The little town in southern North Carolina featured a small collection of chain hotels, the usual fast food joints and an industrial plant that had contaminated the groundwater with its waste. I woke up in an anonymous room in one of those hotels. I put on a suit and tie, and had to fight the sense that they were just a costume meant to create the illusion that I was a grown-up. Then I headed out to the plant.
This was my first solo out-of-town trip as an attorney. The plant’s corporate owner—a major defense contractor—was suing its insurance companies for coverage of costs relating to the poisoned water. And I was now one of the defense contractor’s hired guns. The more senior attorneys back at the firm in Los Angeles had tasked me with finding documents that might be relevant to the lawsuit.
Months earlier, in a more optimistic phase of my life between the California Bar Exam and my first day of work at the firm, I had volunteered with the Clinton-Gore campaign in Washington, DC. My little piece of the action had involved gathering information about local issues to prepare the candidates and their representatives in advance of campaign trips. It was a trivial contribution in the context of a national election, but I had felt like I was at the center of everything that mattered. On election night, when Bill Clinton had stepped onto a stage in Little Rock to speak to his supporters, I had been completely swept up in the moment and felt truly alive.
Now, on a cold day in January, I walked from office to office and across the shop floor, asking what was in the filing cabinets and taking notes. I felt uncomfortable and ambivalent, trapped in someone else’s life while the world passed me by. And because this was Presidential inauguration day, I wanted nothing more than to be standing on the Mall in DC or watching television in the company of friends. But I had my responsibilities, and at the moment they involved interviewing middle managers and their assistants, and trying to block out the gentle country tunes being piped into every room at the plant.
Suddenly, in the middle of an interview, the soft sounds in the background changed. Familiar words were forming, almost inaudible over the hum of fluorescent lights and machines: “ . . . do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute . . .” I realized suddenly that those country tunes must have been coming over the radio, and the station had cut to the inauguration ceremony! It was almost exactly noon, 18 years ago today.
I interrupted the person who was telling me about the contents of her filing cabinets. “Hey,” I said, “I think that’s the inauguration!” She stared at me blankly. “Oh, you mean the political thing?,” she said. “I heard that was today.”
I paused a few seconds before responding, wanting to hear more of those powerful words from the new President, the President I had helped to elect. Maybe I could even catch his inaugural address. Maybe my interviewee would want to pause for a few moments to listen with me . . . but no. She looked at me impatiently, expectantly. I sighed and returned to my questions. Eventually the radio switched back to its regular programming, and the background was filled once again with soft, rhythmic noise.
(Note: For more on my experience as a lawyer, go here).
