Other Duties as Assigned
We met in a rather unassuming way. A few days after I started working at Halling & Cayo, I ran into him in the lunchroom. It was 2 pm, the usual lunch table crowd long dispersed. He was alone, the remnants of a Bento box in front of him. He was probably flinging Angry Birds on his phone.
“Hey. So you’re Jeremy.”
“And you’re the new one. Nice to meet you.”
Something like that, anyway. We made pleasantries, discussed our families. He had a six-year-old daughter, I had a four-year-old son. I had been hired primarily for insurance defense, but had the freedom to figure out what the other part of my practice was going to look like. I’d done legal ethics and professional licensing before, and liked that, and knew I would be doing some of it like he did, and mentioned that to him.
Despite our mutual longtime political involvement and overlapping circles, we may or may not have actually met prior to November 2014. A time-traveling notebook I found in my car a couple of years ago, with his then-wife’s contact information in my handwriting, suggests we may have been in the same room at a party meeting back in 2003. We’d certainly been at the same conventions, but our paths had not crossed in any meaningful way.
“I hear you do political work. I’ve got a bit of a background and an interest, so if you need any help, I’d love to work with you.”
He knew that. I learned much later that when I was under consideration for hire, he was asked to make sure my husband (an elected official) wasn’t a buffoon who could cause trouble for the firm. I guess he wasn’t and wouldn’t, and I got the job.
I took on a bunch of insurance defense files, with the occasional securities and attorney discipline case thrown in.
He didn’t actually delegate work to me for several months, and the first couple of assignments were mundane. Briefing, editing, researching. I’m pretty sure the first question I researched for him was about the present value of future damages in a breach of contract case. Exciting stuff.
After awhile, though, things got interesting, and I was introduced to all kinds of WeirdLaw. More professional licensing and legal ethics work. Political work. “I guess I can keep a straight face, sure, why not” work. He picked the right fights, and got drawn into the odd ones.
“What’s your day look like tomorrow?”
Sometimes I’d get these texts at 11 p.m. It didn’t actually mean he wanted to know my schedule. It meant “can you blow up your day and maybe the next one too?” It meant we needed to file a petition, or a response to a ballot access challenge, or something for which no real procedure existed so we needed to wing it and hope for the best. We needed to be in Green Bay, or Racine, or somewhere else in a hurry. And it was going to be fun, in that way that things like this are fun.
My insurance defense practice took up less and less space.
I began to eat lunch later in the day, too.
He was not everyone’s cup of tea. He was loud. Vulgar. Sometimes obnoxious. He lived big. “Larger than life.” The rules didn’t always apply. He was legendary in cutting it close--we would have court at 10 a.m. and at 9:57 I would be sitting at counsel’s table, and he’d text me from the parking lot. Still somehow made it on time, at least on time enough for the judge not to yell at him. Drove me up a wall. He called me his “minder,” and then decided at a CLE that I was the Apollo to his Dionysus. Or, at least, the Gallant to the Goofus. That became a regular line in our legal ethics presentations.
Still. I was learning from the best. We argued over whether he could call me his “wingman” given that “wingwomanning” just sounds weird.
March 2018, I went to a networking event at a taproom, sponsored by a women in law group. I met a fellow lawyer, and we bonded over our shared disinterest in the beer available. Sorry-not-sorry, I gossiped to him that she was recently single. They started dating not long later. That remains my favorite bit of wingmanning.
We got it down to a science--I would do the legwork, he’d put it together, I’d do cleanup. He’d handle media on prominent matters, I would shy away. Both of us liked attention, but I preferred a mic and a podium. He liked press. But he made sure I was in the room when I wanted or needed to be, and got credit where credit was due. We were making plans--for marketing, for presentations, for what our practice would look like over the next several years.
Spring 2019, we handled a hearing in one of the lame duck legislation cases in Madison. More accurately, he second chaired to our lead counsel, and I sat and fidgeted from the uncomfortable chair behind him. I was happy just to be there, in the room where big important things were happening.
**
“Can you and Jason get together with us sometime this weekend? No kids.”
It was Mother’s Day weekend, we were going to be going to Illinois for most of it, getting a babysitter at the last minute for the rest wasn’t going to happen.
“Even just an hour? Tonight?”
I quickly realized this wasn’t a social call. I was up to his house in a hurry.
The next few months were a blur. Case triage. Doctor runs. Managing the message: “He’s on medical leave. He would appreciate it if you kept him in your thoughts.” Lots of avoiding.
Jumping my pay grade a few times over. “Things I wanted, not like this.” We’d previously planned for the “if one of us gets hit by a bus” emergency. Never expected it to happen. Nobody does.
“You’ll be fronting. Practice the game face.” He coached me through the fog. “Practice the game face” became a bit of a mantra for me. If I was a tattoo person, I would have it tattooed somewhere.
A quick, beautiful backyard wedding. I was the best man. (We did not argue over my title.) The picture accompanying this post was taken that day. You can tell he was sick. He was fatigued. Still the happiest I’d seen him. His wife is amazing, but their story is hers to tell, not mine. Suffice to say she is amazing.
A proclamation from the mayor. A joint trip to Door County--we were supposed to give a talk together. He turned 50 on that trip, and did 50 justice despite not knowing if he would see 51. I gave the talk alone.
Fall had some stability and some hope. October brought oral arguments in the Wisconsin Supreme Court in our lame duck case; this time, I sat behind our lead counsel as second chair, keenly aware I had taken his seat, and I belonged in the gallery. “No. You earned this. You enjoy this.” And I did.
Jeremy Levinson was born July 19, 1969, the day before Armstrong and Aldrin took those small steps and giant leaps. He rang in the New Year from the hospital; took a picture out the window, posted it on Facebook, and tagged himself on “the moon.”
He died March 29, 2020, after living as big as he could for as long as he could. He leaves behind his daughter Simone (mom Jeralyn); his wife Sonya; stepchildren Zachary (Alex), Sophie, and Raney; his brother Jack; his dog Ella. Lots of heartbroken colleagues and friends.
This is a big loss, for his family, for his community. For me. I can’t even say I have big shoes to fill. His don’t fit. I’m going to have to find my own and walk my path.
My “practice the game face” bracelet, a gift to myself that I ordered because I am still not a tattoo person, arrived the day before he tagged himself on the moon. I’ve been wearing it since, even as I haven’t been within six feet of anyone I don’t live with.
I got four years of the best law practice and best law partner I could hope for, and five years of great friendship. Most people don’t even get that. I was lucky.
