HISTORY BACKGROUND ACADEMIC PROFESSIONAL ASSOCIATIONS PUBLICATIONS & PRESENTATIONS PUBLICATIONS PRESENTATIONS LETTER TO THE EDITOR RECOGNITIONS WRITTEN ABOUT JAMES CLIENTS CREDO CONTACT US

 

WHAT IS WRITTEN ABOUT: James Shellow

 

Carolyn See writes

 

In the Supreme Court
Soon it is time for Burton Mark’s friend and sometime colleague, Jim Shellow, a diminutive, brilliant Milwaukee lawyer. He argues from a brief prepared by his equally brilliant wife, Gilda. And the last rebuttal, and the day is over. Three landmark pornography cases will be decided in the following few months.

Friends congregate in the Great Hall in front of the Court, breathless with relief or pride, and that euphoric, sadly fleeting sense of accomplishment which is meat and drink to so many Americans. The young Assistant Solicitor-General who has argued on behalf of the American people against Jim Shellow’s client, approaches Shellow, his own wife in tow, and introduces her to Shellow’s wife, Gilda.

At a Convention
On this weekend the hotel is filled with paint salesmen, book jobbers, cassette tape dealers and First Amendment attorneys. (Read, defenders of pornography.) Why should there be such a convention? What is to be gained? Who made it up? (Because this is the first annual one, and there is never mention of a second.) Never mind, they are all here; several scores of eager young men from Kansas, Detroit, Pensacola, any town with an adult bookstore or a bottomless dancer. The Biggies are here too: Jim Shellow from Milwaukee, Stanley Fleishman and Burton Marks from L.A., a delegation of observers from the Playboy Foundation.

But never mind. The men are shaking hands and saying, Hi there! Shellow, Marks, Fleishman, each at the center of a circle of wistful friends. Outside of these stars, it is a sad truth that these lawyers are a sorry lot; the brown suits, so to speak, far outnumber the blue. Their conversation is dull, their manners furtive, and by the third or fourth drink the room looks to be full of forgers. Jim Shellow and Stanley Fleishman are perhaps the only really educated “cultured,” “civilized” men in the room. (Shellow’s Milwaukee firm takes the big smut cases, reputedly only to make enough money to cover expenses for their nonpaying civil rights clients.) I am moved then at some point after the third drink to say to Jim Shellow that I wouldn’t trust any man here with my purse, let alone my freedom.

Blue Money (David McKay Company, Inc.)

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