Chapter 4 – And the Losers Are …

Friday, at 9:06 A.M., all 400 DPD employees, received the following email from Leslie Brown, publicist for the Department of Public Defense:

Brown listed all thirty-five promoted applicants. She repeated Youngcourt’s message that the selection process was so fair and thorough no one should question the results.

At that moment about 100 of the email’s recipients were seated in a large lecture hall at the University of Washington for a training on the defense of homicide cases. I don’t have a precise number, but it appeared to me that a majority of the sixty-nine senior applicants, including me, were in attendance. I was there because in addition to being interested in the topic, I had committed to presenting at a breakout discussion which would immediately follow the opening plenary session.

Each applicant learned his/her results the day before, Thursday, but none of us had seen the full list of new seniors. I knew the results only of the few applicants who worked with me in Involuntary Treatment Court, two or three people, all us were rejected.

On Thursday we had some control over the spread of our results. No longer. Suddenly, when the senior announcement popped up in our emails, all eyes in the hall were focused on laptop or phone screens. The names of the successful applicants were now known to everyone. And because the Director’s Office had earlier sent a blast email listing all the applicants, those of us who applied but “just didn’t make the cut” were simultaneously outed.

Naturally, there was a wave of low volume congratulations (the training was in progress) and thumbs up aimed at the new seniors who were randomly seated throughout the audience. But then the happy vibe was muted because people did the math and realized rejected applicants were also among them. Whether intentionally or negligently, the announcement of new seniors was timed to achieve maximum embarrassment for rejected applicants while clouding the joy of the newly promoted.

Thanks, Leslie Brown, for again emphasizing the exhaustive review process that so fairly separated the successful and unsuccessful applicants. Everyone should know that anyone not on the promoted wasn’t on the list for a reason, right?

As people read the list, I felt eyes on me. To this particular audience I was very well known. As director of Death Penalty Assistance Center for ten years I hosted and presented at about eight training programs every year. I had trained, advised, mentored, or co-counseled almost everyone in the room. I was lead counsel on TDAD’s two most high profile aggravated murder cases, the last of which had concluded only a year previous. I had been pictured and quoted in the media often. I could not melt into the crowd.

Rejection is always hard. Rejection in view of a hundred people who know you is special.

I had many friends and close colleagues in the audience. The looks I got were filled with sympathy and surprise. The words “why” or “WTF” were mouthed to me. I appreciated the concern but I didn’t have an answer. Maybe Lorinda Youngcourt had kiboshed my promotion, but I didn’t know anything outside the individual notice I received Thursday and the blast announcement everyone had just seen. My universal response, for the day, was shrugging my shoulders.

I congratulated new seniors as I encountered them. It was more awkward for them than it was for me.

After my breakout presentation, I left the building and was met by a small group of friends who were exceptionally kind. Two of them were on the promoted list and the others hadn’t applied. One young attorney was close to tears. They asked me to join them for lunch but they all, especially the new seniors, deserved to enjoy their meal without the burden of trying to bolster my feelings.

I took my swirl of emotions home and decided what to do next.

[I need to say that I wasn’t the only well known and accomplished attorney at the training program who had their rejection outed by omission in Leslie Brown’s email. I know others were stung as I was, but it’s not for me to tell their stories.]