'Whom Shall I Send? Send Me!'
Professor Charles Ogletree on the life and legacy of the late civil rights lawyer John Payton.
Charles Ogletree and Henry Louis Gates Jr.
I'm sitting at my computer, with tears falling from my eyes, writing this letter to you. These are tears of pain in losing you because you were like a big brother to me. They are also tears of joy, celebrating and remembering the nearly 37 years I've known you since we met at Harvard Law School in the fall of 1975. Although I have often thanked you for your friendship and guidance throughout my adult life, I'm not sure you realized how much your friendship has meant to me. I want to try to express it now as I reflect on the good and bad times, the ups and downs, and your constant support of me, no matter what challenges life brought my way.
As I write this letter, I'm reminded that your passing away on Thursday was the end of our time together over these many years and the culmination of the difficulties life has offered these past six months. You know the pain I felt when our dear friend Derrick Bell passed away last October. He was not only my teacher, but my inspiration in understanding and pursuing a career in law and social justice.
You know how difficult it was to lose another dear friend and mentor, former D.C. Superior Court Chief Judge Eugene Hamilton, when he passed away last November. I tried cases before him as a young public defender, and watched him, over more than 30 years, come to Harvard Law School and patiently teach thousands of students legal ethics and strategies in trial advocacy. I was overwhelmed with sorrow earlier this year when my mentor and friend, federal district court Judge Robert Carter, passed away in January. Just a week ago, a dear friend of more than 30 years, Chuck Rouselle, passed away, and I wept as I remembered our wonderful and joyous years at the District of Columbia Public Defender Service, and our friendship since then at so many social and political events. I cherish the friendship and mourned the loss of all of these great African-American men. And then I lose you. Sixty-five years young. Full of energy. Always ready for the battle and always willing to lead the fight for equal justice under the law.
I remember how you warmly greeted me in 1975. I remember when we were co-counsel on a case in a criminal law clinic at Harvard. I remember our representation of a client charged with multiple counts of burglary, and our conversations with him before a court appearance. I remember our sense of good fortune when the complainant did not appear in the prosecutor's office that morning, and the assistant district attorney had to move to dismiss the case. You shared with me that this "criminal law stuff" was not your calling and that you would pursue a career in civil rights.