#iFollowCherylEdmonds
When Henry Wade came up last week in my husband’s zoom book club, I immediately transported to a churning high-rise copy room in late 2007 right before the economic downturn that forced so many lay offs in the legal industry. There before me stood Cheryl Edmonds. With all the star-power shine of a big-law super-paralegal icon, she told me the story of starting out her career interviewing with the infamous Dallas district attorney who reigned for more than three decades:
Everyone called Mr. Wade "Chief."
He kept his files on Jack Ruby (the last case he personally handled) in a wall safe behind a picture in his office. The day I went in for my interview, I was a skinny 20-year-old. This would be my first real job. I had no idea that Mr. Wade would interview me (I was applying for a job in his records department). When it was time, I was escorted into a very large office on the 7th floor of what is now called the George Allen Court Building. The first thing I noticed were trash can liner bags spread across the carpet with a brass spittoon placed in the middle. The next thing I noticed was a large man with white hair whose eyes peered into my soul. I was shaking in my boots. He spit toward the spittoon and missed (hence the trash bags). He asked me a few questions. Each time I answered with a timid voice. He stopped talking and peered into my soul again. Then, in his good ol' boy voice, he asked me "Do you want this ol' job?" I replied, "Yes sir." Then he said, "Go out there and tell 'em I said to give it to you." I worked in Mr. Wade's record department for two years before being promoted to paralegal.
She liked him. Like D Magazine, she described him as: "the law" in Dallas County.
A criminal defendant could not escape him. [Criminal defendants] would most likely be defended by an ex-prosecutor from Wade's office, the judge most likely came from Wade's office, and of course the prosecutor was from Wade's office. White voters kept re-electing him because of his tight reign.
#FollowHerNow #iFollowHer