I got fired again yesterday. Sometime I need to go back through my memory banks and figure out how many times this has happened, but it’s a lot. My proclivity for getting canned was a main motivation for me starting my own business thirty years ago, because I was reasonable certain that I wouldn’t fire myself, and that I could probably talk my late wife, the company’s COO, from doing it.

Technically one could say that my company, ProEthics, was fired, but since I’m the only employee now, that would be nit-picking. This bar association had contracted with me as its primary legal ethics teacher for the entire 30 years, with my handling between three and five three-hour seminars every year, plus the ethics segment in the monthly bar’s orientation session for new bar admittees. Its support was a substantial reason Grace and I were willing to take the plunge as a small business in the first place.

By the time the axe fell, on a Zoom call, naturally, I pretty much knew what was coming. The CLE director, whom I had worked with amicably for ten years, had suddenly stopped responding to my emails until he sent me the dreaded “we need to talk” message last week. There had been no incident, screw-up, failure or apparent precipitating catalyst for the end that I could detect: my participant evaluations have remained in the 4-5 range in all categories on a 1-5 scale for all three decades years. My last seminar, an adaptation of my one-man show about Clarence Darrow with ethics commentary on the issues raised by his career, was especially popular, in great part because of the talented D.C. actor who played Clarence, Steve Lebens. One lawyer rushed up and after the program, grabbed my hand, and said the seminar had changed his whole perspective on practicing law as he choked back tears.

To be honest, the blow yesterday was more sentimental than anything. Dr, Fauci’s stupid Wuhan virus lockdown killed the live seminar part of my business, and it never recovered. I was paid by the head by this bar association as a matter of loyalty and courtesy, and the heads had almost completely disappeared. I used to have 100-150 lawyers in a classroom; for the last few years it’s been less than ten, with maybe 20 more online or zooming, sometimes a few more. Lawyers don’t like mandatory CLE, and the lockdown gave them an excuse to use remote technology and videos, meaning that they could be doing billable work or playing with their dogs, with no one the wiser.

Those methods don’t work pedagogically nearly as well as face-to-face training, and everybody knows it; they also do not let me do what I do better than most legal ethics teachers, which is engage and entertain while teaching. Most of my income is from expert consulting now, which I am good at but nowhere near as much fun. This association’s seminars were a loss leader for me by the end.

Still, the “we’ve decided to go in another direction” message was a bit mysterious. I was told by the CLE director that the orders came from “upstairs.” The numbers still said I was their best and most popular ethics teacher: why the new “direction”? I’ve won the bar two national awards for innovative CLE, and do the only musical ethics programs in the field with my long-time collaborator Mike Messer. What’s not to like?

Well, it’s possible that politics reared its proverbial ugly head. I have been working with a whistle-blower and several concerned prominent lawyers and academics to expose and reform a horrific scandal at the heart of the legal profession arising from this bar’s groundbreaking non-lawyer law firm partner rules and how they have been exploited by unethical lawyers, litigation funding companies, hedge funds and others to corrupt the mass tort field. Bar associations have been negligent—that’s putting it nicely—in policing this new, lucrative scam, in part because so many members and often prominent ones are involved in them. This year, I reached out to the newly-elected president of my ex-client bar to brief her on the problem and the association’s potential role in solving it, something I noted would be a good thing to do, considering that the scandal is harming millions of victims and involves billions of dollars. She knew I was a member, and knew I am the bar’s most popular ethics instructor. She also knew that my work was backed and endorsed by the bar’s ethics staff.

I tried three times to set up a meeting. Cold silence. And suddenly, I am given the gate. Interesting. My whistle-blower is 100% convinced that it was our project that caused the firing, that and the fact that this bar is extremely progressive and partisan and this blog makes it clear that I am not. Maybe he’s right.

My father taught me how to be fired, as he had lots of experience at it too. “They are always nervous and afraid how you’ll react,” he said. “So shock them by being understanding, gracious, and by trying to make them feel less guilty. Tell them it’s been a pleasure and an honor working with them. Tell them you’ve enjoyed every minute. Say that you understand how hard this must be be for them, and make them wonder afterwards if they haven’t made a terrible mistake. Leave on good terms, and sometimes, they may want to work with you again.”

His advice, as usual, works beautifully, and I have been re-engaged on occasion by the same people who have fired me. Frankly, I’m a unique talent and provide a special service unusually well.

Nevertheless, it just doesn’t feel good being fired. I’ll miss that gig, and the terrific lawyers I met over the years.