The formal teaching of law in the United States has passed from individual attorneys acting as masters to their apprentices, through part-time attorneys acting as schoolmasters, to full-time academics claiming to be an integral part of the university. This change, occurring over about 235 years, has been accompanied by significant changes in teaching methods and scholarship. It has significantly altered the ranks of law teachers as the great educational experiment that is the modern university law school, now over 130 years old, turned the part-time teachers, who long had been a staple of legal education, into adjunct instructors, valued for their specialized knowledges, but, as their title implies, peripheral to the educational enterprise. Though this shift in personnel is firmly entrenched in the fabric of legal education, occasionally its wisdom is doubted.
Early Legal Educators.
Properly understood, every lawyer who has ever accepted an apprentice should be considered a part-time legal educator. The quality of the formal instruction received by apprentices, of course, has varied widely. Some instruction was very good, centered as it was on the apprentice's reading of basic books on law and then discussing the relevant texts with his employer, supplemented with work as a copyist of forms and pleadings that might further illustrate how the principles in question worked out in practice. Some was obviously terrible, consisting of little book learning and much copying of what could only have been seen as the magic incantations of the law.
Such hit-or-miss legal education by apprenticeship continued even past the nineteenth century. However, the early years of the republic saw the establishment of small law schools. Most were proprietary affairs. The most famous was the Litchfield Law School, established in 1784 in northwestern Connecticut. About the same time, some colleges established single professorships of law as part of the undergraduate curriculum. The most famous was the chair in law established in 1779 at the College of William and Mary for George Wythe, Thomas Jefferson's law preceptor.
Why the formal, substantive or theoretical part of the education of new lawyers started to be treated separately from apprenticeship in these years is not wholly clear. It is interesting that at the time of the American Revolution, the per capita income of the white residents of the American colonies was in all likelihood larger than that in England. The economy was growing rapidly, population as well. There seems to have been plenty of law business for the existing bar. In such circumstances it is possible that lawyers, especially those who had a distaste for, or limited ability at, the job of formal instruction, had little reason to spend time educating aspiring youngsters, especially as these increased in numbers. Better to leave them to read on their own and keep them copying.
Most likely, such economic considerations interacted with the endemic lack of good masters, the possibility that formal instruction was a mark of status, and a simple felt need for instruction in a more formal setting, to make it sensible for young men of moderate means to pay for such training at schools like Litchfield. After all, the law was not just the rote reproduction of forms. Some systematic content allowed it to be put to new uses.
Many of the teachers in early professional schools and college professorships were sitting or retired judges. For example, Litchfield was established to hold the small school that Tapping Reeve had maintained as a practicing lawyer when he became a superior court judge, and Wythe's appointment coincided with his becoming a chancellor in the Virginia judiciary. Numerous law schools and professorships were formed, often dying out when the proprietor was no longer able to teach, taken over by others if of significant enough value to the local community, or abandoned when the pupils no longer came or the teacher lost interest.
Even when attached to a college, these schools operated separately from the parent institution. Often the connection was almost the extension of a courtesy title. Use of the college's name was on condition that the school impose no pecuniary cost to the institution. Thus, the professor's “salary” was simply the fees collected from such students as chose to enroll, less the expenses of instruction, just as would have been the case had the effort remained more formally proprietary.
Yet, under these conditions, schools of some distinction were created. In addition to the Litchfield school, there was the Harvard Law School, established in 1817 under the direction of first, Massachusetts chief justice Isaac Parker, and after 1829, of United States Supreme Court justice Joseph Story; and the law school of Transylvania University, in Lexington, Kentucky, under the direction of that state's chief justice, George Robertson.
Though the techniques of instruction used by early legal educators have been described quite variously, they are reducible to a combination of lecture, often including some dictation—a way for the student, who was assumed not to have available when entering practice more than a few law books, to have some record of principles and precedents—and some kind of recitation, whether by colloquy (moot argument based on a set of stated facts) or something more like catechistic exploration. In either case, the content was centered in the explication of the most general principles that were said to under- lie the common law and the United States Constitution, and in the presentation of cases that exemplified those principles.
As the instructors were part-time, instruction was largely offered outside of the normal working day. Judges, such as Story, whose court sat in Washington and on circuit, and Reeve, whose court sat in Hartford, were supported by other instructors, in Story's case Simon Greenleaf, who was closer to being a full-time academic than almost any other person in the early years of the century, and in Reeve's case James Gould. Despite such a schedule, significant scholarship was produced by some of these part-time teachers. For example, Story produced eight treatises that defined significant portions of American law; Greenleaf produced a treatise on evidence that was the standard work on the subject for several generations; and James Kent, who taught briefly at Columbia after his retirement as chancellor of the New York Court of Chancery, produced four volumes of Commentaries on American Law that occupied a place in the instruction of beginning law students equivalent to that of Blackstone's similarly titled work on English law. Over time, the existence of these and other law books made dictation unnecessary, and so text-based lecture combined with recitation settled in as the dominant teaching method.
This scholarship was important in the new nation. Ours was a revolution, a separation from the colonial power, the establishment of a new country. And so there was the job of establishing a both continuous—after all, property was at issue—and distinct legal tradition. Thus, the question of what American law was to be bulked large. Here, the great treatises produced by Story, Kent, and others answered that question and so were the type of scholarship most important to practitioners in the new nation.
The continuing role of lawyers and especially judges in delivering legal education in these years is particularly important. The small denominational college was not a plausible home for such study. Law might become a part of the liberal-arts education that the antebellum college purveyed to the fourteen- to twenty-year-olds who were entrusted to its care. But most of these institutions lacked both an interest in offering professional training in law and the assets necessary to support such a program were its teachers to be full-time employees of the college. This is why so many of the law schools, though not Harvard's, that shared the name of, and so were in some sense attached to, institutions of higher learning were granted affiliation on condition that it would be at no cost to the college.
Given this lack of funds and interest, part-time teachers, individuals with some sense of responsibility to the profession, as well as some other income, were the plausible persons to assume the risk of the failure of any venture into formal legal education and to produce the scholarship that practitioners wanted. And of all of the lawyers able to undertake this work, judges—especially appellate judges, as oracles of the law, traditional leaders of the bar, natural pontificators, and possessors of more free time than practicing lawyers of the same degree of prominence—not surprisingly were both the centerpiece of these early law schools and the primary producers of the relevant scholarship.
The Initial Growth of Full-Time Law Teachers.
The expansion of settlement west had been regularly followed by statehood and, starting in the 1830s, by the establishment of state universities. After the Civil War a second wave of industrialization, continuing for much of the remainder of the century, pushed the economy forward. By this time, additional generations of alumni meant that older, established colleges had secured the increased endowments that offered the possibility of supporting new programs; a few new schools, well endowed from the beginning, could also finance expansion.
As universities in the United States began both to expand and to increase in numbers there came an increase in the number of law schools. Much of this expansion came with the establishment of public universities that created multiple professional schools. But some private schools established or reestablished such schools and, in the case of law schools, proprietary schools grew apace, though often ending up being absorbed into neighboring universities.
Many of the university-based law schools were still headed by part-time instructors, for example, William Howard Taft, who was dean of the University of Cincinnati College of Law while serving as a United States federal circuit judge. Continuing an old pattern, some part-time teachers in these law schools were very serious scholars. Thomas M. Cooley, who taught at the University of Michigan Law School during almost his entire tenure as first reporter for, and then member of, the Michigan Supreme Court, produced very well-known books on constitutional law, taxation, and torts. Similarly, John F. Dillon, who taught at the University of Iowa College of Law while on the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals, produced important books on municipal corporations and municipal bonds.
But more of the university-based law schools were soon dominated by full-time teachers. The most famous is, of course, Harvard Law School, where Christopher Columbus Langdell gave up what appears to have been a modestly thriving practice to become dean, and James Barr Ames skipped practice entirely. Both men produced pioneering casebooks, as well as significant, serious scholarship—Langdell in equity and Ames in legal history. Their colleagues James Bradley Thayer and John Chipman Gray produced significant work on evidence and constitutional law and a six-volume casebook on property, respectively.
That Harvard was a lonely pioneer in these matters is, however, less true than usually asserted, for individuals such as William G. Hammond, who was dean both at Iowa and at Washington University in St. Louis; Christopher G. Tiedeman, who taught at the University of Missouri, New York University, and the University of Buffalo; and John Norton Pomeroy, who taught at New York University and Hastings College of Law in San Francisco, a freestanding part of the University of California, were all full-time teachers of some note. Indeed, Tiedeman's two books on constitutional law and eight other treatises and Pomeroy's five treatises were all relatively important at the time.
The great flowing of scholarship produced by part-time and full-time educators alike in the years after the Civil War was anything but an accident. The adoption of the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments to the Constitution brought to the fore significant, new questions of federal power, and the slow abandonment of the common-law writ system that had provided a backbone for the organization of law raised a host of legal questions about how such law was to be organized and so understood. However, what distinguishes teachers such as Cooley and Dillon, Tiedeman and Pomeroy from those of the Harvard faculty is the audience for their work. The Harvard faculty, their protestations to the contrary notwithstanding, produced work for their students and for other scholars, including even Gray, a name partner in a major Boston law firm and therefore a part-time teacher. The others directed their writing toward the practicing bar; indeed, each of the four seemed to garner a substantial portion of his income from the sale of his books.
The growth of the full-time law teacher, associated as it was with the adoption of a method of instruction that emphasized learning directly from appellate opinions, a demand for full-time day instruction, an extension of the time for a degree toward three years, and an increase in the preliminary education required for admission, was hardly greeted with universal approval. Indeed, some law teachers and students rebelled at all four of these “improvements” in legal education, a rebellion that led to the formation of both the New York Law School and the Boston University Law School. But more commonly, as university-based law schools grew in number, many proprietary law schools were founded, most catering to students who could attend only part-time because of their need to work or their wish to treat formal legal education as an adjunct to an apprenticeship.
The faculty at most of these schools consisted of part-time teachers, though the school itself was often anchored by a full-time dean. And among the faculty at such places appeared some significant scholars, most notably Melville Bigelow, who helped found the Boston University Law School, and whose treatises on estoppel, fraud, and torts were significant in their day, as was his scholarship in legal history. But most of these instructors, almost all of whom relied on lecture and recitation in class, were too busy to write much of anything.
The growth of a full-time, university-based law professoriat was not a foreordained result of the growth of universities and the expansion of law schools. Indeed, the work of part-time teachers such as Cooley and Dillon in creating a systematic organization of the law makes this clear. But these developments provided the opportunity for such a professional formation; Langdell and others stepped in to try. They found allies from among the elite practitioners gathered together as the American Bar Association, and a willing market for their wares in the state universities and newer private institutions—the former because the supply of good part-time teachers was limited in the less intensely urban locations where they were often established, and the latter because keeping up with Harvard was part of what elite private education was about.
As academic law teachers professionalized, the other key players received benefits as well. The elite bar was both able to feel that it was doing something for the profession and to work to increase the price of admission to the bar, as well as to hold back the children of immigrants flocking to the United States from southern and eastern Europe. The schools themselves received modest support in the difficult intra-university squabbles for funds, and potentially a reduction in the cost advantage possessed by those schools staffed by part-time practitioners should higher standards be enforced.
What then of the role of Langdell's great invention, the case method of studying law and its accompanying Socra-tic dialogue—a species of class discussion that started as catechism with respect to the details of the case being discussed and then turned into a somewhat more open-ended exploration of the possible limits of individual formulations of legal rules? Whatever Langdell intended, selecting law teachers and ultimately law students on the basis of their ability to analyze and synthesize appellate cases provided some real distinction both for students and faculty. It was harder work than that of reproducing practice forms and regurgitating rules, the previous staple of legal education. And at a time when social conflicts over industrialization, business combines, and labor unions meant that law was particularly under pressure, it made a certain amount of sense to involve the student personally in the justification of legal rules, as Socratic dialogue tended to do. Moreover, this dialogue, a continuation of the methods common in the antebellum college, probably suited the educational needs of students who were often still in their teens, as had been the students of that college.
The First Half of the Twentieth Century.
The joining together of thirty-two schools to establish the Association of American Law Schools (AALS) in 1900, and that organization's publication of the first directory of law teachers at its member schools in 1922, serve as convenient markers for the growth of full-time law teachers in the United States. Though formally an association of schools, the AALS was in fact an organization of law professors whose stated mission was raising the standards of legal education in the United States and whose unstated mission was lobbying the American Bar Association, itself a highly unrepresentative body, to raise the standards it enforced for those law schools seeking its approval. Thus, the establishment of the AALS was a part of the process of professionalization of the American law teacher, a process whose real objective was to spread its particular vision of legal education into all corners of the country: the full-time teacher at a university-based law school teaching students who had attended, and preferably graduated from, college, and who would attend full-time day programs three years in length.
Not wholly surprisingly, the enlarged corps of full-time teachers that went out as missionaries into the Midwest, South, and West to spread the gospel of the university law school had been educated in the same way they wished their students to be educated, though often at substantially fancier schools. These teachers claimed to be determined to teach law, as Langdell had done, by Socratic dialogue. They also claimed a desire to produce scholarship of the highest order.
Exactly what was taught by these academics is difficult to establish. Early on, one suspects that the farther away from Harvard and its more doctrinaire supporters, such as Chicago, Columbia, Cornell, Michigan, and Minnesota, the more the discussion petered out pretty much at the statement of a rule of law, if only because the great number of cases covered in any course made it difficult to do otherwise. Later, discussion may well have expanded as the proliferation of hornbooks—books setting forth and explaining the rules of any given area of law in a relatively brief compass, a halfway house between a treatise and an outline—seemed to diminish, and that of casebooks to increase.
What they wrote is much easier to estimate. The earliest generation produced several extraordinary monuments—John Henry Wigmore, who taught at North-western, produced a treatise on evidence that is still useful enough to be revised one hundred years later; Samuel R. Williston of Harvard produced a similarly magisterial treatise on contracts; and his colleague, Joseph Beale, one on the conflict of laws. In some sense, all three wrote for an audience of both practitioners and scholars. But most other full-time teachers wrote casebooks for their students and articles for their colleagues that were placed in the already increasing number of student-edited law reviews.
The great number of full-time teachers who sought to produce scholarship faced a significant problem. Once the body of the law had been reorganized to fit a world where the norm was code pleading—a method of setting forth the claim made in a lawsuit that attempted to provide a consistent procedure for all claims, separate from the substantive right alleged to have been violated—unlike its predecessor, common-law pleading, which fused the form of the claim with the substantive right—few great scholarly tasks seemed to be left. While no early twentieth-century legal scholar eschewed identifying what he considered to be errors in the law, most were content with a brief discussion that focused on a lack of rationality in the logical extension of accepted principles of law, and so performed the role of patient chroniclers of the modest changes that happen on a daily basis in a case-law system.
It is doubtful that highly educated individuals who had chosen intellectual endeavors over the possible financial rewards of practice found this state of affairs a wholly appealing one. For those farthest away from Cambridge, their disappointment was perhaps leavened by the exhaustion of six-, seven-, or eight-course teaching loads, though that, too, was not exactly what they had envisioned at the outset. But for the others, this prospect may have seemed grim.
At about this time, three new forms of scholarship appeared. The first was the great project to restate the common law and even to annotate these restatements for each jurisdiction. The other two were more significant. With the appearance of Roscoe Pound on the Harvard faculty, scholarship that took a broader viewpoint, that of criticism, and so justification, of legal rules in terms of efficacy or social policy for then contemporary conditions, began to appear with some regularity. Such scholarship tended to open up broader possibilities for discussion, and so had an innate attractiveness. In the 1920s and 1930s these possibilities were seized by a group of scholars, primarily centered at Columbia and Yale, known as the Legal Realists. This group opened yet a third possibility for legal scholarship—empirical research, generally exemplified by work done at Yale by Charles E. Clark, William O. Douglas, and Underhill Moore, and at the Institute of Law, a non-law school at Johns Hopkins, by Herman Oliphant, Leon Carroll Marshall, and Hessel Yntema, all former faculty members at Columbia.
What was taught at those schools not dominated by full-time teachers is quite difficult to tell. As casebooks were still being produced with accompanying hornbooks, so one might guess that some of the teachers at these schools used both, some used only the hornbooks, and some lectured from notes that were directed toward the peculiarities of state or even local practice. As for scholarship, there was very little from the part-time teachers and not much of beyond local significance from the full-time teachers; the latter had heavy teaching loads and the former, their ranks largely devoid of judges, had increasingly competitive, active practices to attend to.
Somewhat ominously, the end of these years marks the appearance of the first horror stories about, and more general criticism of, the Socratic method of teaching from cases at those schools attended by students who needed to complete the most years of college as a condition of acceptance. The teaching method was beginning not to fit the intellectual attainments of some students.
The Second Half of the Twentieth Century.
The 1950s and then the late 1960s and 1970s saw an enormous explosion in the size of law school faculties, and so in the number of full-time teachers, as the size of universities expanded, first to accommodate returning GIs, then the baby-boom generation, and finally those who simply experienced the increasing necessity of obtaining a professional degree as a guarantee of middle-class status. The professionalization project undertaken by the full-time law teachers was triumphant. Only a few states allowed admission to practice from a school not approved by the American Bar Association. By the terms of their accreditation, approved schools were obliged to require a college degree for entrance and a decent grade on the by-then ubiquitous admission test offered by the Law School Admission Council, and also to have most of their credit hours taught by full-time faculty, as well as relatively low faculty-student ratios. Night-school programs designed for fully employed individuals seeking a new profession were hard to find other than in the largest cities and, where available, required the same amount of coursework as did the full-time day schools, but spread over four years. Part-time teachers were segregated into early morning or late-afternoon and early evening teaching times where they were guaranteed not to be seen by the full-time faculty, and were relegated to teaching practice specialties.
Interestingly, as the student body improved, more of the now better-educated law students at even the less-elite law schools began to complain about Socratic teaching methods. In response, teaching styles began to migrate toward the lecture, never abandoned by part-time teachers, punctuated with questions or open-ended discussion, eventually even in first-year classes. Casebooks all came to emphasize the newest innovations in legal doctrine and not the settled law of previous iterations of this art form. However, these improvements in the daily diet of law students were still not enough. Demands came for the teaching of more “relevant” topics. Initially, this meant topics more related to social concerns growing out of civil rights, antipoverty, and antiwar activism, but eventually, expanded to included topics related to all sorts of environmental and social concerns, as well as to the details of various types of legal practices.
Scholarship too changed. While treatises were still written—Arthur Corbin's on contracts was at least as magisterial as Williston's, and his colleague at Yale, J. William Moore, produced a similar monument on federal civil procedure—most such endeavors were more directed toward the practicing bar and found in specialty areas; for example, Harvard's Louis Loss produced an essential treatise on securities law and Chicago's Kenneth Culp Davis, one on administrative law. However, the vast majority of scholarship was still in the form of articles directed at the continually expanding and eventually specializing law reviews, which is to say, at other scholars.
The ever-narrower specialties of increasing numbers of teachers provided more topics to write about. Initially, this scholarship most often followed the lead of Pound and the Legal Realists and attempted to show how some piece, or occasionally body, of law could be, or had been, made better by some judicial decision. A species of middle-of-the-road policy analysis, this scholarship was increasingly concentrated in constitutional law or in areas of federal statutory law. In time though, it was produced from an ever-widening set of normative frameworks.
Several reasons account for this explosion of such frameworks. First, after Lyndon B. Johnson began drafting law students, the law schools began to end their discrimination against women; in time, women, influenced by the feminism of the 1960s and 1970s, began to join law school faculties. Eventually, the great post-1960s push for affirmative action, first for blacks, then for Hispanics, and eventually for Native Americans, brought members of these groups into teaching. Politics contributed too, as individuals who believed that most law school policy advocacy was either too liberal or too conservative began to raise their voices. And finally, toward the end of the twentieth century, a significant growth of teachers with doctoral degrees in both the social sciences and humanities, particularly in economics, sociology, history, philosophy, and literature, brought their distinctive concerns to scholarship.
The expansion in the number of law reviews that accompanied the expansion in the legal academy brought forth a remarkable cacophony. Almost anything in any framework could be published, so long as it looked like law to student editors, an unfortunately significant limitation given their daily diet of cases and policy. Multiplying frameworks meant that scholars increasingly paid little attention to the traditional perspectives of the bench and bar. Not surprisingly, complaints from such quarters were heard—not that they were ever absent from some portion of the practicing bar—about the irrelevance of such scholarship and accompanying teaching to preparation for practice. But, as this had been the case since the beginning of the growth of full-time teachers, the force of such objections was rather easily blunted, except to the extent that toward the end of the twentieth century the absolute cost of attending a school of full-time teachers began to pinch depleted middle-class pocketbooks in a troubled economy.
What This Story Might Possibly Be About.
In the late 1990s, the American Bar Association, the Association of American Law Schools, and the Law School Admission Council were all sued by a small school north of Boston that needed accreditation in order for its students to be permitted to take the Massachusetts bar exam, but wanted to staff its program primarily with part-time teachers. It claimed that these three organizations had conspired to deprive it of accreditation in violation of the antitrust laws. The Department of Justice intervened in the suit on the plaintiff's side.
The details of this claim and its settlement are of little importance for present purposes. That the claim was taken seriously is a monument to the victory that is the place of the full-time law teacher in legal education, for there is no greater measure of the success of a professionalization project than that a colorable claim on the part of those deemed unprofessional can be laid under the antitrust laws. Still, there is a tedious sameness to stories of professionalization in the twentieth century. Identify a subject matter that is different from those claimed by others; exclude the amateurs from the group, either through state sanction or through group-defined educational qualifications, or better, both; establish a set of categories that are the intellectual project; and finally claim a distinctive method or approach to the subject matter. That is what the full-time law professors did, and predictably the excluded complained.
What the success of this project has meant for legal education is the more difficult question, given that at this point there is no distinctive method and little distinctiveness in subject matter and that complaints are heard that the scholarship is empty of anything but pretension. All that is left of the professionalization project is state sanction. These few conclusions seem in order. In the years since the American Revolution, law professors are paid better and have better working conditions. Law students have a fuller understanding of the law, but are less able to enter practice than when their predecessors left apprenticeship, though this deficiency has been mitigated a bit by the growth of clinical and research and writing instruction delivered by a new subspecies of legal academics. And we know a little more about how law works, though this is largely as a result of the work of empiricists working outside of law and of the importation of ideas from other disciplines into law. Meanwhile, justification of the law continues apace.
Carrington, Paul D. Stewards of Democracy: Law as a Public Profession. Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1999. An interesting re-creation of the world of a prominent nineteenth-century law professor.Find this resource:
Duxbury, Neil. Patterns of American Jurisprudence. New York: Oxford University Press, 1995. A good review of the intellectual scene in law since 1870.Find this resource:
Ellsworth, Frank L. Law on the Midway: The Founding of the University of Chicago Law School. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977. On the founding of the University of Chicago Law School; very good sense of the world of the turn-of-the-twentieth-century law professor at an elite school.Find this resource:
Foundation for Research in Legal History. A History of the School of Law, Columbia University. New York: Columbia University Press, 1955. Extremely complete and insightful; unusual, given the form.Find this resource:
Gordon, Robert W. “Professors and Policymakers: Yale Law School Faculty in the New Deal and After.” In History of the Yale Law School: The Tercentennial Lectures, edited by Anthony T. Kronman, 75–136. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2004.Find this resource:
Horwitz, Morton J. The Transformation of American Law, 1870–1960: The Crisis of Legal Orthodoxy. New York: Oxford University Press, 1992. A different view from Duxbury.Find this resource:
Hull, N. E. H. Roscoe Pound and Karl Llewellyn: Searching for an American Jurisprudence. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997. A good sense of two important early-twentieth-century law professors.Find this resource:
Hurst, James Willard. The Growth of American Law: The Law Makers. Boston: Little, Brown, 1950. The starting point for any research on legal history in America up through World War II; excellent, though brief on this topic.Find this resource:
Kalman, Laura. Legal Realism at Yale, 1927–1960. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1986. An excellent understanding of law schools and the relationship of teaching and scholarship.Find this resource:
Kalman, Laura. Yale Law School and the Sixties: Revolt and Reverberations. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2005.Find this resource:
Kimball, Bruce A. “‘Warn Students That I Entertain Heretical Opinions, Which They Are Not to Take as Law’: The Inception of Case Method Teaching in the Classrooms of the Early C. C. Langdell, 1870–1883.” Law and History Review 17 (1999): 57–140. Fine new scholarship attempting to recover crucial innovation at Harvard.Find this resource:
Langbein, John H. “Blackstone, Litchfield, and Yale: The Founding of the Yale Law School.” In History of the Yale Law School: The Tercentennial Lectures, edited by Anthony T. Kronman, 17–52. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2004.Find this resource:
Langbein, John H. “Law School in a University: Yale's Distinctive Path in the Later Nineteenth Century.” In History of the Yale Law School: The Tercentennial Lectures, edited by Anthony T. Kronman, 53–74. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2004.Find this resource:
LaPiana, William P. Logic and Experience: The Origin of Modern American Legal Education. New York: Oxford University Press, 1994. A good attempt to re-create the world of Langdell and his colleagues.Find this resource:
Larson, Magali Sarfatti. The Rise of Professionalism: A Sociological Analysis. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977. The best basic understanding of the topic available.Find this resource:
McKenna, Marian C. Tapping Reeve and the Litchfield Law School. New York: Oceana, 1986. A careful recounting of the history of this school.Find this resource:
Newmyer, R. Kent. Supreme Court Justice Joseph Story: Statesman of the Old Republic. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1985. A good biography of this early law teacher, though focused more on his judgeship.Find this resource:
Schlegel, John Henry. American Legal Realism and Empirical Social Science. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995. A good attempt to understand the relationship between ideas, research, and bureaucracy in a law school at a critical time in select places.Find this resource:
Schlegel, John Henry. “Between the Harvard Founders and the American Legal Realists: The Professionalization of the American Law Professor.” Journal of Legal Education 35 (1985): 311–325.Find this resource:
Schweber, Howard. “The ‘Science’ of Legal Science: The Model of the Natural Sciences in Nineteenth-Century American Legal Education.” Law and History Review 17 (1999): 421–466. Excellent new scholarship addressing a poorly understood part of early legal thought.Find this resource:
Sheppard, Steve, ed. The History of Legal Education in the United States: Commentaries and Primary Sources. 2 vols. Pasadena, Calif.: Salem Press, 1999. A fine documentary collection.Find this resource:
Stevens, Robert. Law School: Legal Education in America from the 1850s to the 1980s. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1983. The essential, comprehensive source of the history of legal education.Find this resource:
Sutherland, Arthur E. The Law at Harvard: A History of Ideas and Men, 1817–1967. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1967. A well-told example of the form.Find this resource:
Twining, William L. Karl Llewellyn and the Realist Movement. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1973. Contains an essential discussion of American legal academics in the first half of the twentieth century.Find this resource:
Veysey, Laurence R. The Emergence of the American University. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965. The basic book for understanding its topic.Find this resource:
Wooten, James A. “Law School Rights: The Establishment of New York Law School, 1891–1897.” New York Law School Law Review 36 (1991): 337–395.Find this resource: