So here’s a fun little story: In 1997, I graduated from American University Washington College of Law, a plucky little legal institution ranked #53 in the nation. Solid. Respectable. We were practically nipping at the heels of the Ivies, and they claimed the 1996 new building would get us in the top 50 and it did for like a year, a few years after I graduated.
Fast forward to 2025—we’re #104. One. Oh. Four. That’s not a ranking; that’s a fever. We even have a newer building, which isn’t helping. If the school were a person, someone would be frantically calling the nurse and asking if they’re allergic to accreditation.
Now, back in the day, I was the Executive Editor of The American Jurist. And let’s just say I had some “notes” about the administration. Polite ones. Maybe. Depending on your definition of “constructive feedback” and “wounded egos.” Anyway, my criticism was met with pearl-clutching concern that I was “hurting the school.” That students wouldn’t come to the school because of something I wrote, even if it was about one of the law journals having editors not keeping their hours.
Hurting the school?! I was 24 with a thicker hairline and a diet consisting mostly of Diet Pepsi and Met-Rx bars. And I’m the problem?
Fast forward again—27 years. I haven’t been back to the law school since 1998. Why? Because unlike The Godfather, law school sequels don’t get better with time. I kept waiting for a reason to visit. Maybe a reunion with people I liked in school, instead of the people it attracts. Maybe a plaque with my name on it. I don’t know. Something. Instead, the only thing getting dedicated is the school’s steady decline in rankings.
And you know what’s funny? No one talks about it. It’s like a legal Voldemort. “He who must not be ranked.” I mean, do you know how many law professors it takes to change a light bulb? None. They write a 90-page article in the Yale Law Journal about the metaphysics of darkness and then blame the facilities department for systemic oppression.
Here’s the real issue: law professors make terrible managers. I say this with love, but also with the kind of clarity that only comes from watching an institution slowly backslide into irrelevance like a Netflix show that peaked in Season 2. Faculty meetings are basically faculty feeeeeelings. There’s more governance structure in a PTA meeting.
And let’s not even talk about alumni. We’re ghosts. Spectral figures. We show up when you want a check, and even then we have to be seduced with Latin inscriptions and branded pens. But if you see reunions and donation checks, the alumni is invisible. In the end, so many of the things I said 27 years ago, resonate today, and guys at the law school who could have made a difference are dead or in Congress (Hi, Jamin Raskin, I remember when his real name was Jamin and his hair was way thinner and now it’s thicker than mine).
