This Tough Judge Taught Me the True Meaning of Justice

In this series, professionals thank those who helped them reach where they are today. Read the posts here, then write your own. Use #ThankYourMentor and @mention your mentor when sharing.

I was terrified when he called. I picked up the phone Saturday morning to hear the voice of Judge Harry T. Edwards of the United States Court of Appeals for the D.C. Circuit. A day after interviewing with him for a clerkship, he was offering me the job. He gave me three hours to decide. I scrambled for advice from everyone I knew. A dear friend who had clerked on the court said to me bluntly, “It’s Harry Edwards, dude. You have to say yes.” And I did.

I was scared because Judge Edwards had a reputation — he was brilliant, hard working, headstrong, and infamous for being very tough on law clerks. I worried I could not measure up or handle the work. It was tempting to listen to my fears and decline, but the opportunity was too great. And, you don’t say no to a Harry Edwards clerkship. It proved the single best professional experience of my life. 

On the first day in chambers, the judge met with all three clerks. He minced no words in stating that he expected us to perfectly meet his high standards and would not tolerate excuses. “Expect no pats on the back,” he warned. Achieving excellence was what we were hired for and not a cause for celebration. 

For the next few months, the Honorable One did not speak to us much. You got your heavy load of cases and sat in your office cranking out hundreds of pages of bench memos and opinions to turn in at the assigned day and hour. If you were one minute late, you risked being fired or worse. The tiniest errors were unacceptable.  The hard part was that I was churning out memos and opinions that would roll into his office, but no feedback, edits, or guidance ever came out. I worked in a bubble of anxiety, not knowing whether I was doing well or whether he thought me useless. 

After three months, I was called into his chambers for one of the only reviews I was to get all year. The judge looked me in the face and said, “Stop doing it.”

“Doing what?” I asked.

He said he noticed that when I was struggling with an opinion, I would get up and ask my co-clerks (both much more academically accomplished than I) what they thought. He said I was as capable as they were and needed to stop giving in to doubt.  Struggle harder and longer with problems, he admonished. "Don’t get up from that computer when you are struggling. Instead, lean in with intense concentration until you get it right."

I went back to work, with new confidence and a fresh commitment to wrestle problems with longer, more sustained, and more focused effort.

Midway through my year, I was assigned a dog of a case. It was a bus accident case: A public bus had hit a car that pulled unexpectedly out into the road and killed someone. The family seeking damages argued that while the car did improperly pull out, if the bus had not been speeding, it could have stopped. An expert, who was Korean, testified in support of this theory. His broken English made him difficult to understand, yet the jury ruled for the family. The judge, however, overturned the verdict claiming the expert witness had largely admitted on cross-examination that the bus actually could not have stopped based on the physical evidence. The family appealed.

I studied the transcript and became convinced that the lower court judge had erred in overturning the jury.  I recommended to my judge we should overrule the lower court, but after the oral argument the three-judge panel upheld the lower court decision. I complained furiously to Judge Edwards that it was the wrong result. Bemused, he said I could try and write a dissenting opinion to convince him.

I combed through pages of skid mark analysis and physics calculations. I carefully parsed the broken-English testimony of the expert. As always, when I was done I rolled the opinion into the judge’s chambers, not expecting a word of feedback. Hours later I heard his door swing open and he exclaimed loudly, “Michael Powell nailed it! He might be a lawyer after all.” I have never felt the kind of pride I felt at that moment. Our dissent persuaded the other judges to change their votes and justice was served for the grieving family. 

This great man taught me the most foundational lessons I carry through life. First, that holding oneself only to the highest standard without compromise provides both clarity and deep satisfaction. He taught me that praise is overrated and that over-commending people can actually lower expectations and create the wrong incentives. I learned about struggle and how important it is to push hard through challenges in a lonely, searching and focused way. Each time leaves you wiser and braver than before. He taught me the true meaning of justice and honor and the humility to change one’s mind when wrong. And the judge taught me that true mentorship is not just happy talk and gentle guidance, it is pushing people beyond their limits and telling them when they are wrong. Last, Judge Harry Edwards taught me the meaning of deep and lasting friendship. I still turn to him for advice whenever I am faced with an obstacle in life or at work that scares me. He is always there.