Streetcar Strategists

In the most prestigious schools of law, portraits of U.S. Supreme Court Justices and Attorneys General adorn the walls. At the grimy University of Detroit law school, the hagiography runs to city and state judges. Housed in a factory-like building, the school has long been one of the nation's many "streetcar law factories," places that cater to ambitious students who lack the money or the grades necessary for legal training elsewhere. For those who use the law as a steppingstone to political careers, U.D. law has been particularly successful: its alumni include 56 judges, eight state legislators, Michigan's Lieutenant Governor and attorney general, and three of Detroit's four most recent mayors.

During the past six years, however, the Establishment has seemed to the students less a haven to be penetrated than an adversary to be challenged. U.D. law has developed a social consciousness rivaling that of many better-known institutions. Detroit's students have fought for new rights for impoverished individuals in hundreds of civil and criminal cases and have handled important suits against neighboring suburbs, claiming racial discrimination in housing. The school's transformation began in 1965 when the Michigan Supreme Court adopted a rule permitting law students to represent the indigent. With a $250,000 grant from the Office of Economic Opportunity, Detroit opened a storefront legal clinic and urban-law courses began appearing in the catalogue.

Practicing in Jail. After the OEO grant expired in 1969, an energetic new dean, Brian Brockway, now 37, kept the school on its new tack. Instead of OEO stipends, the students earned course credits for their services to the poor. "There's more to a legal education than just knowing how to operate within the system," says Brockway. "A good lawyer should know the methods by which the system can be changed."

Most students during their second or third years spend at least 15 hours a week talking to and representing clients, often in the municipal court three blocks from the school. Students have also taken over a psychiatrist's vacant office in the Wayne County jail for on-the-spot legal consultations. "This is really the underside of the law," explains one student. "Defending indigents is a source of rip-offs for many shady lawyers. They get paid by the court for spending as little as five minutes with a client after cronies on the bench assign them to a case."

After hearing dozens of complaints from victimized tenants, the students decided that existing law gave little protection from landlords who refused to repair tenements. They drafted a remedial bill and lobbied it through the state legislature. Now Michigan tenants have more legal ammunition in disputes with owners.

Arguing over Principles. The students also collected evidence to show that real estate speculators peddling dilapidated houses may have been helped to huge profits by appraisers who certified inflated values when buyers applied for Federal Housing Administration loans. That evidence prompted FHA officials to drop 107 freelance appraisers from their approved list until they could show no conflicts of interest in their dealings.

Even the University of Detroit law journal has a decidedly activist orientation. "It isn't concerned with the great jurisprudential theories discussed at Harvard and Yale," says Joe Walker, a second-year man. The U.D. publication deals heavily with welfare problems, housing, juvenile crime, what Walker calls "the practical aspects of representing people."

The extent to which the school has changed is indicated by alumni reactions. Some graduates have cut back their financial contributions, and old-grad judges sometimes shudder to see student lawyers in their courts. Common Pleas Court Judge John Patrick O'Brien, class of 1957, normally deals with civil cases. He complains that "these fellows are altruistic, and to that extent their interests clash with mine because I have to keep the docket moving along. These fellows will take up the court's time arguing over a principle. It costs $100,000 a year to run a municipal court. We can't be arguing over principles." If Brockway and his youngsters have their way, however, Detroit courts will be hearing such arguments with increasing frequency.

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