Edward McNally, Rumored Inspiration for Ferris Bueller, Remembers John Hughes

John Hughes knew that life moves pretty fast. And as with his films, his devotion to his family and his death at 59 last week serve as poignant reminders of that. For both teens and their parents, he helped crack the code on the exuberance and desperation of teen angst.

And while many say Hughes belonged to the '80s, his work remains today remarkably accessible to multiple generations. Our daughter found "Sixteen Candles" on her own, and is an aficionado. Our dad attended high school in the '40s, but is still slain every time dweeb dean Ed Rooney sees Ferris's girlfriend Sloane kiss Ferris, disguised as her father: "So that's how it is, in their family." Dad doesn't know we, too, borrowed his hat and glasses to impersonate him.

In creating his everyman heroes, Hughes makes clear his ultimate faith in youth. In "The Breakfast Club" his other iconic dean, the drill sergeant-like Richard Vernon, fears: "Someday these kids are gonna be running the country. This is the thought that wakes me up in the middle of the night."

Mr. Vernon was wrong. Today those kids are doing a brilliant job. And many of them also remember the lessons of Ferris Bueller and John Hughes. Here's but one example.

In my practice today, when representing those involved in government investigations, often the single most important goal to the client is to protect his anonymity. But while the law guarantees grand jury confidentiality, the doors around the courthouse are often clogged with camera crews recording every coming and going.

Over the years we've used side doors, back entrances and clients disguised as just another gray-suited lawyer. But none of those techniques can compete with a deft trick borrowed from Ferris Bueller.

On March 10, 1998, the van belonging to the office of Ken Starr, the independent counsel investigating President Clinton in the Monica Lewinsky controversy, pulled up to the D.C. courthouse. Out stepped two prosecutors and an FBI agent, well known to the media gaggle camped out there. Next came Kathleen Willey, a former White House volunteer, there to testify about her alleged 1993 Oval Office encounter with the president. The media also knew and expected her.

But there was a new face. Tall young man in a coat and tie, sporting earrings in each ear. The camera crews swooped, shouting and demanding: Who are you?

The New York Times, apparently lacking any anonymous sources who attended high school in the '80s, reported it on the front page of the next day's paper. Straight and without irony:

Mrs. Willey "was accompanied by her son, John Patrick Willey, 25, who cryptically identified himself as 'the Sausage King of Chicago.' "

Then the Times delivered the clincher: "He did not elaborate."

Edward McNally, 53, a trial lawyer in private practice in New York and Washington, was a presidential speechwriter from 1989 to 1991, and was senior associate counsel to the president from 2001 to 2005.