Public Practice

A Burlington attorney practices more than just law

Story and photos by Benjamin Pomerance

Abraham Lincoln has a home in Robert Rachlin’s office. Multiple dwellings, actually. A multi-volume set of the sixteenth president’s collected writings occupies a shelf on Rachlin’s wall, lined up rigidly like sentries ready to be deployed. And the Burlington-based attorney knows when to use them — with his colleagues, with his clients, with the students he instructs at Vermont Law School. “If you want a guide to clear writing, read Lincoln,” Rachlin says. “Not the great orations — the Gettysburg Address, the Second Inaugural, the Cooper Union. With his work, what I most admire is the everyday, ordinary correspondence. Look how he phrases a short message to a general in the field or appointing a postmaster in Buffalo. The clarity and the precision is remarkable. It can be a teaching tool.”

For Rachlin, a man who views words as his currency and seems to horde even the verbal equivalent of a penny, Lincoln’s lessons border on sacred. If anything can ruffle his calm exterior, it’s the thought of poor self-expression. Particularly when those sins are committed by members of his chosen profession. “The fundamental problem I see is that too many lawyers don’t know how to write decent English,” Rachlin states. “They write using an accepted formula and hope to come upon the correct word.” He shakes his head. “Clear use of the language is a precursor to clear thinking. When I see flabby words, to me it reflects flabby thinking.”

"We all have the same amount of time. What you do with it is a question only you can answer."

There appears to be nothing flabby about Rachlin. Not overwhelming physically, he nevertheless seems to dominate his crowded office at Downs Rachlin Martin, the firm he has guided from a two-lawyer operation in St. Johnsbury to the largest law firm in Vermont. He speaks with ease on multiple aspects of law, citing legal quotations from memory and making, often at the most unexpected moments, pointed humorous remarks, jokes so sharp they crackle like an exploding firecracker and dissipate almost as quickly. Moving purposefully seems engrained in his DNA. Rachlin doesn’t have time to waste time — not in the law and not in his life. Simply put, he has too much to do.

After his day at the office is done, he might go home and rehearse a Schubert sonata, or start composing a work of his own. Or he might go to the University of Vermont library to continue research for his latest academic presentation on the Holocaust. Or…any number of things. An ad for Downs Rachlin Martin in the playbills for Burlington’s Flynn Theatre depicts Rachlin atop a text box crammed with descriptions of his trades: lawyer, concert pianist, aviator, author, mentor, ethicist, statesman, linguist, educator. Remarkably, even his own advertisement sells Rachlin short. It leaves out some of the essentials: Holocaust scholar, frequent book reviewer, board member for seemingly every regional organization imaginable. Which begs the question: How does an individual so busy find time for it all? “You don’t find time,” Rachlin says, shrugging his shoulders. “You make time. We all have the same amount of time. What you do with it is a question only you can answer. And what I’ve done is remain involved in several things I enjoy.”

Including going to Guantánamo Bay. Rachlin has spent plenty of time there in recent years, traveling back and forth on his own dollar to represent two detainees at the controversial military detention facility, and his first impression of the U.S. government’s naval base in Cuba is not what one might expect. “The base itself is a very scenic spot,” Rachlin says. “It’s a nice place to visit. But it’s not such a nice place to be detained.”

Rachlin says he never thought about defending a Guantánamo detainee, although he adds that he was never averse to the idea. When the Center for Constitutional Rights in New York City contacted the American College of Trial Lawyers looking for counselors to represent individuals imprisoned at Guantánamo, though, and the chair of the Vermont Chapter of the trial lawyers association circulated a letter throughout the state mentioning this need, Rachlin — in his words — “rushed in where fools fear to tread.”

“Somebody needed to do it,” he says. “These people had certain human legal rights that weren’t being attended to by the (George W. Bush) administration. It wasn’t a question of whether they deserved representation. It was a situation where if they were not given a lawyer, we would be denying them a crucial right, which would set a very dangerous precedent. Once you deny the right to counsel to one group and get away with it, who will stop you from denying that right to others?”

Opting not to pay for an interpreter, Rachlin asked to represent a detainee fluent in either English, French, or German, the languages in which Rachlin is most comfortable communicating. He received a request in French from an Algerian, Djamel Amezine, who had been accused of having been “associated with a terrorist group” in Afghanistan. As Rachlin explains it, Amezine — who briefly maintained a residence in Montreal before leaving for Afghanistan in 2000 — suffered the consequences of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Living in a guest house run by a member of al-Qaeda, Amezine was ultimately turned over to Pakistani bounty hunters, who surrendered him to American authorities for a price, possibly as much as $5,000. “There is nothing to suggest he ever lifted a finger against the United States or anyone else,” Rachlin says. “He happened to be in a place where there were bad people. Ergo, our government labeled him ‘bad.’”

More frustrating for Rachlin was his second case at Guantánamo Bay, Saudi national Ghassan Abdullah al-Sharbi, a man who quite literally refused to talk. Contacted by al-Sharbi’s military attorney, Rachlin agreed to become involved with the matter. “Again,” he chuckles, “angels rush in where fools fear to tread.” Despite several visits to Guantánamo with the purposes of speaking to al-Sharbi, Rachlin has never actually met his client. Officially retained by al-Sharbi’s father as “next friend,” Rachlin says al-Sharbi has consistently refused all counsel, perhaps in an attempt to be viewed as a martyr for his cause. “Nobody knows precisely what he hopes to gain from this,” Rachlin says. “Whatever his reasons are, he will not talk.”

Ultimately, Rachlin says, both cases concluded with unusual outcomes. Amezine was cleared for release from Guantánamo Bay, but is currently refusing to return to Algeria. Al-Sharbi’s habeas corpus petition was dismissed after al-Sharbi, appearing via video conference, requested that the petition was dropped, again refusing to speak with Rachlin or any other attorney. Notably, the federal district court in which the case was heard dismissed the petition without prejudice, leaving the door ajar for al-Sharbi to change his mind and re-open the petition in the future.

"I would do it again, time permitting"

Still, neither the challenges of his own clients nor the expense of trips to Cuba appear to have dampened Rachlin’s resolve. “I would do it again, time permitting,” he says. Currently, he explains, the biggest obstacle in his calendar is his work at Vermont Law School, where Rachlin teaches two days each week, moving to three days per week starting in the fall semester. “If I could find a way to work out the scheduling,” he says, “I would be willing to work with another client from Guantánamo Bay.”

Scheduling challenges have characterized Rachlin’s life for decades. In 1960, after graduating from the University of Chicago Law School, he was hired by John H. Downs as a partner in his fledgling Vermont firm. “At that time, attorneys in Vermont did not specialize,” Rachlin says. “We did everything. I drafted deeds and wills, wrote business contracts, prepared people’s income taxes.” Before long, though, Rachlin says he found his niche as a litigator, work that has led him to represent clients from the United States Olympic Committee to major American and international corporations. The number of attorneys in the outfit’s St. Johnsbury office quickly expanded, and in 1976, Rachlin opened an office for the firm in Burlington. Today, with satellite offices in seven locations throughout Vermont, New York, and New Hampshire, Downs Rachlin Martin — and particularly Rachlin — has received national recognition, with Rachlin earning a listing in Best Lawyers In America trade publication every year since the work’s inception.   

And still, he finds time to play the piano. Quite well, too, if you ask Michael Hopkins, music director of the Burlington Chamber Orchestra and one of Rachlin’s frequent chamber music collaborators. “As a musician, he is very accomplished,” says Hopkins, whose wife, Carolyn, also plays with Rachlin on a relatively regular basis. “He possesses a really broad and deep knowledge of the chamber music repertoire, and an incredible passion for playing.”

"I often say that the musicians and the lawyers fought over me, and the musicians won, so I became a lawyer."

Indeed, Rachlin appears as comfortable speaking about Paul Hindemith’s double-bass sonata as he is discussing John Paul Stevens’s judicial theories. Every November, he gives a chamber music concert at St. Paul’s Church in Burlington. Recent installments of this series have even included some of Rachlin’s original compositions — a sonata for cello and piano, and a trio based on a number of Jewish festival tunes. “It’s great fun to do,” Rachlin says of playing chamber music. “I can recall many instances in actual performances where something beautiful happens that we never actually rehearsed. You develop a unity of brain among the members of your chamber ensemble, if you play together enough, that can produce some beautiful results. I’ve had that experience several times.”

Rachlin began playing the piano at age four, and today still can’t identify exactly why he never felt an urge to pursue a musical career. “I often say that the musicians and the lawyers fought over me, and the musicians won, so I became a lawyer,” he quips. Then, more seriously, he adds, “Of course, there’s also the small matter of earning a living. But I’ve kept playing over the years. And in many ways, I think I have been able to enjoy playing more as an amateur than I ever would have if I had tried to become a professional.”

His current musical pursuits also extend to the Burlington Chamber Orchestra, where Rachlin serves on the board that governs the three-year-old ensemble. “When we were starting the group, and I was searching for people who would be good to have with us, Bob immediately came to mind,” Hopkins says. “He’s experienced as an attorney and as a musician, and also is experienced serving on a lot of boards and committees. He’s affected the entire vision of the group, in a positive way, by telling us to plan for success. Ever since he said that, I’ve tried to consciously run the group as if it’s ultimately going to be successful and be around for a long time. That’s Bob’s impact. He has a long-term vision.”

That vision extends into the past, too, particularly in Rachlin’s study of the Holocaust. Alan Steinweis remembers sitting next to Rachlin for a meal in 2004 when Steinweis was invited to the University of Vermont campus for a Holocaust conference. “He struck me as an incredibly interesting person,” Steinweis recalls. “He spoke at length about the research he was conducting about the Holocaust in Finland. I thought it was remarkable this person who was not a full-time academic was taking so much time from his obviously busy schedule to do very serious research on this subject.” Five years later, Steinweis’s admiration for Rachlin was renewed when he was hired as the chair of the University of Vermont’s Center for Holocaust Studies, where Rachlin serves as an adjunct lecturer. “He’s a valuable resource to have around here,” Steinweis says. “He has great expertise in an area of Holocaust studies that is quite unique.”

Rachlin’s research focuses primarily on the legal aspects surrounding the Holocaust, particularly the judicial theories espoused by the leaders of Nazi Germany. He has delivered lectures and written several scholarly papers on various topics pertaining to this area of study, including a work about the so-called “Jewish influences” on German law that he will present at a Holocaust conference in Florida this November. “The Nazi legal theorists wanted to expunge Jews from the law,” Rachlin explains. “They were referring not to the ethnicity of the lawyers, but rather to the influence they felt the Jews had over the law. For example, they identified certain areas of law they felt were directly influenced by the Talmud (a central Judaic text), and demanded that they be removed.”

Such a focus, Steinweis says, is uncommon among Holocaust scholars. “It requires an exceptional degree of rigor,” he explains. “It demands that a person know a great deal about law, and the history of law. It’s hardly a marginal subject, but it is a subject that hasn’t received the attention it deserves.”
Steinweis also praises Rachlin’s work as chair of the Center for Holocaust Studies’ Community Advisory Board. As both an accomplished Holocaust scholar and a member of the Burlington community, he explains, Rachlin is able to bring various interests to the Center’s attention. Yet what seems to most impress Steinweis is Rachlin’s facility with the written word. “He’s an exceptionally good writer, a far more effective writer than many academic historians,” Steinweis says. “He pays great attention to sentence structure, to paragraph structure, to the craft of writing.” All those lessons from Lincoln, it appears, have paid off.

"Knowing how to fly a plane enabled me to do a lot more for my clients."

When not teaching about the law or the Holocaust, or expounding on the virtues of Lincoln, Rachlin used to show people how to fly. His aviation career took off in the 1960s, both out of curiosity and out of convenience. “This was in the early days of my practice, before Burlington International Airport became a mini-hub,” Rachlin explains. “Knowing how to fly a plane enabled me to do a lot more for my clients.” Looking to share his knowledge, Rachlin earned his flight instructor’s certification, and ended up teaching a number of aspiring pilots in Burlington and Montpelier. Even one of Rachlin’s partners came to him for aerial advice, commissioning Rachlin to train him for his instrument rating test. In the early 1990s, however, Rachlin decided to put an end to his flying days. “I had much less use for it,” he says. “There are very good air connections in Burlington now. So I stopped flying. It was time.”

Instead, Rachlin now immerses himself in a different area of technology: computers. When he began practicing law, he recalls, photocopies had to be made using a Kodak Verifax, a machine that required users to inject it with some sort of liquid before it would function. Now, 50 years and a technological universe later, Rachlin says he embraces the opportunities computers have provided. “I was the first person in our firm to do my own word processing,” he states proudly. “A client passed by in the hall when I was typing and said ‘There’s either the most efficient lawyer or the most expensive secretary in the office.’”

With the advancements, though, come consequences, a truth Rachlin tries to impart to the students he teaches at Vermont Law. He spends a great deal of time now on the study of technological ethics and the law, including a unit he recently introduced on legal issues surrounding social networking sites such as Facebook. Then there are the battles with electronic mail, outlined in his 2002 article for the Northern New England Technology Newspaper titled “The Perils of E-mail.” “The technology has changed some since then,” Rachlin says, “but the principles are the same.” In general, he says, an e-mail is simply too easy to create. People become careless about the content, and then act surprised when their electronic missives are dredged up during the discovery portion of a lawsuit. “Cases now can be won or lost depending on the content of e-mails,” Rachlin says, “in the same way they can be won or lost depending on the content of other documents. People need to be careful.”

And after five decades in law, a career of many avenues that has turned into a very public practice, Rachlin knows the importance of being careful — be it in writing, in speech, in performance, or in scheduling. His days are carefully blocked out in what appear to be half-hour increments, a plan to which he tries dutifully to adhere. Which is why a half-hour interview with him lasts 30 minutes, nothing more. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, after speaking on more topics than many people would dare to touch in a lifetime, “but I really have to go now. I have somebody else coming in now.” He rises to open his office door, then withdraws a pile of papers from beneath his desk. The next appointment is here, ready to be ushered into that room with the works of Lincoln looking down on them, the next step in a life galvanized by progress and solidified by rapt attention to detail. Time to move on.   

Have you ever met Robert Rachlin?

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