In Miami, Veterans Are Lawyering Up

When Guillermo Rose, 70, a retired Vietnam veteran, returned from a four-month trip in Panama, he expected to find his car where he’d left it: in a handicapped spot at the Miami International Airport parking garage, where disabled veterans were promised free parking. But the car had been moved elsewhere in the garage — and Rose had been slammed with a $1,600 bill for the space, far more than he could afford on his disability checks. He made the charge on his credit card and drove home, panicked.
Through his contacts at the American Legion and the VA, Rose heard about Mission United Veterans Pro Bono Project, which offers free legal assistance to South Florida vets. Housed within the Legal Aid Service and the charity United Way, a team of two staff lawyers and 380 volunteer attorneys help 1,500 former warriors, pilots, sailors and marines in Broward County annually with any legal questions they may have. Whether it’s fighting evictions, navigating family court, negotiating with creditors, changing discharge status or contesting parking tickets, the volunteer lawyers will take on any case. Within three weeks, Mission United had persuaded the Miami airport to reverse the charge — a small but important victory to a veteran who once felt ignored by American society.
“When I came back from Vietnam in 1971, they didn’t do anything for us: no jobs, no nothing. As soon as you’d tell employers you’re back from Vietnam, they weren’t interested,” says Rose, a disabled vet. “We’re treated better today than when I was a young guy. It makes me feel good that, finally, they’re helping out the veterans.”
Compared to half a century ago, veterans’ transition back into civilian society has been relatively smooth. While far from perfect, more medical options are available, the GI Bill still guarantees free college, housing authorities expedite applications from homeless vets, and job training can follow a tour of duty. Missing from that list, though, is legal help, which can affect everything else, note the attorneys who started Mission United three years ago. An improper discharge, for example, could limit a vet from receiving valuable benefits, or it might be misinterpreted by prospective landlords and employers as being found guilty before a court-martial.
This extra bit of know-how can be essential as veterans try to get their affairs back in order after years at sea or fighting abroad, adds Melissa Malone, a spokeswoman for Mission United. “These young men and women left their homes, their bank accounts, their family and kids. They left their lives here, and oftentimes, they put someone else in charge of it,” she says. “When they come home, it’s been a length of time and things might not be the same as before. Perhaps they have PTSD or some other war zone–induced challenges.” Seeing off-the-charts suicide rates for post-combat veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan, Malone wonders how many took their own lives because they felt mired in a situation where a lawyer could have intervened.
While some critics take issue with the program offering help only to veterans, its volunteers see an underserved population with a unique set of circumstances. Repeated experience working with the Department of Defense or a VA hospital allows the project’s attorneys to develop an expertise, says James Heaton, Mission United’s lead lawyer. The situation often necessitates “some specialty,” and that only comes from “dealing day-to-day with the issues facing veterans,” he adds.
Heaton says the project developed from a long-seated desire to work in public service. After graduating law school and moving back home to Broward County, he contacted several veterans groups to volunteer his time. When Mission United asked him to take a full-time position developing legal assistance for former military, Heaton says he couldn’t refuse. “I went all in, and I haven’t had any regrets since.”
These days, Heaton is working on expanding the model nationally. He presented the idea to other United Way chapters earlier this year at a conference, and he discussed building a national network at a recent summit hosted by the American Bar Association. While nothing is officially on the books, Heaton says he’s already seen a glimmer of what a national network could accomplish when he calls colleagues across the country to ask if similar legal developments are popping up in their communities. “It’s not only a network for veterans, but also a network for professionals.”
That’s good news to Rose’s ears. He never expected to need legal help, but he recognizes that only an expert could have helped him reverse the airport’s steep bill. “I’m just happy Mission United helped me out,” he says. “And I’m glad to let other veterans who might need legal help know where they can find it.”
Heaton emphasizes that former service members helped civilians by honorably serving our country. Mission United’s legal aid, to him, is simply paying back what we owe in return.
The Mission United Veterans Pro Bono Project is a recipient of the 21st Century Solutions grant powered by the NBCUniversal Foundation, in partnership with NBCUniversal Owned Television Stations. The grant celebrates nonprofits that are embracing innovative solutions to advance community-based programs in the areas of civic engagement, education, environment, jobs and economic empowerment, media and technology.
Homepage photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images

The Unlikely Partnership That’s Helping the Poor

When low-income patients end up in the hospital with a medical emergency, it might not only be doctors, but also lawyers who save their lives.
Many medical facilities now have onsite attorneys offering free legal aid to such patients. This service makes sense, since issues such as eviction, homelessness and difficulty attaining services for a disabled or developmentally delayed child can negatively impact a patient’s health.
This model of partnership between the medical and legal professions began in Boston in 1993, and since then, it’s expanded to 260 locations in 38 states, according to NBC News.
The Cox family of Cleveland is an example of how these programs are effective. Tony Cox had a heart attack when he fell off a ladder during a roofing job. Out of work, he fell behind on his mortgage payments, and his family was on the verge of eviction when a legal services attorney stepped in and worked with the bank to renegotiate their loan. “We were getting ready to be homeless, to move in with family,” Donna, his wife, says. “We would have been separated.”
Colleen Cotter, director of Legal Aid Society of Cleveland, tells NBC News, “When we really look at the issues in our clients’ lives, there’s almost always a health issue involved. Poverty is unhealthy, and bad health can lead to economic chaos. I see everything we do as increasing the health and communities we serve.”
Pediatrician Robert Needleman of Case Western University Medical School says, “In general, medicine does not spend much time on the parts of patients’ lives that we can’t fix.” Needleman is striving to change that, however, by instructing medical students to chat with patients about stressors in their lives and issuing referrals to free legal aid when appropriate.
Not only do these partnerships between lawyers and doctors save people from eviction and bring about other positive changes in their lives, but they also save money. In Pennsylvania, Lancaster General Hospital established a clinic for “super-utilizers” (i.e. people who come to the emergency room frequently). When they added a lawyer to the services the facility offered, the patients’ use of the health care system declined by half.
As Megan Sprecher, a Legal Aid Society of Cleveland attorney says about one client she helped avoid homelessness by obtaining a tax refund that had been lost in the mail, “It was a very simple issue, but these systems can be hard to navigate if you’re not familiar with them.”
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Texas Lawyers Provide Free Help to Young Undocumented Immigrants

Many young undocumented immigrants brought to America as kids live in a kind of suspended animation — with everything from college to jobs to medical care to driver’s licenses put on hold by their legal status.
Under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) policy, such young adults can apply for temporary permission to work, go to school, all the while not worrying about being deported. DACA doesn’t provide a pathway to eventual citizenship as the DREAM Act would if it were ever to pass, but the policy still allows these youth to progress in their lives, go to college, and start careers.
Registering for DACA it isn’t easy, however. Applicants must be younger than 31 years of age (as of June 15). Plus, they must provide proof of continuous residency in the United States. Which could be a problem for some immigrants if they started working after high school and took a job that paid in cash because of their lack of a Social Security number — leaving a gap in their records.
That’s why a group of immigration attorneys in Texas will be offering free legal help to DACA-eligible people on June 5 and 6 at the Refugee and Immigrant Center for Education and Legal Services (RAICES) in San Antonio.
According to the Migration Policy Institute, Texas has 210,000 immigrant residents eligible for DACA, the second highest of any state. (California has the most.) Immigration attorney Alex Garza of RAICES told Dana Choi of the Standard-Times in San Angelo that the nonprofit is trying to find and help as many of those people as it can. “We are actually coming out to the towns and counties so (people who might be eligible for DACA) don’t have to travel all the way out to San Antonio for legal assistance.”
Johana Deleón is one young Texan that RAICES helped apply for DACA; she was approved back in March. Now Deleón is studying for her driving test and was recently accepted into Texas A&M, where she will attend if she can find enough financial aid.
The challenges she faces as she continues her education are considerable, but she’s ready. “You can start at the bottom and work your way up,” she told Choi. “We work hard to get where we are, so I don’t think it’ll be much of a problem for us.”
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A New Law School for Lawyers Who Want to Do Good

There’s a story that Judge Royal Furgeson likes to tell, about a young boy whose brother was killed in an accident with an 18-wheeler. The parents spoke no English, so it fell to the boy to navigate the aftermath. He sought out a lawyer, who shepherded the family through the tragedy. Now, years later, the boy wants to help others in a similar way, so he applied to start law school this fall.
Not just any law school, but the newly established University of North Texas College of Law in downtown Dallas.
When Furgeson retired last year from his prestigious post on the federal bench to become founding dean of the UNT Dallas College of Law, he wasn’t interested in maintaining the status quo. He wanted his law school to subscribe to an unconventional ethos — to cultivate lawyers as public servants. The method? Eschew national rankings, deflate tuition, welcome the “rejects” and teach real skills. “We want to train lawyers that want to be lawyers for the right reasons,” Furgeson says.
Not an easy task in an era in which lawyers are loathed, and frivolous litigation seems like the great American pastime. But Furgeson says most applicants for this fall’s inaugural class have little interest in becoming lawyers in “tall buildings” or high-powered firms. They’re pursuing a different kind of career. “They’re coming to law school to make a difference somewhere in their communities,” he says. “They see lawyers as people who can go to bat for others, who won’t stand idly by while some injustice happens. They kind of see us as caped crusaders.”
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At 72, Furgeson, a former Texas Tech University basketball player who waxes philosophical in a syrupy West Texas drawl, has so much energy that he uses a standing desk in his Dallas office. The extra spunk will come in handy.
Launching a new law school presents plenty of obstacles, especially considering the droves of law graduates who face massive debt and dismal job prospects each year. It’s what drives the commonly accepted consensus that America has too many lawyers already. (See “Why Attending Law School Is the Worst Career Decision You’ll Ever Make” in Forbes or “No New Lawyers! Economy Can’t Handle Them” in The Fiscal Times.) Furgeson disagrees. “My view is, there needs to be more lawyers,” he says.
The legal industry has never been able to offer sufficient resources to the poor, he says, and neither has it properly served the middle class or small businesses. “The profession needs to come to grips with the fact that we’re not providing legal services to a vast majority of our people,” he says. “You think of how many people are struggling out there, how many people are working at the margins. Something bad happens to the wage earner and it immediately becomes a terrible problem, so there’s a massive need in our community for better and more access to legal services.”
Craig Smith, 31, will join UNT’s inaugural class for just this reason. After traveling throughout his 20s, Smith settled in Dallas and landed a job in the city’s Department of Code Compliance. He felt it was one of the most effective ways to transform people’s lives and the community around them, but he quickly encountered a troubling obstacle. “There’s quite a big disconnect between the person that’s writing the code for the community and the end user who might not even have a high school diploma,” he says.
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Smith is pursuing a law degree so he can make the legal structure more accessible, and empower people who are overlooked or marginalized. He isn’t aiming for a promotion; rather, he wants to better serve people through his current position. “I saw an opportunity to give back to my community,” he says.
The key to cultivating such lionhearted lawyers lies in UNT’s innovative approach, which begins with rock-bottom tuition. “Affordability has to be a core value,” says Ellen Pryor, who left an endowed professorship at the Southern Methodist University (SMU) Dedman School of Law in Dallas for the opportunity to launch a new movement at UNT. “We have to make this a thriving value. It’s essential to everything.”
Smith says he never considered applying elsewhere. “Being able to go to law school, continue working and not having to fear debt is unparalleled,” he says.
According to the American Bar Association, the average annual cost of attending a public law school skyrocketed from $2,006 in 1985 to $23,214 in 2012 — an increase of more than 1,000 percent in less than 20 years. (Private law school costs jumped from $7,526 to $40,634 over the same period.) Where does this leave students?
As a judge, Furgeson says he’s witnessed many young graduates abandoning public service after a year because their debt was overwhelming — often topping $200,000. “I was very concerned that earnest, sincere young people who really wanted to be lawyers were starting out with such crushing debt that they didn’t have a lot of alternatives,” he says.
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His aim is to limit students’ financial obligations, so they won’t feel the need to score a job at a big firm. “Our goal is to tell them there’s another way, to talk to them about other opportunities, about how rewarding law can be when you represent people in your community, neighbors and so forth,” he says.
It probably won’t require much convincing. Furgeson and his admissions staff are relying less on GPA and LSAT scores — the gold standard for most law school admissions because of the impact high scores have on schools’ national rankings — in favor of recommendations and life experience. They’re actively recruiting a different kind of student, those with meaningful life experiences that are ingrained in their communities. “We have to understand there are so many other traits that determine success in life than how you do on a test, and that’s what we’re trying to find,” Furgeson says. “When people don’t do well on a test, we’re not stopping there. We’re looking behind that. It’s important to me to see if we can give people a chance.”
When UNT’s maiden class arrives this fall, students will be indoctrinated with a unique approach to legal education, one that emphasizes practical skills over theoretical knowledge. The intent is to equip graduates to handle cases in high-need areas. To ensure that students are mastering objectives, teachers will also utilize frequent assessments, rather than giving a single exam at the conclusion of each course, as is common practice.
UNT is also forgoing endowed professorships and placing less emphasis on faculty research. The money that would typically go toward funding endowed faculty positions — which other schools use to attract stars in the field — will be funneled into need-based student scholarships instead. “We’re going after really good teachers that want to teach,” Furgeson says.
This philosophy is what drew Pryor to UNT after 25 years at SMU. There, she was teaching an upper-level course using a textbook she co-authored, but found herself asking, “Why are we teaching the same old way?”
Pryor has been instrumental in charting the path of the new endeavor at UNT — she’s the school’s new associate dean for academic affairs — but she’s quick to note that it’s a first step in a longer journey. “We didn’t set out to reform legal education. We just set out to start our own law school,” she says.
And while Furgeson stands strong behind the school’s philosophy, he’s not without a little trepidation. “People are giving us three years of their lives and we have got to do this well,” he says.
But, he confirms with a wink and a grin, “I actually think it’ll work.”
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This Texas County Has a Simple Idea to Fix the Public Defender Crisis

Despite our overabundance of lawyers, the United States is actually experiencing a shortage in one critical area: public defenders. According to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, the country needs at least 6,900 more of these court-appointed representatives of defendants who can’t afford legal fees, just to handle the current caseload.
That’s why Comal County Court in Texas is experimenting with an idea that can hopefully alleviate the public defender problem, while providing fairer trials to indigent defendants. They’re calling it “client choice,” which allows defendants to pick their attorney from an approved list of defense lawyers, instead of getting a randomly assigned counsel, as is common practice in most of the country. “By providing indigent defendants with the option to choose their attorney, independence from the judiciary is enhanced and incentives for attorney performance will be realigned to make lawyers more beholden to the interests of their clients,” Edwin Colfax, project manager for the Texas Indigent Defense Commission — which has provided Comal County a $200,000 grant to fund the two-year program — recently told the San Antonio Express News.
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The client choice initiative was sparked by a 2010 Cato Institute paper that called for the use of the free market to address the problems in America’s indigent defense system. Currently, 90 to 95 percent of public defenders’ clients end up entering guilty pleas because of their large caseloads and limited resources, ACLU attorney Tanya Greene  told Mother Jones. In Comal County, defendants will now receive vouchers to effectively hire their own lawyers. Gina Jones, an area attorney, said that she received $500 for a recent client choice case. The idea is that if her client is satisfied, word of mouth will lead other defendants to pick her name from the list, therefore giving her a financial benefit for a lower-paying defense case. “Even if you’ve got a good reputation, when the court appoints you, it takes time to develop a level of trust with your client,” Jones told the Express News. “If they are allowed to pick us, I think they’ll realize quicker that we are really working for them, not the judge or the DA.”
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