TO-WIT: MEETING GOLDBERG
“What would you know about it,” my angry client hissed at me across my desk, “you’ve never been discriminated against.” That he had ignored the religious lineage clearly associated with my last name was obvious, but as he was already way beyond rationality, I thought the better of mentioning it. So, as I always do whenever a client plummets into psychosis, I gave my mind leave to drift off to sunnier climes.
Over many years, my practice had evolved into doing a fair amount of anti-discrimination work. In fact, I’ve handled pretty much every kind of discrimination case there is, race, religion, age, gender and sexual orientation. Varied though my experiences may be, I had a hunch that this case could be one of first impression; who knew anyone hated the Swiss.
However much entitled to rage he might be, he was simply wrong about my never having experienced discrimination. Oh sure, I’d been called many of the slurs customarily flung at my religion when I was a kid, but mostly only by friends who were merely aping what they had learned from their parents, and then only when I had, as usual, bested them in one athletic endeavor or another. I didn’t count that as discrimination so much.
But yes, when I went off to boarding school, I did encounter a lot of new and unfamiliar religiously themed invectives. The very first time it happened I thought to myself, “Now why in the world would anyone call me a ‘kite.’”
It wasn’t until just before my law school graduation, when I started interviewing for jobs, that I experienced anything like that in the employment realm. My grades were such that I had received invitations to interview from a number of local law firms, including Northam, Olson, Johnson, Eberhart, Wilson and Smith, perhaps then the best law firm in town.
For that interview, I put on my spiffiest outfit and headed downtown. Okay, maybe my dark brown plaid suit and my polka-dotted lime green tie was not a particularly harmonious pairing, but I had to wear them together. They had been a combination gift from a somewhat garb-challenged wife whom I had no desire to insult until quite a few years later.
The building’s security guard was at first reticent about letting me pass when he saw a name like mine on the daily guest list. “Are you sure about that,” he queried when I told him I had an appointment, but he called to confirm my bona fides and then showed me to the elevator. “Are you sure about that,” he said again as the doors closed, this time pointing at my tie.
The law firm’s receptionist led me to a conference room, brought me some coffee and napkins bearing the firm’s motto, “Sic Semper Pauperis.” When I asked for decaf, she nodded her head. “Are you sure about that,” she said as she exited, pointing to my suit.
Soon a middle-aged man came in, attired in a gray pinstripe suit and vest, with a smart rep tie and white button-down shirt. He introduced himself as Montgomery Buffington III, a senior partner and my interviewer.
“So just how do you pronounce your last name,” he asked. When I told him, he repeated it out loud a few times, rolling it around on his tongue, pronouncing it several different ways until, seemingly, it dawned on him. “Oh,” I see,” he said, eyebrows raised, “well, you’ll just have to meet Goldberg while you’re here, he’s one of our junior partners.”
After talking to me a bit, he took me to meet some other partners. The first one grasped the situation at once. “Have you met Goldberg yet,” he asked. It was the same with the second and third introductions. In fact, it was the same with all of them. “Have you met Goldberg yet?” “Has he met Goldberg yet?” “You just have to meet Goldberg.”
I did not meet Goldberg during the interviews, so on my way out I stopped at his office. “Is Mr. Goldberg in,” I asked his secretary. “No, I’m sorry,” she replied, “Mr. Goldberg is tied up.” I left my name and number and asked that he call me.
Not hearing from him over the next few days, I called his office. “No, I’m sorry,” his secretary said again, “Mr. Goldberg is tied up.” I called several more times, but each time it was the same. Mr. Goldberg was still tied up.
I was so perturbed after my last unreturned call that I decided to pay Goldberg a spontaneous visit. I rode up in the service elevator and walked into his outer office. “He can’t be tied up every time I call” I said to his secretary, “why is he avoiding me?”
“No,” his secretary replied, “you don’t understand. The firm does not want any clients to know Mr. Goldberg works here. He’s an unChristian, you know. That’s why the managing partner has given explicit instructions that whenever Mr. Goldberg comes to work, he is to be tied up. If you really need to see him, he’s over there in the closet.”
I never did receive an offer from that firm, but I was not surprised; apparently one unChristian was their quota, and I thought it highly unlikely they would ever hire another.
As it turned out though, I was wrong. Some years later the local legal journal reported that the firm had just hired a young lawyer named Cohen. It was the same issue that also reported that Goldberg had recently passed away.
©2021, S. Sponte, Esq.