![]() ![]() He was assigned to Courtroom 405-the only one where defendants showed up in-person-for “major DUI” cases. Swedlow handled as many as 300 traffic court cases a day, largely via Zoom. They don’t have judges’ names on them, and they’re empty apart from the judge and a clerk. ![]() The fourth-floor courtrooms where Swedlow spent his first few months on the job hearing drunk-driving cases are low on frills. For now, he’s trying to work his way up a new hierarchy that includes stops in traffic and small claims courts. ![]() That dream is still a few years off-if it ever happens. Swedlow hopes to eventually become a civil trial court judge-where he’d put to use the skills he sharpened during his time in Big Law. “I think most people just keep making up new numbers,” he said. And then I got to that number, and I decided to stop and go into public service.” I got to that number, and I made up a new number. “People in Big Law say to themselves, ‘If I just get to this number, I can stop,’” Swedlow said in an interview, referring to how much money is enough to walk away. After leading a massive litigation that could net his former firm $185 million in fees, he’s making about the same as what Quinn Emanuel pays its first-year lawyers. Swedlow put up nearly $1 million of his own money for the privilege to toil at the lowest levels of the state’s judiciary. If they make a move for a robe and gavel, it’s usually on the federal bench. Partners at Big Law firms like Quinn Emanuel typically stay in the role until they retire for good, collecting paychecks that now can rival professional athletes. Listen to reporter Roy Strom talk about this story on our podcast, On The Merits ![]()
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