The Embroidered Robe

            I thought I would start this newsletter with an act of kindness long ago that I still cherish today.

            I was appointed a bankruptcy judge in the federal district of Arizona in 1986, by the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals, based in San Francisco, California.  My family and I were new to the desert southwest, initially warm and welcoming after living in Wisconsin where the sun didn’t shine for 30 days, and I froze getting into my car at below-zero temperatures.  I was appointed a federal judge based on a merit selection process, which allowed for someone like me, with bankruptcy experience in New York and Wisconsin, to be considered the best person for the job.

            Although at the time of my appointment to the bench, I was a member of the Arizona bar and able to practice law in Arizona, I only knew a few people. The benefit, of course, was that I owed no favors to anyone who would appear before me.  The problem was a certain awkwardness.  At the time, a judge explained it to me as “if we held a formal ceremony for you to celebrate your becoming a federal judge, who would come?  No one knows you.”  So, I took the oath of office in the chambers of a federal district court judge, with my husband and 3-year-old son present.  I think the judge’s law clerk and secretary were witnesses.

            However, the women lawyers in Arizona soon learned that I had been appointed a bankruptcy judge—the first woman in Arizona history, but no one seemed to recall any kind of celebration. They went to work.  I soon received an invitation from the Arizona Women Lawyers Association for a party, in my honor, and they would not take “no,” or “I’m too busy,” or any other excuse from me as an answer.

            The party was held at the top of what was then a bank building, and it was packed.  I met, I think, everyone in the bankruptcy field, and a lot of women lawyers who said they would never practice in the field.  Bankruptcy was still known as the province of the “old boys,” and many women preferred to practice in areas that were more welcoming to women.  At the end, the President of the Arizona Women Lawyers presented me with an engraved gavel and block set, and a robe. Wonderful welcoming presents.  But when I looked inside the robe, I saw that someone had embroidered my name on the yoke.  Their thoughtfulness had been discreetly added for only me to see.

   

            I served for almost twenty-eight years as an Arizona bankruptcy judge, and I wore that robe the entire time.  My colleagues, all men except for one woman appointed during my second, fourteen-year term, changed out their robes every 7 years or so.  Even though my robe faded over the years from innumerable dry cleanings, I could not change it out.  It meant too much to me.  I still have the robe today.  It has been relegated to a closet.  From time-to-time, I have a look. 

            At times, we are surprised by acts of kindness.  Sometimes, memories of those acts of kindness last a lifetime. In a matter where I had discretion, I would take that extra step to work out a solution that was consistent with the law, but preserved the dignity and humanity of that person who appeared before me.