Diversions Column | Mark Cohen
I have this friend. He was in my law school class. In the Spring of 1983, he had four wisdom teeth coming in. At first, it was a mild annoyance. My friend ignored the problem and told me, “I just want to graduate and pass the bar, then I will worry about my wisdom teeth.”
But the universe saw things differently. By graduation in May my friend was buying over the counter remedies like Anbesol to relieve the pain. “I’ll deal with it after the bar exam,” he repeated. The exam would be in July.
We lived in Louisville but drove to Boulder most mornings for the bar prep course, then back to Louisville. Like me, my friend had already been accepted into the Air Force JAG corps because, like me, he didn’t want to get a real job after law school. My friend and I have a lot in common. That’s why we’re friends.
In June, I noticed my friend drinking more. There was a bar in Louisville called The Depot within walking distance of our home, so we could visit The Depot at night without fear of being arrested for drunk driving on our way home. When I suggested my friend’s increased alcohol consumption might be related to the pain from his wisdom teeth, he replied, “I will deal with that after the bar exam.”
By early July, my friend was having difficulty studying for the bar because of the pain in his mouth. He wasn’t demonstrating his customary diligence, and often just slept or watched TV. (Magnum P.I. was a favorite). I implored him to see an oral surgeon, but, though I love him, my friend is one of the most stubborn people I know.
Finally, bar exam week arrived. The two-day exam was to begin on a Wednesday. Unfortunately for my friend, his impacted wisdom teeth were scheduled to put him in agonizing pain on that Monday. Just looking at him told me he needed immediate attention. I told him he must get his wisdom teeth removed immediately, even if that meant missing the bar exam and taking it in February. But he’s stubborn. He called nearly ever oral surgeon in Boulder that Monday and found one willing to remove all four wisdom teeth on Tuesday.
Following the removal of his four wisdom teeth on Tuesday, the oral surgeon gave my friend an admirable supply of Percocet. Percocet is a combination of acetaminophen (Tylenol) and oxycodone. Oxycodone is an opioid. When opioids attach to the receptors in the brain and central nervous system, they block pain signals, but also trigger the release of dopamine that produces a euphoric high.
And so it was that on a hot Wednesday in July of 1983, my euphoric friend and I found ourselves at Stockyards coliseum in Denver. That’s right. The greatest legal minds in Colorado had decided that the venue for the bar exam should be the stockyards. In July. With no air conditioning. Right next to the train tracks. Across from the smelly dog chow plant. Not ideal conditions for test taking. Unless you were experiencing a euphoric high. In which case, events would prove it did not really matter.
We provided all the required paperwork to whoever administered the bar, said goodbye, and agreed to meet at the end of the day. My friend found his assigned seat at a table in a giant hall where hundreds of wannabee lawyers were about to take the exam.
The exam’s first day consisted of a multiple-choice test. I found my friend at the end of the day. While most of us were second guessing our answers that day, my friend was confident and
relaxed. Even jovial. He had taken more Percocet during the lunch break. Back at our home in Louisville, my friend just ate popsicles and watched TV. He smiled and giggled a lot.
On the morning of the exam’s second day, my friend was downright silly. We laughed on our way to the coliseum, but I feared the Percocet would cause him to fail the exam. On the other hand, I’d seldom seen him so laid back and happy. I liked this version of him better.
Day two of the exam was the essay portion. Looking at his giddy manner, I wondered whether my friend would be able to hold a pencil, muss less write a coherent sentence.
At around 2:30 p.m., the first examinee turned in his essay book and left the hall. Right after that, my friend turned in his essay book and left. I, on the other hand, would need all the time allowed. What I did not know at the time (and my friend didn’t either) is that my friend is sort of gifted, if only in a limited way. He’s gifted verbally. Gifted in whatever you have to be to be gifted in to be gifted under the WAIS-IV Verbal Comprehension Index. Not coincidentally, my friend has an EQ of zero because he processes words rather than feelings.
I found my friend at the end of the day, and he was smiling. There was no doubt in his mind that he had passed the essay portion with flying colors. And if you passed the essay portion with a high enough score, your score on the multiple-choice test did not matter. We went to the Depot that night. I had a good time. My friend had a better time.
And so it is that in July of 1983, in a stuffy coliseum in Denver, my friend probably became the first person ever to pass the bar exam while high on Percocet.
I see my friend often. We still reminisce about the bar exam. “You were the second person to turn in your essay that day,” I said. “Out of five hundred people.”
“I was the first one done,” my friend replied, “but I was too embarrassed to be first, so I waited until someone else turned in his essays first.”
We both passed the exam. My friend passed the essay portion in impressive fashion. He did it while experiencing the euphoric high of Percocet. Sadly, there are no style points on the bar exam. You either pass or you don’t. There are no bonus points for degree of difficulty. However, my friend accomplished something noteworthy and, as a journalist, it’s my job to preserve the story for future generations. My friend is the Dock Ellis of bar exams.
