuition increased at an even faster pace: 6.71 percent. From 2008 to 2012, median law school debt for new graduates increased by 54 percent — from $83,000 to $128,000. (That compares to a 22 percent increase in medical student debt.)

Market disconnects

What accounts for the law school tuition explosion? For starters, the U.S. News rankings methodology incentivizes deans and administrators to spend money without regard to the beneficial impact on a student’s education. More expenditures per student mean a higher ranking, period.

Who provides that money? Students — most of whom obtain federally backed loans. To that end, the prevailing law school business model requires filling classrooms. As transparency about dismal law graduate employment outcomes has produced fewer applications at most schools, deans generally have responded by increasing acceptance rates. The overall rate for all law schools rose from 56 percent in 2004 to almost 80 percent in 2013.

Sell, sell, sell

As National Law Journal reporter Karen Sloan observed recently, “It’s a tale of two legal education worlds.” Top law schools place 90 percent of their graduates; but “more than three-quarters of ABA accredited law schools — 163 — had underemployment rates of 20 percent or more.”

Those numbers begin to explain what has now become an annual springtime ritual. As I’ve discussed in recent posts, many law school professors and deans at schools producing those underemployed graduates are proclaiming that the lawyer glut is over. Now, they say, is the best time ever to attend law school.

Outside the ivory tower, practicing lawyers know that such hopeful rhetoric isn’t transforming the market or slowing the profession’s structural changes. Last June, NALP Executive Director James Leipold wrote, “There are no indications that the employment situation will return to anything like it was before the recession.”

The most recent ABA employment statistics for the class of 2013 prove Leipold’s point: Nine months after graduation, only 57 percent had obtained long-term-full-time jobs requiring a JD. Median incomes for new graduates aren’t improving much, either. For the class of 2008, it was $72,000; for the class of 2012, it was $61,245.

IBR to the rescue

The vast majority of students borrow six-figure sums to fund their legal education. The federal government backs the loans, which survive bankruptcy. The end result is law schools with no financial skin in a game for which they reap tremendous economic rewards.

IBR is a godsend to many new lawyers who can’t get jobs that pay enough to cover their loans. It permits monthly installments totaling 10 percent of discretionary income (defined as annual income above 150 percent of the poverty level). Outstanding balances are forgiven after 10 years; for private sector workers, it’s 20 years.

Less obvious consequences

IBR has a dark side, too. If a person leaves the program early, total debt will include all accrued interest and principal, often creating a balance larger than the original loans. For those remaining in the program for the requisite 10 or 20 years, forgiven debt becomes taxable income in the year forgiven.

More insidiously for the profession, IBR allows marginal schools to exploit an already dysfunctional market. Such schools are free to ignore the realistic job prospects for their graduates (including JD-required public service positions) as they recruit new students who obtain six-figure loans to pay tuition. When graduates can’t get decent jobs, it’s not the school’s problem. Meanwhile, IBR becomes the underemployed young lawyer’s escape hatch.

The Wall Street Journal reports that graduates are using that hatch in dramatically increasing numbers: “[E]nrollment in the [IBR] plans has surged nearly 40% in just six months, to include at least 1.3 million Americans owing around $72 billion.” Those figures aren’t limited to lawyers, but they undoubtedly include many young graduates from law schools that should have closed long ago.

Bill Henderson probably finds some measure of vindication as a wider audience now frets over a problem that he foresaw years ago. But I know him well enough to believe that for him, like me, four of the least satisfying words in the English language are: “I told you so.”

COCKROACHES, MEDICINE, AND THE BILLABLE HOUR

Cockroaches should take lessons from the billable hour. Detractors notwithstanding, it has survived every economic downturn of the last 30 years including, apparently, this one. Although a recent ALM survey noted that almost 75% of client payments in 2009 were pursuant to “alternative fee arrangements,” almost 80% of those were simply discounts from attorneys’ hourly rates. (http://amlawdaily.typepad.com/amlawdaily/2010/10/billing.html)

Here’s the real problem: Whenever the regime eventually crumbles, the worst aspects of the billable hours culture will persist. Take fixed fee caps, for example. Even if they benefit some clients financially — a big “if” that’s a separate discussion — they create a Hobson’s choice for associates.

On one side is the pressure not to log all time. Keeping matters within internal budgets makes billing partners look good in their year-end reviews.

On the other side stands the billable hour as the definitive metric for measuring individual productivity. They might be working on fixed fee matters, but attorneys must still account for their time. Large firm minimum hours requirements aren’t going away.

What happens when externally fixed fees meet internal billable hours cultures? Ask your doctor.

Do you sometimes get the impression that your family physician is rushing through an appointment? That’s because the doctor is responding rationally to something called the relative value unit (RVU) — medicine’s equivalent to the billable hour.

In 1964, the AMA created reimbursement codes for the newly enacted Medicare program. Fifteen years later, a Harvard School of Public Health economist began investigating ways to compare the seemingly incomparable: the time and effort associated with doctors’ diverse tasks. The typical economist’s study sought to develop relative values for measuring productivity across a range of different activities — from well-child checkups to brain surgery.

The academic exercise remained theoretical until 1985 when Medicare expanded the inquiry: Might such a scale be used to control costs associated with spiraling “reasonable, customary and prevailing fee-for-services” payment schedules? In 1992, Congress linked the relative value unit system to the Medicare codes used for reimbursing more than 7,000 different physician tasks. Private health insurers soon adopted RVUs for reimbursement, too.

Physicians now generate RVUs to earn a living, but time becomes a critical limiting factor. For example, whether a family physician spends 10 or 30 minutes on a routine office visit, Medicare and insurance companies set physician reimbursement at the activity’s predetermined RVU value (0.7). That gets multiplied by the uniform RVU rate (about $40/RVU) for a total of $28. (The final bill exceeds $28 because practice expense and malpractice RVU-factors get added.)

Specialists’ tasks have greater RVU values than general practitioners.’ Compared to a 15-minute routine visit worth 0.7 RVU, a 30-minute colonoscopy is worth several times that. Such differences relate to physician training, skills, mental effort, judgment, stress, and other aspects of the work. But cynics note that specialists have dominated Medicare’s RVU schedule advisory boards.

Behavior has followed incentive structures:

— RVU-driven compensation differences have created shortages of family physicians.

— Specialists mean well, but they tend to view patients myopically through the prism of their expertise, rather than as entire beings. Piecemeal medicine results.

— The system encourages pills, procedures, and tests. Prescription drugs promise quick fixes that move patients out of their doctors’ offices sooner. Procedures generate high RVU values; tests requiring expensive equipment likewise reap generous reimbursement.

Meanwhile, doctors must meet minimum annual RVUs, sometimes pursuant to explicit contractual requirements. That should sound familiar to any big law associate.

As physicians ceded control of hospitals to lay managers, RVUs became a key tool by which the MBA mentality of misguided metrics overtook that profession. Don’t take my word for it. Ask your doctor — if he’ll give you the time.

What would happen if clients and the courts that approve fee petitions started “fee-capping” lawyers the way Medicare and insurance companies have sliced into doctors’ incomes since 1992? Probably unintended consequences no less dramatic than those still surprising the medical profession. Many haven’t been pretty.

Here’s the real kicker: Unlike the legal profession, most physicians have always liked their jobs.