No girls allowed

These words first entered my world in a 7th grade gym class in upstate New York. In that class, the girls were assigned to run laps, and the boys were lined up for the pole vault. I did my laps, as running was one of those movements that came easily to me. I looked over and saw the line getting smaller as more boys jumped. I waited my turn, and when it came, Mr. Patterson told me to get out of line, no girls allowed. For a moment I stood motionless in stunned silence, but that soon turned into fury and I marched up to him. During the time it took me to reach this gym teacher, I caught a few of the boys yelling “let her try,” “let her jump.” Face to face I told Mr. Patterson that I may only be in 7th grade, but when I was older I was going to become a lawyer and come back there and change the rules!

I was 12 years old, had never met a lawyer, and wondered where those words came from. My dad, who built in-ground swimming pools for a living, had gifted me books by F. Lee Bailey – a prominent criminal defense attorney of the 70’s – and I read them cover to cover. Other books were about environmental disasters that caused poor people to suffer great losses and hardship. The dye was cast, and I knew that somehow I was going to help people and use the law to do it. It just took feeling that momentary injustice at this small thing in a 7th grade gym class for the idea to land with a permanence.

By the time I was a freshman in college, Title IX had been in effect and changed women’s sports. I had spent many seasons up to that point playing left wing on the boys’ soccer team, as there was no such thing as a team for girls. Before leaving the New Jersey suburb and making our way to that upstate New York gym class that seemed a world away, my best friend and I had tried out for the 6th grade boys basketball team. There was no option for girls, and we wanted to play. We were turned down because they could not figure out the locker room dilemma of the visiting team using the one marked ‘girls.’ We reluctantly accepted the role of scorekeeper and manager.

At many local bar events, and at conferences among the founding members of the National Association of Women Judges, I have heard many tales of what the professional arena was like for women armed with law degrees and very few places to land in decades past. I cannot say I experienced the same as I chose the path of a public defender and there, I was among many strong women and men, all with a shared sense of affording a voice to the indigent and accused. Never did I hear that a certain case had to go to a male, or that a female could not handle something. We were all in the struggle from the proverbial trenches together. My start was at a time when we were equated with our clients, as if the act of defending an accused and ensuring that his or her rights were upheld was akin to being a participant to the crime. Classic guilt by association came from some of my relatives, assorted friends and my boyfriend at the time. One year out of law school that boyfriend actually said that he did not know how he could stay with me if I ever represented a “murderer.” Correcting him to reframe it as the accused did not do any good, and one month later I moved on.

Still, never feeling that need to fight just to be counted as a woman attorney did not mean that I did not know it was happening elsewhere. I have now been on the bench for over 18 years as a commissioner, and I have witnessed plenty. Last term, we had our third female presiding judge, and in another year and a half we got our fourth. If we are truly striving for equality, we still have some distance to go – as the women on our bench now make up about 40%. Recently, I filed to run for the judicial seat of a close friend who was choosing retirement and travel instead of another 6-year term on the Superior Court bench. This decision did not come easily, as I fretted about what it would be like to be in different places in this large county night to night, and how I would ever get comfortable asking for money to fund my campaign. Grassroots support rose up around me. Other women judges nudged me forward and would not let me turn away. This incredible uprising of support led to no one filing to run against me. It felt as if an invisible shield had formed. A male colleague running for a different seat commented on how lucky I was to have no opponent. I thought about that for a moment and realized that our “luck” is often something that we have earned, and I decided not to try to explain this nuance.

When I was a young attorney, aside from friendships with colleagues at work that had formed from long hours of working together, there was no real group of women willing to guide or help us. They were out there, just not where we were. Today, that has changed. The National Association of Women Judges has made bonds with judges from across our country possible. We share our tales of family celebrations or work promotions, an interesting book read, or a country traveled. When we see each other twice a year at conferences, the bond grows stronger. Supporting each other is a given and flows naturally as if we were always there for each other. We return and bring up new members into this important network and bastion of camaraderie. We truly do dance at our galas as if no one is watching and the joy that comes forth is genuine and memorable. Locally in San Diego, we have the Lawyers Club, another organization headed by strong women who reach down and back to help other women attorneys make their mark.

Two years ago, I watched my law student daughter navigate the recruiting process into big law. She faced no hardships or barriers that I could see, and with great confidence, she nailed down a coveted summer associate spot at a prestigious firm. This process was not easier because men had suddenly decided that women were equal, but because other women before her had worked hard to earn these positions and proved repeatedly that they can do the job just as well, if not better. During that summer, many female attorneys in the firm offered to mentor my daughter, and they made it known that they were there to help her succeed. Already she was feeling like a part of something bigger and important, and it was only the summer. Stepping into the role of a first-year associate at this firm in October has her brimming with excitement to have her journey begin. With so many women before her who have proved themselves and worked to change the rules, my daughter has never had anyone tell her “no girls allowed.”

Pennie McLaughlin is a commissioner in San Diego Superior Court.