Monica Yant Kinney: Firm makes a case for loyalty

The venerable Philadelphia law firm Wolf Block is dissolving. Dechert and Reed Smith are shriveling amid layoffs.

But at Caesar Rivise, they're planning parties.

Two employees are celebrating their 50th anniversaries at the boutique firm. Two others have 48 and 44 years in.

In its 83 years, the intellectual-property firm in Center City has never laid off a staffer. All told, a dozen of Caesar Rivise's employees have sipped coffee with one another for 25 years or more.

What's in that coffee? Who stays anywhere that long anymore?

We are living in an era when young workers expect to bop from job to job as the seasons change. Who can blame twentysomethings unable to fathom loyalty or longevity when today's employers hand out pink slips for Christmas?

So how did one small law firm with a national reputation buck the trend and turn high-pressure work into a warm home away from home?

"When we hire people," managing partner Manny Pokotilow (44 years) tells me, "one of the most important things we look for is: How are they relating to us?"

Alan Bernstein joined Caesar Rivise on Jan. 26, 1959, and must have made a favorable impression.

"The bottom line," he says 50 years later, "is that we genuinely like each other."

When Stanley Cohen walked into the firm in 1961, the first thing he noticed was the odd-for-its-time mix of people who looked just like him and people who did not.

"My first secretary," Cohen notes, "was a black man."

The firm was founded in 1926 by Abraham Caesar, who had been the victim of anti-Semitism. The partners valued diversity before it had a name, financing scholarships at South Philadelphia High, and later provided minority fellowships at Drexel Law.

Cohen, a Drexel chemical-engineering graduate, has spent much of his legal career fighting music copyright infringement.

In 1972, he sued the Phillies for BMI, the music-licensing giant. The team's crime? Blasting tunes such as Doctor Dolittle's "Talk to the Animals" at games without a license.

"The Phillies tried to settle by offering two season tickets," Cohen recalls. "I said, 'Can you tell me how to split two season tickets among 55,000 license owners?' "

The lawyer grins, still getting a thrill after 48 years at the firm.

"Abe Caesar had a morning policy of saying hello to every employee," Cohen remembers.

Back then, there were only seven of them. Now, 75 are stretched across two floors. But Cohen continues the tradition.

Why? I ask. Why not? he answers. "It's the gracious thing to do."

Lawyers have come and gone, but not many and not often. Some who depart just weren't a good fit for the touchy-feely firm.

"One woman left because she felt we were too intrusive, asking about her husband when he was in the hospital," says administrative manager Linda Shapiro (29 years, with a 15-year break to raise a family).

Bernice Mims was a 17-year-old high school student in white gloves on her first day as a file clerk in 1959. Today, she's the human-resources manager, who still processes payroll weekly - even though twice a month would be cheaper - because "the partners know many people live check to check."

Hmmm. So the work-as-family image is for real?

"I can't tell you how many bar and bat mitzvahs I've attended," says Mims, an elder and a deacon at Oak Lane Presbyterian Church.

A few years ago, receptionist Janice Bender learned she had cancer. While undergoing treatment, she summoned the strength to attend a colleague's wedding.

Once Bender returned, management asked the temp who had been filling in to stay on full time.

"We support people," Cohen explains. "We don't throw them out."