Tough Enough?
By Mary Wagner • February 29, 2016 •Careers, Politics and Government
The scene in the courtroom still haunts me more than a decade later. I remember the tears that sprang hot to my eyes as I shut the door behind me and walked down the corridor, thinking "I am not tough enough to do this job." I was a law student then, a seasoned criminal prosecutor now. And from time to time, out of nowhere, still comes that memory. It is seared into my consciousness, a testament to "collateral damage," and a mother's grief—two mothers, in fact—and consequences reaped by horrific acts, and how nothing in life, either evil or good,…
Objects in the Rear View Mirror
By Mary Wagner • February 20, 2016
The news of his death was nearly four years old, but it was still news to me. Earlier that day I had appeared in court for a routine set of “initial appearances” on some criminal cases, and had smiled to myself at how closely one of the defendant’s names resembled that of a boy—a young man, really—I had been in journalism college with. It had been a good fifteen years since I heard from him in the aftermath of a college reunion only one of us attended, our brief updates changing hands via email. He had become an acclaimed newspaper…
Law School at Forty
By Mary Wagner • February 20, 2016 •Careers, Politics and Government
"May it Please the Court" The words are enough to strike terror into the hearts of most attorneys I know. They are the first words you speak when you address the Wisconsin Supreme Court in an oral argument. The words are ritual, standardized and formal. And I was about to say them myself…if I just didn’t faint. I have a framed photo on my desk at work. It dates from perhaps a year before I started law school at the age of forty, and only a few months before I would break my back in a riding accident, spend three painful months in…
Of Shoes and Strategy
By Mary Wagner • February 19, 2016 •Issues, Balancing Private and Professional Life
They were “death on a staircase” shoes, and they stopped me dead in my tracks. Sleek leopard print brocade, with pointy toes, squared-off vamps, delicate sling backs, and spike heels that added a good three and a half inches to my height, these were definitely trophy shoes. I tried them on, but the questions I purported to be seriously asking myself as I strode back and forth in the shoe department glancing at the mirror from various angles—could I really wear them into a courtroom; what suit and accessories would they possibly go with; if I didn’t think I’d wear…