They put the bull in Bulletin

Every year, the lawyers of Oregon elect a board of governors of the state Bar, and the governors elect one of their own to serve as president. The president is sort of like the chair of the board of directors.

And like clockwork, every year in January, the Bar's glossy magazine, which is mailed to every lawyer every month whether they want it or not, runs a huge "profile" puffing up whoever gets elected to the top post. The lawyer in question is made out to be a modern-day saint. It's pretty embarrassing.

Why do they do this? One of my colleagues who's rarely wrong says it's the Bar staff's way of kissing up to the new figurehead. Show the love right up front. That way, the prez won't get any ideas about cutting staff positions to save money, or even reorganizing the staff in any way that would interrupt everyone's comfy daily routines.

When I got my copy of this year's issue the other day, I saw the cover and had to laugh. But before I pitched it into the recycling bin, I thought, "Let me check and make sure there's a dog picture." You see, if the president has a pet, there's always a shot of him or her with Fido or Fluffy or whoever.

It took me a while to find it – this year's "profile" is eight pages long – but sure enough, there it is at the end.

It happens every year. But to me, the Bar magazine is a bit of a joke all year 'round. Over the last few years, the state Bar has drastically altered the bar exam, and now they're talking about doing away with the exam altogether for some lawyer wannabes. Do you read about that in the Oregon State Bar Bulletin? No. Right now there's a major crisis in the state's criminal justice system because there are nowhere near enough public defenders. The chief justice of the state Supreme Court fired the guy who was running public defense. Hard-core criminals are being released for lack of counsel. Do you read about that in the Oregon State Bar Bulletin? No.

But the dog picture? You can set your calendar by it.

Years ago, there used to a State Bar Convention every year, in Seaside or Bend or Newport or Portland or someplace. There would be long meetings where all the lawyers would get together in a huge ballroom and vote on things. The Bar staff would then carry out the wishes of the entire Bar membership.

That's all gone now. It was too much work. These days, there's a revolving cast of figurehead board members, and a plump staff explaining to them what they're supposed to be doing. The whole thing seems to have devolved into what's become the motto of the legal system in Oregon: "Don't Make Waves." If there's any message in the annual puff piece on the new Bar president, that seems to be it.