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Outside My Office Window

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Tell Me A Story

Tell Me A Story

OUTSIDE MY OFFICE WINDOW By: Robbie Pryor

Pryor, Priest & Harber

AN UNSENT LETTER

I saw Charles Swanson walking to the University of Tennessee College of Law Awards Banquet in February. I caught up to and sat next to him for the entirety of the presentations. I’ve known, liked and respected Charles since I was a child. He was practicing with Pryor, Flynn, Priest & Harber while I was running around the halls in Halloween costumes. He had been on my mind for awhile because of the letter on my desk that is addressed to him. It has been there for more than a year.

How, I must ask, do you send a letter of condolence to Charles Swanson after the death of his wife, U.S. District Judge Pamela L. Reeves? It is the question I asked immediately upon her death in September of 2020. I’m sure many of you wrote letters and did so beautifully. However, I can never look at the partially completed letter on my desk and properly edit and send it. It haunts me. No matter the number of revisions made or pretty words that come to mind, I always feel as though I am falling short. Perhaps I have been burdened by how many essays and eloquently drafted letters must have been offered - so many words that listed and praised her accomplishments and attempted to adequately offer condolences for what was lost. I told him about my burden when I caught up to him. Seeing and talking to him at the banquet set me to exploring completion of the letter, but more importantly, it sparked a selfexamination of why I have never allowed myself to send it.

Almost all of us honor accomplished people by listing their remarkable accomplishments instead of truly examining the light inside them. I wanted to write that letter - the one about light. I read many beautiful tributes to Pam. They listed all of the “firsts for women” that jumped from Pam’s resume, and rightfully so. However, when I think of her, all I can see is the brilliant light, a light that inspired others to seek their own potential. When you discovered that the many qualities which made her so extraordinary are present in one person, you cannot possibly explain it, much less offer perspective on what all of us lost in her passing. A combination of intellect, measured leadership, and love of the law would have been enough to put her on a pedestal, but to possess the level of humility, kindness and love for people elevated her to a place that is rare among human beings. Rarely will you find a person so comfortable in her own skin, and, in my opinion, that quality was the point of origin for all of her accomplishments. To me, Pam was a friend and most familiar to me professionally as a mediator on many cases. I knew her a long time and our families are forever connected. I chose her to mediate because she could speak to anyone and make them feel important, particularly my clients. No matter the case, my clients left the mediation loving her and appreciating the time she took validating their injury/case when others were tearing it down. Trying to summarize it all in a letter to her grieving husband and children has always seemed like a ridiculous task. I suppose that was the hurdle for me - I wasn’t equal to the task. As the awards program moved forward I convinced myself that I would finish my letter. Then Charles rose to speak. I would soon learn that he was the only person who could adequately communicate to others the light in Pam Reeves. He started with “She’s right here on my shoulder,” gesturing to her presence. He revealed how embarrassed she would be by the words he was speaking. Again, is this not what helped to make her extraordinary? Before taking the stage he had expressed concern regarding the length of his presentation. After 45 seconds, I wished he would go on all night.

If you think this is another column about Pam, you are wrong. It has always been so apparent, just like it was in his remarks at the banquet, that Charles will forever believe he captured a butterfly in a jar. He most certainly did. You can always tell when someone believes it, and as he spoke at the podium I knew I would never send the letter. I also realized that the things he said about her could undoubtedly be said about him. That, my friends, is just unfair. I’m sure it exists in their children, but no better understanding of who Pam Reeves could come through anyone other than Charles Swanson. Perhaps we are all a reflection of the special people that love us. I hope so. Maybe it is something we should think about and recognize more. “I can’t believe she chose me” is what is felt. I bet it will carry him all the days of his life. Can we even begin to fathom what BOTH of these people, separately and together, have meant to our bar associations and people who have known them?

Charles presented the Judge Pamela L. Reeves Student Leadership Award to a special student. You could hear a pin drop. It was the perfect tribute to a judge and a person who brilliantly served her profession, but in his unique voice you heard the grief of a broken-hearted man vested with an understanding of what has been lost, but more importantly, a confidence in how unbelievably right it was that they shared the world.

So, although I told him I’d get around to getting him the letter, I’m not going to send it. I just won’t attempt to describe light to a man who is so rightfully convinced he once possessed the sun.

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