About two weeks ago, I had an ongoing conversation with my father. A couple of contextual points for you.  First, almost all of our conversations are in person as he loathes speaking on the telephone for more than a few minutes and, thankfully, he does not do social media. Second, this took place over the course of an afternoon when my mother was in for some surgery (everything ended up being fine with her). My task was to keep his mind occupied during the interminable period between pre-op and post-op.

We were discussing a great number of topics (our similar tendencies for misanthropy; the complete banality of all things political; the doomed nature of society in general--so it was one of our more positive-tending topical discussions). At some point, the conversation turned to my work. After a discussion of my complete ease with and skill at misdirection--okay, lying--and personality management--okay, manipulation--both topics that have been covered on Twitter but may be covered again here some time in the future, he asked me a simple question: "Do you get to help people in your job?"  Simple questions rarely beget simple answers, especially when my father is involved. This is the tale that ensued.

Rewind 11 years or so to my first job out of law school. It was a much smaller firm. Established. Predominantly Jewish. Why the hell they ever hired me is still a question that crosses my mind from time to time. I am guessing the goys in the firm liked my, say, less-than-conservative, demeanor? I am sure we will have other opportunities to discuss the ins and the outs of my tenure there some other time. However, I wanted to give you some context and to flash my knowledge of Jewish vernacular for folks like @writewendy and @seven16 and @bohopoetgirl.

One day, one of the (Jewish) partners comes to my office and tells me about a pro bono case he wants me to handle. Little old lady, mean insurance company, blah, blah, blah. I accepted (not that I had a choice), and he told me when she would be coming to the office for an intake meeting.  

So I met with Betty (not her real name, natch), and she had a compelling situation. She and her husband applied for a credit life insurance policy in connection with the mortgage loan used to finance the purchase of their home. On the application, her husband identified (correctly) that he had two risk factors, namely, hypertension and a prior heart attack. According to the information on the application, the insurance company should have declined them for the policy because one of the applicants had more than one risk factor. For whatever reason, the application was approved.

Of course, Betty's husband had suffered another heart attack and passed away a month or so before our meeting.  When Betty contacted the insurance company about paying off the mortgage, the insurance company took a closer look at the application. As a result,the insurance company was refusing to pay on the policy because Betty's husband had two risk factors and should not have been approved.

Though she was working, Betty could not afford the mortgage payments on her own. They had little savings, and Betty's husband had no other life insurance. It was looking like Betty would have to sell the home and go back to renting and apartment. The fact that Betty and her husband were in their 50s and this was their first home made a tragic situation even more heartbreaking.

After meeting with Betty, I began reaching out to the insurance company.  After a couple of days of trying, I was able to get in touch with someone with a modicum of decision-making authority. I let them give me the standard lines about how Betty's husband should not have been approved and they weren't going to pay and blah, blah, blah. 

I just let the line stay silent for a minute. When the representative from the insurance company finally broke the silence and asked if I was still there, I apologized and said I must have gotten sidetracked thinking of the following picture: it is winter; a frail, working widow is hobbling her way to the stand; she might even need to slowly walk back to her chair for a wrap or sweater or something to stop her shivering; and then she will, in GREAT detail, tell the jury how she and her husband dreamed of that home for 30 years; how they really did not want the extra payment for the credit life policy but thought it necessary given that this house was their dream and their "retirement plan"; how they HONESTLY answered the questions on the application and were never required to take a physical; how she will verify the authenticity of the approval letter from the insurance company and all the cancelled checks from their premium payments. I also may have mentioned that we had no problem coming up to their home state for trial purposes as punitive damages would be in play. I then thanked the representative for the time and politely ended the call.

The insurance company representative called me back in about 10 minutes to inform me that the claim would be honored and that Betty's mortgage would be paid off. When I informed the partner of the result, he informed me that I had performed a "mitzvah" and should be happy for Betty. I think Betty cried for over 10 minutes when I called her to inform her of the news.

After recounting this tale for my father, I told him that I really did not have the opportunity to "help" people in the same manner in which I helped Betty. Those kinds of assignments just do not find their way to my desk anymore. Sure, I do other things to fulfuill my pro bono duties when and where possible, but none of those are quite like the grand slam of saving a widow's home from Snidley Whiplash Insurance.

However, I do work with a great group of client contacts. These are normal, everyday working people, for the most part. These people have kids and mortgages and credit card bills and car payments and college expenses and grocery trips and all of the other usual trappings of Westetn Civilization. These people also have employers (i.e., our clients) with job expectations. Perform, be rewarded; fail to perform, be shown the door (well, maybe not as banal as that all the time, but I know people who were let go because they did not handle their buisness). So, while Bank XYZ or Commercial Lender 123 may pay my bills, I make my hay working with the people down in the trenches. My job is to help them do their job.

In that llight, I do get to help people every day. My performance at my job bears directly on how our client contacts perform at their job. If I do not do my job well on a consistent basis, some of these contacts could end up with no job at all. I would like to think that helping people in this manner is as important as helping someone like Betty save her house. True, the impact of a grand slam may be more sensational, but hitting seven or eight singles will result in the same score (and is more sustainable overall, but we can save that for a sports-themed discussion on another day).

Plus, pro bono work pays for shit.