EYES ON THE PRIZE - Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison

A PUBLICATION OF AMERICAN LAWYER MEDIA Spring 2004THEDIVERSITYSCORECARDOur annual survey ofminority hiring at thenation’s biggest firmsTED WELLS, STAR PARTNERAT PAUL, WEISSEYES ON THE PRIZEPaul, Weiss has long fought the good fight for civil rights.Now it’s working to add color to its own ranks.

DIVERSITYSCORECARDThe Most DiverseHighest percentage of minority attorneys(partners & nonpartners)Steel Hector 29.2%PAUL, WEISS 21.6%Wilson Sonsini 21.5%Cravath 20.4%Fitzpatrick, Cella 20.4%Hughes Hubbard 20.2%Morrison & Foerster 20.2%Fenwick & West 19.5%Simpson Thacher 18.6%Shearman & Sterling 18.0%Quinn Emanuel 17.9%Milbank 17.5%Davis Polk 17.3%Knobbe Martens 17.3%Arnold & Porter 17.0%Cleary, Gottlieb 17.0%O’Melveny & Myers 16.8%Irell & Manella 16.4%Fried, Frank 16.3%Pennie & Edmonds 16.3%

PracticingPreachwhat theyThe lawyers of Paul, Weiss have long fought the goodfight for civil rights. Now the firm is working to addcolor to its own ranks.By Tamara LoomisJEH CHARLES JOHNSONBECAME THE FIRSTBLACK PARTNER ATPAUL, WEISS IN 1994.FOR DECADES THE LAWYERS OF PAUL,Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison LLPhave toiled in the civil rights movement—afact that isn’t lost on its minority attorneys.Partner Jeh Charles Johnson says thatwhen he came on board as an associate in1984, “I felt very much at home almost immediately,because there were partnershere who had connections to things in mybackground.”Johnson notes, “The first day I was here,Morris Abram called me up and said, ‘I seewe’ve got a Morehouse man here.’ ” Abram, aleading partner at Paul, Weiss, was a trusteeat historically black Morehouse College in Atlanta,where Johnson earned his undergraduatedegree. The young associate also learnedthat his grandfather had worked with one ofthe firm’s founding partners, Lloyd Garrison,in the National Urban League. And partnerJay Topkis served on the board of directorsat the NAACP Legal Defense Fund. “I was reallyimpressed by that,” Johnson says. Soimpressed, in fact, that he decided to make hiscareer at Paul, Weiss. It was a good move forboth: Johnson became partner in 1994, the firstAfrican American to do so.But what’s even more notable about Johnson’saccomplishment is that it was surprisinglylate for a firm whose lawyers havedone so much to advance the cause ofAfrican Americans. Paul, Weiss hired its firstblack associate in 1949—well before manyfirms in New York—but didn’t elect its firstblack partner for another 45 years, after anumber of its peers had already done so.True, Paul, Weiss made its first partner ofcolor in 1978—Puerto Rico native Jose Trias.But the long struggle to elect an African Americanpartner remains a striking anomaly in thefirm’s history. Even as recently as 2000, Paul,PHOTOGRAPHS BY PETER ROSS

Weiss had no black partners at all, since Johnson was then servingin the Clinton administration.Of course, Paul, Weiss was hardly unique among large lawfirms in its paucity of black partners. Theodore (Ted) Wells, Jr.,notes that when he joined in 2000 as cohead of the firm’slitigation department, Paul, Weiss “was not any better or worsethan most New York firms. For whatever reason, they allseem[ed] to have one African American partner.”Yet Paul, Weiss—which was founded by a Christianand a Jew in the 1920s, a time when religiously mixed firmswere a rarity—has always prided itself as a place wherediversity matters. So why was ethnic diversity so difficultto accomplish? Bad luck played a part: Over the years, thefirm lost some outstanding minority lawyers, and was turneddown by others. But for decades, the firm also lackedthe sustained institutional focus needed to achieve diversityin a legal environment that was overwhelmingly whiteand male.Today, Paul, Weiss can make a much better case that it’sliving up to its ideals. With Johnson’s 2001 return and this year’selevation of Jamaica-born Patrick Campbell, Paul, Weiss nowhas three blacks in its partnership, as well as five Asian Americansand two Hispanics. According to January 2004 statisticsfrom the firm, 9.4 percent of its 106 partners and 22.6 percent ofits 443 associates are attorneys of color. That’s well above thenational averages in Minority Law Journal’s Diversity Scorecard.Last year lawyers of color made up 4.4 percent of the partnersand 14.2 percent of the associates at the 236 firms respondingto MLJ’s survey. Paul, Weiss’s minority numbers put it in the topranks of the Scorecard, where it’s second-best in the nation, andfirst among New York–based firms.A variety of factors have contributed to the change atPaul, Weiss. According to both white and minority lawyers at thefirm, its leaders have always talked about the importance ofethnic diversity, even when they weren’t having much luckachieving it. The firm’s first minority partners also speak of itsopen-minded culture, in which their ethnicity was not justaccepted, but embraced. Paul, Weiss has additionally benefitedfrom a sharp increase in the number of minority graduates at thelaw schools where it traditionally recruits. Furthermore, inrecent years the firm has taken more affirmative steps torecruit and retain minority lawyers, including targeted recruitingefforts and a formal mentoring program. And with Wells, the firmhas placed a minority partner in a high-profile leadershipposition—a move that has motivated and inspired its associatesof color.Still, Paul, Weiss’s experience shows that a firm with a longhistory of fighting the good fight can’t rest on its laurels. Thefirm has learned that achieving diversity in its own officesrequires active effort.And according to Wells, Paul, Weiss still has work to do. “Ithink the firm has made a commitment to diversity and is workingvery hard to carry that out, but it would be wrong and unfairof me to say that since I’ve come here, Paul, Weiss has becomesome type of utopia,” Wells explains. “On a relative basis, it issignificantly ahead of many of its peer firms, but both at Paul,Weiss and at large firms overall, it is a continuing struggle.”THE HISTORY OF DIVERSITY AT PAUL, WEISS BEGAN INthe 1920s, when Louis Weiss and John Wharton, bestfriends at Columbia Law School, started their own practicebecause no New York firm would hire both Weiss, who wasJewish, and Wharton, who was Protestant. “At the time, therewere Christian law firms and Jewish law firms, but ‘never thetwain shall meet,’ ” says Jay Topkis, who joined Paul, Weissin 1950, became one of its leading partners, and is now ofcounsel. Current chairman Alfred Youngwood concurs on thefounders’ vision for their firm: “It was Louis Weiss’s motivatingforce to try then to have people of all religions, backgrounds,and races.”The firm initially stayed true to these principles by hiringWilliam Coleman, Jr., as its first African American lawyer in 1949.Coleman graduated first in his class at Harvard Law School, andserved as the first black clerk at the U.S. Supreme Court. Yet hewas turned down when he applied for a job in Philadelphia andBoston. He was rebuffed in New York, too, until Paul, Weiss tookhim on as an associate—making it the first major Manhattanfirm to hire a black lawyer, Coleman says. “I really think theyhired me because they would have been embarrassed ifthey hadn’t,” he adds. While at the firm, Coleman and fellowassociate Louis Pollak helped Thurgood Marshall prepare forBrown v. Board of Education, the landmark Supreme Courtdesegregation case. In 1952 Coleman left to join a firm in hisnative Philadelphia.Paul, Weiss also became one of the first big firms to electa woman partner when it admitted Carolyn Agger, a cigarsmokingtax lawyer, into its partnership in the early 1950s.(Agger left Paul, Weiss in 1960 to join her husband, Abe Fortas,at the Washington, D.C., firm then known as Arnold, Fortas &Porter.) And Trias—a son of the chief justice of the SupremeCourt of Puerto Rico—became the firm’s first partner of color in1978. (He left in 1992; two years later he and his wife weremurdered in an apparent robbery.)But though the firm can pride itself on these early accomplishments,what’s also notable is that years passed beforeeach was followed up. More than two decades elapsed afterAgger’s election before Judith Thoyer became the firm’s secondwoman partner in 1974; it would then take another 11 years forEileen Silvers to become the third. And after Trias, the firm took11 years to elect its second Hispanic partner, Carey Ramos.Most strikingly, the firm didn’t elect an African American partnerfor more than four decades after Coleman’s departure.JAY TOPKIS—A RENOWNED LITIGATOR WHOSE CLIENTroster has ranged from former vice president Spiro Agnew tothe Reverend William Sloane Coffin, Jr.—says the firm’s lack ofprogress wasn’t for lack of trying. “We wanted to have a diversefirm and tried like hell to bring that about,” says Topkis, whoserved on the firm’s management committee and headed itspro bono program for years.Paul, Weiss was particularly keen to recruit African Americanlawyers, and would occasionally form a diversity committee forthat purpose, Topkis explains. He recalls the 1956 hiring of Pauli

Abram’s rebuff, Jordan now says, “I don’t know why I shouldhave been any different from . . . any other lateral” hired byPaul, Weiss. But Jordan is also careful to say he dealt only with“my friend Morris” and not with “the firm per se.” He adds, “Idon’t think that Paul, Weiss currently ought to be measured bymy story [with] Morris Abram.”Abram died in 2000, but Jeh Johnson is quick to defend theman whom he says was “like an uncle” to him. “I do not attributeany of [what Abram may have said] to race,” Johnsonsays. “Morris was probably viewing Vernon Jordan with thetraditional assessment of a lateral candidate.” Johnson addsthat “with the benefit of hindsight,” Abram’s assessment “wasobviously wrong.”In having an almost completely white partnership well intothe nineties, Paul, Weiss was no different than most other bigNew York law firms. But then again, few had logged as many unbillablehours on behalf of civil rights causes. So why didn’t Paul,Weiss have any black partners? Topkis says he doesn’t have ananswer. “People drift away for all kinds of reasons,” he says,suggesting that many attorneys of color may have decided theyjust didn’t want to work at a large firm.Johnson surmises that the slow pace of diversification at afirm founded on that very ethic was partly due to chance. GivenJay Topkis says that Paul, Weiss’ decades-long shortage of minority partners wasn’t for lackof effort. “We wanted to have a diverse firm and tried like hell to bring that about.”Murray, the firm’s second minority associate, as “an answer toour prayers,” since she was both black and a woman. But Murrayleft four years later to become an Episcopal minister andlater went on to found the National Organization for Women.In the sixties and seventies the firm hired another eight orso black associates, including Reginald Lewis, who worked atPaul, Weiss from 1968 to 1970 and later became a legendarytakeover artist. But competition for African Americanlawyers was fierce, Topkis says, and the firm had a tough timeattracting them. “Everybody wanted to have black lawyers,and the places from which we would normally recruithad damn few black students,” Topkis explains. AfterColeman ended a two-year stint as U.S. secretary ofTransportation in 1977, Paul, Weiss offered him a partnershipposition. “We wanted him desperately,” Topkis says, butColeman opted to go to the D.C. office of O’Melveny & Myers.Not every black lawyer was recruited so aggressively, however.In his 2002 memoir, Vernon Jordan, Jr., writes that heasked Paul, Weiss partner Morris Abram about the possibilityof joining the firm in 1979. According to Jordan (then head ofthe National Urban League), he and Abram had becomefriends through their many years working together on civilrights causes. But, Jordan writes, Abram rejected his jobquery. When Jordan asked why, Abram replied, “Because wedon’t bring in laterals.” Jordan writes that he knew this wasn’ttrue—Paul, Weiss had hired many laterals, including Abram.The difference, Jordan believed, was that he was black.Jordan, of course, went on to become one of the most influentialpowerbrokers in Washington after he joined Akin,Gump, Strauss, Hauer & Feld as a partner in 1982. Aboutthat associates of all ethnicities leave law firms at a high rate(20–25 percent per year is typical at most large firms), thehandful of minority associates at Paul, Weiss simply wasn’tenough to result in any partners, Johnson maintains. “A lot of itis hit-or-miss,” he says, noting that when he came to Paul, Weissin 1984, “you could sit the number of black lawyers here arounda lunch table.” He adds, “I don’t think that the numbers arestatistically significant enough to draw a conclusion that weshould have had a black partner before 1994.”Other African American lawyers who were at Paul, Weissin the eighties have a different take. They say that minorityattorneys faced a lot of challenges at New York firms back then,all of which contributed to a higher attrition rate. DorothyRoberts, who worked at Paul, Weiss from 1981 to 1988, notesthat being a pioneer is lonely work. “There were definitely morethan a handful of black students at Harvard Law School when Iwas there, but when you got to the firms, the numbers simplydropped off,” she says.Roberts recalls bringing her son to Paul, Weiss’ offices in themid-1980s when he was about 3 years old. “He said to me,‘Mommy, why aren’t there any black people in this town?’ ” Shesays that she was troubled by the “apartheid-like atmosphere”she saw at the firm and knew existed at other large Manhattanfirms, “where virtually everyone in power, including the secretaries,was white, while another whole workforce—[for] the mailroom, copiers, etc.—was black. It made me uncomfortable.”Now a professor at Northwestern Law School, Robertsremembers that when Johnson arrived, “there was a sense thathe had the potential to be a partner.” But Roberts says shenever felt that partnership was a possibility for her. While she

attributes that impression in part to her own expectations andinterests, Roberts also says, “No one really reached out to me.”THE FIRM’S FIRST FOUR PARTNERS OF COLOR, IN FACT,were not African American, but Hispanic and Asian. In largepart, these pioneers say they stayed because key partnersreached out to them.Carey Ramos, who became the firm’s second minoritypartner in 1989, remembers accompanying partner ArthurLiman to a deposition in Pasadena, California, as a youngassociate. Traveling to a meeting, Ramos mentioned to Limanthat they were near the San Gabriel mission where several of hisNative American ancestors were buried. Liman insisted thatRamos take him there. “He was really interested,” Ramos says.“He never thought of me in those terms [before].” Years later,Liman asked Ramos if he would like to represent the OneidaIndians of New York State in a bid to recover their homelands.“He mentioned the San Gabriel trip, which I had completelyforgotten about,” says Ramos. Liman was a litigation legendwho, until his untimely death in 1997, was considered heirapparent to firm leader Simon Rifkind.Ruben Kraiem, a partner since 1990 who now heads the LatinAmerica practice, says that his colleagues found his background“interesting,” in the same positive way that Ramosrecalls with Liman. When Kraiem was assigned to go to theHong Kong office, “there was a lot of joking around” about hiseclectic cultural background, in particular from TheodoreSorensen, the former speechwriter for President Kennedy whowas then a partner at Paul, Weiss. Kraiem recalls, “Ted wrote apoem along the lines of, ‘Ruben, Ruben, I’ve been thinking, whaton earth were we drinking? Well I suppose, an Egyptian Jewfrom Mexico, is the right American to send to Hong Kong.’ ”Paul, Weiss’s long-standing commitment to civil rights andpro bono work also gave its minority attorneys a sense ofcommonality with white partners in interests, if not in race.Founding partner Lloyd Garrison, who died in 1990, inheritedhis name and passion for civil rights from his great-grandfather,famed nineteenth-century abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison.Abram argued Gray v. Sanders, the landmark one-man, one-votecase, before the U.S. Supreme Court in 1963. In the eighties thefirm represented the Congressional Black Caucus in a series ofvoting rights cases brought by renowned civil rights advocateJudge Leon Higginbotham, who became of counsel in 1993.(Higginbotham, who died five years later, declined a partnershipoffer because of other commitments, according to firmchairman Youngwood.) And Paul, Weiss has handled dozens ofdeath penalty appeals, as well as cases establishing rights forprisoners, the homeless, and asylum seekers.Patrick Campbell, the firm’s newest African Americanpartner, says when he joined the firm’s D.C. office, he noticed apicture of Thurgood Marshall in partner Phillip Spector’soffice. Spector not only disclosed that he had been a SupremeCourt law clerk for Marshall, but also told Campbell aboutColeman and Louis Pollak’s work for Marshall on Brown v.Board of Education. Campbell says he was touched by thereverence with which Spector described Marshall. “I knewthis was the kind of place where I would be judged by myactions without regard to my race, which is what I wanted,”Campbell says.Yet despite its social justice credentials, for a long time Paul,Weiss didn’t seem to practice what it preached. “What you hadwere a few people like Ruben [Kraiem] and me,” says DavidLakhdhir, an attorney of white and Indian origin who madepartner in 1992. “We scratched our heads when people calledthat diversity. It really wasn’t diverse.” (In fact, Kraiem andLakhdhir both say they do not generally think of themselves asminorities.)Ramos says his sense is that for many years, the firm assumedit didn’t have to do anything proactive about diversitybecause of its liberal background and open-minded culture.“The thinking was that the firm would naturally attract diverselawyers, and by the natural course of action, [it] would have asignificant number of minority partners,” Ramos says.According to Judith Thoyer, who now heads the mergers andacquisitions group, the firm exhibited a similar lack of focuswhen it came to making women partners during the early yearsof her tenure. “I don’t think people paid any attention in thosedays,” Thoyer explains. “I don’t even think I did. Certainly nobodyhere analyzed it.”BUT EVENTUALLY THE FIRM DID TAKE NOTICE, ESPECIALLYbecause a number of its peer firms were adding blackpartners to their ranks. Johnson says that Paul, Weiss “was verycognizant of the fact that it had none” when he joined the firm in1984. “They were looking for the opportunity to mentorsomebody to become their first African American partner. Withina very short period of time after my arrival, folks were talkingabout me. Even my reviews said things like, ‘I’m hoping he’ll bethe first black partner.’ ”Key partners at Paul, Weiss took a special interest in Johnson.Topkis says he “took dead aim” at Jeh in recruiting himaway from Sullivan & Cromwell as a second-year associate. AndJohnson says that once he arrived, he quickly found a mentor inLiman. “I think it was important to Arthur that we not be an allwhitepartnership,” Johnson says.Spurred by Liman, who was involved in a New York City barinitiative that called on firms to hire more minority graduates,Paul, Weiss made some changes in its recruiting practices. Itcontacted the black and Hispanic student groups at its feederschools (mostly the Ivies), and sent minority lawyers to meetwith minority applicants. It also signed on to two New Yorkprograms in which it hires entering or first-year minority lawschool students. (To date, 14 have joined the firm as full-timeassociates.) The stepped-up recruiting quickly saw results, atleast in the lower ranks. In 1992, according to a New York LawJournal survey, lawyers of color composed 22.7 percent offirst-year associates at Paul, Weiss; only Cleary Gottlieb Steen &Hamilton scored higher.Paul, Weiss has continued to succeed in recruiting youngminority lawyers. In January 2004, according to firm statistics,16 percent of its associates were Asian American, almost8 percent were African American, and 3 percent were HispanicAmerican. But it has struggled to promote minorities into itspartnership. Asian American partners have proved to be the

ough going in the corporate department, where few AfricanAmericans made it to the senior associate level.“I remember when I first got here, there was a partner whowould go around the hall and grab a bunch of [white male]associates to go to the Heartland Brewery after work,” Dodds-Brown says. “I was always in that hall, and he never grabbedme.” She recalls overhearing another partner introducing oneof her white male colleagues to a client, saying, “ ‘This guy isjust terrific. He’s going to work on all your matters.’ ” Dodds-Brown adds incredulously, “That guy was two months at thefirm! I’ve never heard anyone pump someone up like that.”The black associates decided to go to the top with their concerns.Though the firm’s diversity committee already metregularly with associates of color, committee chairman CarlReisner was typically the only partner present, according to anassociate who attended the meetings then. So the AfricanAmerican associates wrote a letter directly to chairman Youngwood.They quoted a recent newsletter for Paul, Weiss alumnithat said the firm “strive[s] to achieve the diversity that has alwaysbeen one of our bedrock values.” The associates addedthat they thought the firm could be doing more to fulfill thispledge. The letter was signed by all 15 black associates.According to Carey Ramos, “The thinking was that the firm would naturally attractdiverse lawyers, and by the natural course of action, [it] would have a significant numberof minority partners.”exception; the firm now has five, three of whom were electedin the last four years. African Americans and Hispanics havebeen promoted at a much lower rate, however—only one blackassociate and no Hispanic associate has made partner inthe past decade.IN 1999 A GROUP OF BLACK ASSOCIATES SAT DOWN TOexamine why the firm had no black partners. (Johnsonleft Paul, Weiss in 1998 for a three-year stint as general counselof the U.S. Air Force.) “We decided a large part of it wasself-selection,” says Hakeem Jeffries, who came to the firmas a summer associate in 1996. “We just hadn’t reached thepoint where we were committed to making partner and allthat entails.”Jeffries adds that Paul, Weiss might have had moredifficulty with minority retention because in general, it tendsto attract lawyers with significant outside interests. “I knowassociates who wrote screenplays and books, taught, hikedin the mountains, did public interest stuff,” says Jeffries, whotook two leaves of absence himself to run for public office. “Alot of associates come in with the idea that Paul, Weiss is agreat launching pad to do other things.” (Proving the point,Jeffries left the firm in December to join Viacom Inc. as anin-house litigation counsel.)Still, the black associates felt that Paul, Weiss could domore to help minority lawyers develop the relationships andexperience necessary to make partner. According to SarahDodds-Brown, who joined the firm in 1998, it was especiallyAlthough Youngwood says it was done “in a very nice way,”the letter clearly packed a punch. Youngwood says that whenhe received it, he walked down to Dodds-Brown’s office—shehad been chosen as one of the group’s representatives—andasked to talk about it “right away.” After several meetings ande-mail exchanges, the firm settled on a mentoring programtargeting midlevel black associates in the two largest departments,corporate and litigation. Current diversity committeechairman Robert Hirsh says that the program puts minorityassociates “on the dance cards of the people who will advancetheir careers,” as well as getting them the kind of assignments“that move a career forward.” The program only covered blackassociates when it was launched in 2000, but has since beenexpanded to include Asians and Hispanics.Dodds-Brown, who is the most senior associate in theprogram and helps manage it, says it has raised awarenessabout retention issues and provided minority associates withthe chance to form relationships they might not have hadotherwise. She notes that virtually every eligible associate—black, Asian, and Hispanic—has chosen to participate. Yetbecause some partners still assume that the program is“remedial,” she adds, “We have to be careful that we don’tdamage someone who we put in the program.”DIVERSITY AT PAUL, WEISS TOOK A HUGE LEAP FORWARDin 2000 when Ted Wells joined the firm as cochair of thelitigation department. During his 22 years at Lowenstein Sandlerin Roseland, New Jersey, Wells built a high-profile white-collar

crime practice defending politicians and businessmen alike. In1990 he teamed with Liman to represent junk-bond kingMichael Milken on securities fraud charges. Wells says thatafterward, Liman repeatedly asked him to join Paul, Weiss.Wells always demurred, but after Liman died in 1997, litigationcochair Martin Flumenbaum approached Wells with theopportunity to share the helm at the department.According to Hakeem Jeffries, Wells’s arrival was a“defining moment” for many of the minority attorneys at Paul,Weiss. “When Ted came, it was just huge, because hereinto the firm’s partnership will only say that there are anumber of “promising candidates” among the current cropof senior associates.“I fervently believe that African American, Hispanic, andAsian American lawyers continue to face institutional barriersto their advancement,” says Wells, adding that his concernsare much broader than any particular law firm. He describesthe integration of large firms, including Paul, Weiss, as moving“at a glacial pace.” Many of the obstacles—such as how casesare staffed, or how a partner thinks a client will react to aBecause some partners think the firm’s mentoring program is “remedial,”Sarah Dodds-Brown says that “we have to be careful that we don’t damage someonewho we put in the program.”was someone who transcended race to become a dominantlitigator,” Jeffries explains. “And he wasn’t just a symbolichead, but clearly part of Paul, Weiss’ financial success. Itbrought things to the next level.”For his part, Wells says he accepted the position insignificant part because he wanted to “break the glass ceilingthat existed in major New York law firms, in terms of AfricanAmericans being not just partners but part of the coreleadership circle.” He says Flumenbaum also stressed that Paul,Weiss was very interested in furthering its diversity efforts andwould welcome Wells’s participation.A self-described campaigner for the advancement of minoritylawyers everywhere, Wells has taken up the mantle of rolemodel with alacrity. He recruits law students of color, givesspeeches at minority events, and welcomes associates of colorinto both his office and home. “Ted clearly is there for you,” Jeffriessays. “He has a true open-door policy.” Wells was the featuredspeaker at the firm’s first Diversity Networking Receptionin 2001, an annual happening to which the firm’s minority associatesinvite as many guests as they like. According to Wells, thegathering has become one of the “flagship events” within theminority bar in New York. “This fall we actually had to turn peopleaway because the restaurant we rented became too crowded,”he says with some pride.It’s too soon to tell whether Paul, Weiss’ recent efforts—the expanded recruiting, the mentoring program, the diversityreception, Wells’s hiring—will result in more minoritypartners. The lawyers of color who have already brokenminority lawyer—are very subtle, he explains. “It continues tobe an uphill fight.”Still, the firm has managed a notable change in relativelylittle time, and Wells is optimistic about the future. “In a veryshort time, I’ve become a true believer in the Paul, Weissfamily and ethics.”■www.paulweiss.comThis article is reprinted with permission from the Spring 2004 edition of the MINORITY LAW JOURNAL. © 2004 ALM Properties, Inc. All rights reserved.Further duplication without permission is prohibited. For information, contact American Lawyer Media, Reprint Department at 800-888-8300 x6111. #007-04-04-0002