The usual thing when you graduate from law school is to go to work for someone else, at least for a while. Become a public defender, or a city attorney, or join a firm. You get the regular paycheck, the group insurance policy, the paid vacation. I didn’t do it that way. The legal aid office where I wanted to work had closed down because their funds were cut. There was a freeze on hiring at the PD’s. Same thing at the ACLU. I didn’t have a mentor or any connections; I’ve always been a loner. This meant I was reduced to following the want ads in the Daily Journal.

My first interview was at the real estate development department of a large investment company on Wilshire Boulevard. They were under pressure to hire a woman attorney, and all that seemed to matter was that I had a pleasant attitude and a big bust. Rows of women at typewriters were lined up like a sweatshop. The typewriters sounded like machine guns. I fidgeted through the interview and never went back.

My next job interview the senior partner took me to lunch, offered me a job and told me he’d have my office redecorated. As I was floating out, heady with my own success, he called after me to announce we would have to go to San Diego for the weekend to firm up the deal.

The last interview was near downtown at a place specializing in personal injury. I was led down a long corridor through an impressive law library. Pausing to examine a book, I smashed my hand into the wall. It turned out that only one wall was books; the rest had been painted to resemble sets of the Federal Reporter. The partner who interviewed me had decorated his work space like the Oval Office. While he studied my resume, I studied the room. Right-wing plaques and homilies carved from wood adorned the walls. There were lots of photos of him in the embrace of local fascists and guys who looked like insurance executives. An eagle with a twisted neck stood watch behind his desk. I saw him frown when he got to the part that said I was a member of the National Lawyers Guild. He gestured around the room and asked why a nice girl wanted to work in such a dirty business. He laughed when he said this. I got up. I couldn’t think of a single reason why I would want to work for him.