My wife was a beautiful, brilliant force of nature that cancer wrested from this earth in 2014. I have struggled with my decision to tell her story about sexual assault on this site, although we have both described her ordeal over the years in other publications (including a law review article). In light of the events of this week, she would insist on telling her story again. She was repeatedly sexually assaulted by her boss—a law firm partner—for two years, with an aftermath that was perhaps even worse. I experienced much of this terrible journey with her.
When it comes to sexual assault, there is a shocking lack of empathy by many men and women. Those who second guess how women are supposed to react when sexually assaulted by their employers cannot understand unless it has happened to them. Absent the actual experience, there is no way to empathize with what goes through a woman’s mind, the confusing set of terrible options a woman has, and the enduring emotional pain that sexual assault leaves in its lifelong wake. My wife—the most courageous person I ever knew—confronted the evil head-on. And although she was vindicated after a 12-year ordeal, it exacted a tremendous price.
This story is worth telling now for more than one reason. One of the things I loved most about her was that she was oblivious to celebrity and unimpressed by ostentation. One such encounter for her was in the Plaza Hotel in New York in the late 1980s (years before I met her). She was staying at the hotel for a conference and sitting in the Oak Room having a drink. A well-dressed man came up to her and asked if she liked the hotel. She responded that she thought it was very nice. The man then said, “I’m glad because I own the hotel.” It was Donald Trump—although at that time, she had no idea who he was. Her response? “Oh really? Well there’s a bridge a few miles from here that I’d like to sell you.” He then offered to give her a private tour, which she politely declined. If she were alive today, then she would likely recoil in horror at what could have entailed had she accepted.
That brief, inconsequential encounter is not the purpose of this diary. In 1989, she had graduated from law school and took a job as a new associate with a boutique firm in Chicago. With her passion for the law, and a superhuman work ethic, she quickly made an impression her first year and was fast-tracked for partnership. She also caught the attention of one of the (married) named partners of the firm. At first, their working relationship was professional; as a new associate, she was eager to learn from a mentor. That quickly devolved. One weekend, he asked her to meet him at the firm’s pied-a-terre to discuss a case. Soon after she arrived, the partner had just stepped out of the shower and forced her to perform oral sex. She was completely blindsided. She made an excuse and left, bewildered and unsure of what to do. A few weeks later, they were working late and he offered to give her a ride home. She accepted, believing that he couldn’t “get physical” in a car. In front of her condo, he stopped and starting masturbating right in front of her. The assaults got worse but she believed she could not go to the other partners. Who would believe her over the firm’s rainmaker? Finally, on July 4th weekend in 1991, the two of them were in the office alone. He called her into his office and proceeded to grab her just the way Trump describes in the Access Hollywood tape.
The first question people would ask her is: why didn’t you quit? They forget that in 1991, the U.S. was mired in a deep recession, and legal jobs were few and far between. But the more important retort is: why should she have to quit? She loved her work and was damn good at it. Did she not have a right to expect her work environment to be one of common respect and dignity, let alone a safe place?
At that point, she went to the other partners with the expectation that they would provide an in-house remedy. She did not want to sue and she wasn’t seeking anything more than a safe work environment and the opportunity to grow as a lawyer. What happened, of course, is that she became a pariah. All contact between her and the partner ceased. The quality of work assignments went down. Once-stellar performance reviews became average or below average. The work environment became increasingly hostile in an attempt to force her to quit. And, finally, she was told by the partners that there was no in-house remedy.
What I have heard from the brave women who have come forward this week rings so true. The confusion about what to do after the assault occurs. The Hobson’s choice about staying in a job you otherwise love (or need) or leaving to protect your safety and personal integrity. The shame you feel and the self-blame. The disparity of power and powerlessness that results in a semi-permanent state of shock.
My wife sued—and as horrible as the ordeal itself was, the pursuit of legal remedy was perhaps worse. The legal process most sexual harassment litigants face is formidable. The first step is to file with the EEOC and wait for them to decline pursuing the case on their own, which results in a “right to sue” letter. By itself that takes 90 days and allows the defendant time to organize its defense. At the same time, they accuse the accuser of doing it “for the money.” The disparity between power and powerlessness then comes with the legal fees. In my wife’s case, the law firm hired one of the most powerful litigation boutiques in the Midwest to defend them. Their lead counsel was a former U.S. Attorney. They were allowed to write off their legal fees as a business expense. My wife had to pay her own attorney, and her total fees amounted to almost $300,000 dollars.
For those who haven’t been litigants, let me tell you--it consumes your life. It took my wife’s case 4 years to get to trial; I met her in 1997—three years into the case—and it went to trial in 1998. I was with her the night before her deposition was taken. She was scared to death. She was ordered to undergo a psychological examination administered by the defendant’s expert witness. (The partner, of course, was not similarly ordered.) And, because the defendants had made an “offer of judgment” before trial, she would have been responsible for paying $300,000 of the defendants’ legal costs if she lost. (We learned of this news two weeks before her trial and six weeks before our wedding date in 1998).
And then the three-week trial itself, in which she was cross-examined by a former U.S. Attorney for three days. In the trial, testimony by witnesses corroborating her story and her contemporaneous description of events to them was compelling. Perhaps the most damning evidence was cell phone records detailing calls at odd hours from the partner’s cell phone (not work phone) to her house. In the end, she won—both the individual and firm were held liable, and the judgment awarded at that time (1998) was the largest for a single sexual harassment litigant in Illinois history. It was to be a Pyrrhic victory.
Both the firm and partner decided to go full Trump. The first thing the firm did was to assign a lien on its assets to the law firm in anticipation of declaring bankruptcy (to avoid paying her). She had to throw the firm into involuntary bankruptcy to avoid the lien, at which point all creditors were on equal footing. The individual partner did declare bankruptcy. So my wife (and I, who was in law school at the time, inspired by her) doggedly worked with the bankruptcy trustee over the next four years to recover what she could from the judgment. We would up recovering about half of what the court awarded, from which she had to pay the balance of her attorneys’ fees.
The repercussions continued even after 2002. My wife exhibited signs of PTSD and, despite counseling, she never really got over them. She would not interview with law firms because of her belief that such a thing could happen again. Her ambition was to run for judge, but the lawyer panels that reviewed her were critical of the fact that she sued her former firm. Prominent lawyers who had relationships with the partner and firm ostracized her. A career that began with such promise in 1989 would never approach its potential. She was always left to wonder: did I do the right thing?
I cannot judge the veracity of Trump’s accusers. But I do know their accounts ring true. What they describe—the predatory behavior by a powerful man behind closed doors, the wanton violation of boundaries, the sociopathic dismissals—these are all things I have experienced through my wife. Perhaps most important is my general observation that most women are peacemakers, described sometimes as the “Portia principle” (after the character in The Merchant of Venice). Women seek to restore relationships rather than exert domination. And in a world where pure evil exists, this way of grace can make them prey.
I miss my wife terribly. But I take some solace in the fact that she was spared witnessing the horrors of Trump’s campaign and his history of abuse. She was my hero and best friend. May the legacy of her courage live on.
