UW Law

 

I just had an article published in the UW Law alumni magazine. The UW probably holds the copyright now, so if they demand it, I'll take down this post. Here's the version just prior to what got published.

The Different Class of ‘74

The spring of 1970 was a tumultuous time on the UW campus, and nationally. After the Kent State shootings on May 4, students protested by marching from campus to downtown Seattle. Final exams, and other University administrative processes, such as admissions, were disrupted. Women students were by far the minority at UW Law at that time, but the class of ’74 had both Rachelle Kleinberg and Tama Zorn  on the admissions committee, and this time, there was a difference.. Classmate Neola Heidegger’s research had disclosed that, historically, only two women per year had been admitted to UW Law School, but the class of ’74 admitted 35 women, which was 25% of the class.

 Ours was the class of “Affirmative Action,” race-based preference for admissions. Nineteen students who were African-American, Hispanic, and Asian were admitted, although news accounts never publicized how many would have been admitted anyway, without a  preference. One or more Affirmative Action students with scores lower than his were admitted ahead of white applicant Marco DeFunis, so he sued for “reverse discrimination.” Following an injunction hearing, Marco started the first day of class with the rest of us. A buzz was going around and everyone wondered: “Who’s this Marco DeFunis?”  At the end of the first day, all One-Ls were called to first session of Professor Harry M. Cross’s real property class. Professor Cross epitomized an old-school law professor, a veritable “Kingsfield” from The Paper Chase. He scanned the roster and called,“Mr. DeFunis.” Everybody turned and stared. Although we expected him to be a fire-breathing zealot, upon meeting and getting to know Marco, we couldn’t help but like this mild-mannered, pleasant man. 

The case made “Sixty Minutes” and shot straight to the State Supreme Court. Carloads of us drove to Olympia to hear oral argument.   Classmate Elmira Hunter, who is black and  who was  passionate about affirmative action, stood up from her seat in the audience and remained standing while she listened. “I just wanted them to see what one looked like,” she told me.

While the case headed for the U.S. Supreme Court, we turned to learning law. For those of us from blue-collar backgrounds, it was a whole new language. When we were assigned to present briefs and oral argument in the case of Barker v. Wingo, then pending at the U.S. Supreme Court , Bill Cohen borrowed the telephone in the Dean’s office, called actual counsel for the parties, and asked for copies of their briefs. “That’s how real lawyers do it,” he said.

We were too cool for graduation ceremonies, but our families insisted. We chose iconoclastic DUI lawyer, Alva Long of Auburn, to speak. He had scraggly white hair down to his shoulders, and habitually popped his dentures out into his hand and clacked them to ridicule bombast. Alva’s sign didn’t say “Attorney at Law,” it said “Alva the Lawyer.” He didn’t post his diploma in his office, he posted Playboy centerfolds. Mr. Long was touched at being asked to speak, and told stories about himself. He said that his will left his Lincoln to the Chrysler Corporation, “So they could see how to do it right.” He told about inviting the Attorney General to his office where he intended to have illegal sex with a chicken, and the law he intended to break was quickly repealed. He invited the class to join “his” club, Alcoholics Anonymous. His ending was crass:  “I’m bipartisan,” he said. “I don’t care who kills Richard Nixon.”

When it was time to collect our diplomas, my preschoolers took the stage with me. I was certainly not the only student with children—I know of six moms and three dads in our class-- but women in law with kids were still novel, and we received a standing ovation. So did Marco DeFunis.

The class of ‘74 produced a spate of judges, including  Honorables Anne Ellington, Court of Appeals; Sharon Armstrong,  King County; David Williams, Clallam County; Evan Sperline, Douglas County; Kay Trumbull, Snohomish County; Fred Bonner, Seattle; and Plummer Lott ( also of the first Seattle Supersonics team), in New York.  JoAnne Yukimura became a member of the Island Council in Kauai. Four classmates created the first all-woman law firm in Seattle.  Elmira Hunter, with a partner, opened the first African-American female firm in the City. Ricardo Cruz became legal counsel for the Seattle Public School District No. 1, then the Bellevue School District. Judy Runstad served on the Federal Reserve Board. Peter Bacho wrote a book of short stories that won a National Book Award for the UW press. Lee Stanley Smith sued the State of Texas for depriving traditionally black schools of their fair share of state funding. At first, he was dismissed as a nuisance, but he had learned the lesson of Brown v. Board of Education. He scoured libraries for weeks on end, and emerged with the papers that proved his case! His exhibits have become an important archive for historians of de facto segregation, and Lee became an Associate Vice President at the University of Texas at Austen.

Although our class produced notable citizens, no group story is ever totally of success.  A narcotics detective told me that Santiago Juarez defended drug offenders as zealously as ethics require and as flamboyantly as clients demanded, but when he lost a case, they turned on him.  He had to leave the area to protect his life. Jimi Wright committed manslaughter just outside the law school. He and the victim had had a dispute involving a woman, and the other man threatened him. The police couldn’t offer protection. Jimi saw the other guy approaching, and drew first. The victim’s pistol was in his back-pack, so Jimi’s plea of self-defense was rejected.  He was released on bail, but was caught with drugs and convicted. After serving his sentences, he passed the bar exam, but the Bar denied him admission. The State Supreme Court split 4-4 on his admission, so the denial was sustained.

 The case of DeFunis v. Odegaard was decided by the U.S. Supreme Court in April, 2004, a month before we graduated. “It’s moot,” they said, so Allen Bakke’s case, not Marco’s, became its pronouncement on race-based admissions. Marco DeFunis served injured plaintiffs in private practice for 28 years, but died unexpectedly in 2002.

My son Eric Martin followed me into law, and found some things the same, some different. But the “sames” and the “different” are interesting. Different:   He understood “probable cause” and “incorporeal heriditaments”  even before he got his permanent teeth. Different:   His class of 2002 was the first admitted under Initiative 200, which made it illegal for the school to ask applicants' race.  Never the less, he started his essay, “My grandfather, the Flathead Indian….” Somebody from the admissions office called him and asked, “Are you an Indian, or not?”  When he explained his Caucasian upbringing, “That’s so post-modern!” his caller said.  We had to look that up in our Funk and Wagnals. Different: His class was majority female. Many members were sophisticated students with advance degrees, and  not blue collar students like we were, the first generation of our families aspiring to the white collar class; and like classes twenty-five years ago and earlier, they were overwhelmingly white.

Different: Activism.  Eric didn’t have Kent State— his class had the WTO riots, but the event fell during midterms, and most students were oblivious. Only a few served as observers downtown. Eric studied under my classmate Hugh Spitzer, now serving as a UW adjunct professor. Hugh told about student activists’ filing an open meetings act lawsuit to be allowed access to faculty meetings.  Their reward for winning was being morally obligated to attend incredibly boring meetings. A former deputy mayor for Seattle,  Hugh was more the model for working inside “the system,” than for challenging it from without.

My son found that the issue of race in public school admissions was still a live issue.  He attended the U.S. Supreme Court to hear oral argument in Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle Public School District No. 1, __U.S. –(2007) regarding race-conscious admissions.  For him, it was a lesson in how deeply political power reaches:  he had a front row seat, but was pre-empted by the Solicitor General of the United States, who appeared to oppose the use of race as a tie-breaker in determining admissions to a public school, and that side prevailed.

Things that are the same: Our classes shared the same appreciation for goofy comic relief. While “Sixty Minutes” was photographing footage in the library for the DeFunis’ case, the students at one table all turned their books upside down and purported to keep reading.  When Eric’s class was moving from Condon Hall to the William Gates Hall, some students sneaked into the building on the eve of April Fools day and turned all the elevator call buttons upside down. The elevators worked so poorly to begin with, that nobody really took much notice.
           The same: TheTeachers. Professor Harry Cross passed away while Eric was in law school. As Editor of the Law Review, Eric invited Mr. Cross’s property law successor, and my teacher 25 years earlier, Professor Stoebuck, to write a memorial. Eric thought it was one of the best pieces that the Law Review published.

I’m proud  of my son the lawyer. Although his legal upbringing is profoundly different than my own, I am confident that he understands the Class of ’74—our people, our values, our teachers—we have marked him indelibly, and if push comes to shove, he will do what we expect him to do, in support of (excuse me, Superman) truth, justice, and the American way. 

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