Josh Blackman (South Texas), Justice Scalia’s Message To Law School Faculty:

I became a law professor in the fall of 2012. In January 2013, I attended the Federalist Society faculty conference in New Orleans. Justice Scalia was gracious enough to speak at the evening reception. His remarks stuck with me, and affect much of what I do. … Her is an excerpt:

To the faculty: Before I became part of the problem in Washington, I used to do what you do—and I miss it. Allow someone who is now at a sufficient distance from his teaching years that he can see rather more clearly what he did right and what he did wrong to give you advice.

During the last few years of my academic career, I had become—or at least thought I had become—something of an expert in my chosen field of administrative law. It was easy to get what I wrote published, and I had a lot of insights I thought worth writing about. I reached the point (which I had seen some of my older colleagues reach, but thought I would never experience) of begrudging the time that I had to take away from my research and writing to devote to teaching class, and to the preparation for teaching class. (The preparation, as you all know, takes much more time than the teaching itself: at least three hours of the one for each hour of the other—unless you have not taught the course before, in which case the spread is much greater.)

When I look back at those feelings now, I think what a fool I was. The Great American Law Review Article—let’s face it—has a shelf life of at most ten years, after which it is of little more than historical interest. And the Great American Law Treatise endures not much longer. But I still encounter students whom I do not remember, but whom I taught at Chicago and Stanford between 1976 and 1981, and indeed whom I taught at Virginia between 1967 and 1971, who come up to me with great warmth and affection, and say what a lasting impact I had upon their love for, and their approach to, the law. And many of them, I assume, have similarly infected others. In fact, I occasionally encounter students who were taught by my father at Brooklyn College in the 1940s and 1950s, who come up to tell me what a terrific teacher he was, and how he affected their intellectual life.

So do not delude yourselves. Research and writing is of course a part of the academic life—and perhaps the part that makes you best known, for the time being, beyond the walls of your own institution. But the reality is that the part of your academic career that will have the most lasting impact—and that will be remembered after you are gone—is those hours that you spend producing a living intellectual legacy, in the classroom. Of course administrators ought to be aware of this as well as faculty. Some law schools value teaching more than others; I hope George Mason will always be a teaching law school.

These words affect everything I do as a professor. Students have to come first.

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