Becoming an American: My Citizenship Exam

Washington D.C. 1983.

One morning in 1983, I found myself sitting at the Immigration Office in downtown D.C. for my required citizenship exam. I was already a lawyer and feeling cocky. The examiner was a tough senior lady attorney who, from her age and demeanor, had seen it all. 

“Well, good morning Mr. Goldstein,” she said jovially. 

“Good morning,” I replied.

“Are you ready for your exam?”

“I am.”

“Good. . . I see that you’re already a member of the D.C. bar, right?” 

I nodded.

“Unusual,” she said, adding, “May I call you counselor?”

“Sure,” I replied. Where is she going with this? I thought.

“We’ll make it simple, counselor. Three questions. . . First one: What are the three branches of the American Government?”

***

The one thing that cemented my resolution to be a U.S. citizen was becoming a lawyer. Law was not an easily portable profession that I could carry back to Argentina if I ever wanted to return. Becoming an American lawyer required a long-term decision to stay here. So, I made the commitment and went to law school.

The change from science to law gave me trepidation. I was trained to experiment, collect, and study data, all in the interests of finding some sort of absolute truth about the universe. Law also espoused to seek the truth. But having been fed a steady diet of Watergate untruths by Nixon’s lawyers and sycophants, I had grown to distrust legal honesties. So, I was worried. 

I quickly learned in law school that legal truths are not as absolute as scientific ones. They seemed to be, let’s say . . . more relative. Different legal propositions are proven by different burdens of proof, depending on the seriousness of the matter. There are no different burdens of proof in science. You don’t prove the theory of relativity by a preponderance of the evidence yet a chemical reaction beyond a reasonable doubt. In science there are theories and supporting evidence. And the theories must be capable of being disproved if better evidence comes around. Science is a never-ending enterprise. While our legal system is a more civilized mode of resolving disputes than hiring a champion to fight it out in a medieval field of battle, modern law is not a search for absolute truths. Legal certainties, while relative, have an element of finality. A case is over and let’s move on. That was eventually ingrained in me by my law professors.

The year I graduated from George Washington University Law School, 1983, was a watershed.  In quick succession after commencement, I passed the D.C. Bar, became a citizen, and founded one of the first biotech patent legal groups in the country.  

By the time I went to the citizenship exam in front of an Immigration Officer I had already received a license to practice law. This was way before my naturalization certificate arrived in the mail. Having navigated law courses in dozens of topics, as well as a multistate bar exam on issues as diverse as commercial paper and constitutional law, I was steeped in American customs and history.

The immigration examiner was sitting behind a small metal desk. If I answered her three questions correctly, she said, I would pass.

Her first question was a softball: name the branches of the American Government.

“Executive, legislative, and judicial,” I replied. This will be a breeze, I thought.

“Second question, tell me: What is the Bill of Rights?”

Easy, I thought. “It’s the first ten amendments to the constitution. They make sure that there are limits to what the federal government can do its citizens. They include the right to free speech and assembly, separation of church and state, and the understanding that whatever is not in the federal constitution is reserved for the states.” I looked at her, maybe a bit too pleased. “Ours is a federal government of limited powers,” I added for good measure, showing off my Con Law. 

“Very good . . .very good,” she said quietly. “Now tell me counselor, last question.” She looked straight at me. “What is the presidential line of succession down to the fifth?”

She smiled. I gulped.

“The fifth?”

“Yes, the fifth,” she replied. Her face seemed to be saying, Ok, you self-satisfied rookie lawyer, I’ll show you.

“Well. . . The president. . . the vice president . . . the speaker of the House . . . the Secretary of State. . . the. . .” 

“Nope,” said the lady, still smiling. “The fourth in line is the President Pro Temp of the Senate, then any one of the cabinet secretaries, like State.” She was definitely thinking, This one trips them up all the time. 

“But. . . ” I said, “two years ago, after President Reagan got shot, I saw Secretary of State Haig on TV saying that he was now in charge of the government. . .Was he wrong?”

She stared at me smugly and said, in a self-righteous tone, “Yes he was wrong, counselor . . . But he was born here.” Her smile was gone, a note of triumph on her face.

Shit, I thought.  I just flunked my citizenship exam. 

Then, as quickly as she had explained the line of succession, she shook my hand and said warmly, “Congratulations, counselor . . . You can now become a citizen.” And showed me the door. 

A few weeks later I was sworn into U.S. citizenship in the Rockville, Maryland district court. People of all origins were there: Latino Americans, Hindus, South Asians, Africans, Europeans. Women with children, young couples, elderly folk. American flags everywhere. Before the oath, the judge told us that swearing in new citizens was his favorite thing to do. It was a very moving ceremony. Tears of joy. I loved it.

As I walked out a newly minted American, I ran smack into a table manned by the Republican Women of Montgomery County. One of them offered me a brochure and a flag.  “Congratulations!” she said, and offered to sign me up.

“As a Republican or as a woman?” I asked, exercising my first amendment right of sarcasm. She did not see the humor, so I walked over to the table of Democrats.

Nineteen eighty-three was a few years after the major breakthroughs of modern biotechnology. Scientists in California had transferred human genes into bacteria so the little bugs could produce insulin in copious quantities. Others, in the UK, had learned to make antibodies in cell culture and were able to generate so-called magic bullets.  The future did belong to biology, as my PhD advisor Frank Westheimer had predicted. Not only that, but the future belonged to those who could bridge the two worlds, one from science and the other from the up-and-coming biotech industry and its legal needs. Luckily, I had a foot in each.

The offers of employment came fast. The firm where I had apprenticed during my years of law school wanted me to stay and offered me partnership. But I was itching for a change. I received an offer from Genentech in San Francisco. They were then a small startup and had no money to speak of. Their compensation package included a barely passable salary accompanied with a hefty amount of stock options that I could buy with a low interest loan they provided. I had to put down 5% of the options’ value and Genentech would finance the remainder. I would repay the loan when I exercised the options.  It was the first time I heard of stock options. Could I buy a house in Silicon Valley or go to the supermarket with options? No, they said, but when our stock goes through the roof and you exercise your options you can buy the supermarket. I declined their offer, not wanting to live out West or work as a company employee. Had I accepted I might well be living in the Caribbean on my own island. Oh well.

I had an offer from a small DC firm that specialized in chemical patent law. I liked them and what they did, and I accepted. I had not yet packed my things when my law school classmate Rob Sterne showed up at my door. A few years earlier, Rob had made the transition from electrical engineering to patent law, and courageous spirit that he already was, decided that he would found his own startup law firm. He offered me a job and . . .  I turned him down. His small firm seemed too much of a risk. As I learned then  – and have been reminded many times for more than four decades of being his partner – a “no” to Rob does not mean anything other than, “Let’s negotiate.” He applied his instinctual skill at deal-making, showed up at my home one evening unannounced, and rang the bell. As I opened, surprised at seeing him there, he said “May I come in? Just want to talk to you. . . This will take no more than 20 minutes.”

He spent two hours in my living room and talked nonstop about his dreams of creating a firm that would do what nobody had done in the legal profession; it would be dedicated exclusively to high technology: computers, software, and biotech. He needed someone like me who could lead the charge in biotechnology. He wanted me to fill that role. I would be at ground zero and I could decide how I wanted to practice law. We would grow together and represent the cream of the crop of brilliant scientists, engineers, and entrepreneurs who were founding the Amgens and Apples of the world. These people need a law firm like ours, he insisted. He assured me that I would become a biotech patent guru. 

“And as far as that other firm with whom you’ve been talking, they can’t offer you what I’m offering you.”

“OK, Rob,” I said, “but even if I wanted to come along, I’ve already accepted. How am I going to withdraw the acceptance?”

“Not to worry, I’ll do it for you,” he said. And he did. The other firm’s partner remained friendly with me even after Rob told him that I would not be joining him. But he did not talk to Rob for several years.

Our efforts proved wildly successful. Side by side, Rob and I rode the major technology waves of our age. In the more than forty years since that evening at home, we went from six people to more than 400, including about 160 lawyers. The law firm we established is to this day still our own. Well, strictly speaking, it’s no longer ours. Like a son or daughter who has grown up, it has transcended us and now has its own independent life.

***

In 2006, The Legal Times of Washington, a paper of the local Bar, had an article about whom they called the “Eight Leading Life Sciences Attorneys.” They picked me as one of the eight, picturing me as a lawyer dressed in a lab coat. I love this cover; it’s who I became and who I am: