I've had this happen to me multiple times in the past few years when meeting new people:
Stranger 1: "So, what do you do for a living?"
Me: "Oh, I'm actually in law school."
Stranger 1: "Wow, that's cool! You must be smart."
The responses vary, of course, but they generally have undertones of respect and admiration. But, when I have conversations like this one...
Stranger 2: "So, what do you do for a living?"
Me: "Well, I'm becoming a lawyer."
...the reaction is more typically this:
Stranger 2: "Oh, a lawyer--I'd better watch my wallet." or "Are you gonna be one of those guys who defends big corporations?" or "Great, just what this world needs--another lawyer."
I understand the differences in response: law school conjures up images of a venerable and esteemed institution where students work hard to master the intricacies of the legal system, whereas a lawyer is a pedantic, argumentative drain on society's resources. Still, I think it's amusing that the closer you get to joining the profession, the less respect afforded to you.*
So, with that long-winded hook behind us, let's proceed to the matter at hand. What does it take to become an actual lawyer in Texas? In short: a lot of paperwork and a healthy bank account. But, as my Crim Law prof. once said, "let's put some meat on those bones."
First, I had to file a Declaration of Intent to study law in Texas. That'll cost you $190--if you file that before October 1 of your 1L year. Who does that?! On September 30, 2008, I had no idea whether I wanted to practice in Texas, or Illinois, or California, or Alabama.** So, I paid the $150 "late" fee as well.
The Declaration of Intent asked me for my employment history, whether I had ever failed to file a tax return, etc. It also wanted 6 character references from people who were neither family (too biased, I suppose) nor law students (too predisposed to lie, maybe??). The Board of Law Examiners (the organization who decides whether I get to join the Bar or not) then proceeds to run a background check on me. It makes sure that I have the proper character and fitness to become a lawyer--not a problem for most of us but could be a difficult hurdle to clear if you've, say, filed for bankruptcy or committed a serious crime.
Next, I had to sign up to take the Bar itself. That cost me $450, which, believe it or not, is actually fairly reasonable. (That money includes a late fee of $150 as well; this time, however, I had more than enough time to file and the blame falls on me for being untimely.)
I also paid a mere $60 to take the Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam (MPRE). That's the only test, other than the Bar, that Texans have to pass in order to become licensed attorneys. Virtually every state requires that its would-be members of the Bar pass this test (although the passing score varies from state to state). It's administered three times a year; in fact, I just took the MPRE this Saturday. It's only a 2-hour test with 60 multiple-choice questions, so it's certainly not an onerous exam. It does require a few days of studying, of course, but that's certainly to be expected.
Then, last but certainly not least, you take the Bar Exam itself. That's a three-day test that is administered in February and July--people typically take the test in July after they've graduated. It's a combination of multiple choice and essay questions. Topics that the Bar Exam covers include torts, contracts, property, wills, and much more. You could rely on your old notes and your intrinsic motivation to prepare, but most just cave and purchase a private bar review class for a very healthy sum ($3000, approximately). The review class for Texas begins in mid-May and lasts until July, and people typically spend 40 hours a week engaged in some sort of preparation for the Bar.
In November, you get your results. Hopefully, you've passed! Everyone who passes gets his name listed on a website somewhere, apparently, so if you fail it you're name may be conspicuously absent from the list. Not to fear, though: over 90% of UT Law grads pass the Texas Bar, so you'd probably have to blow it off in order to fail.***
So, grand totals: $3850; weeks of studying; days of test-taking. But, on the plus side, I, uh, get to become a lawyer and have years of those awkward "what do you do" conversations at dinner parties.
*If you're looking to split hairs, you could argue that it's not a sliding scale of respect but rather a consistent amount of respect until one discrete point in your law career. I have two responses: (1) not always true, in my experience--for example, when it becomes known that I'm in my final year of school, it becomes more evident to the stranger that I'll soon be completing my metamorphosis from Productive Member of Society to Lawyer and I in turn engender less respect; (2) you'd make an excellent law student.
**Okay, I'll admit that I knew from Day 1 that I didn't want to practice law in Alabama.
***In November, I may regret typing that sentence.
