Guiding the Way

by Edwin K. Prather

It was early afternoon and the curtains in the office of District Judge Robert M. Takasugi were drawn, as they always were. A small lamp provided the only real light in the room, and I could see the judge sitting pensively at his desk. It was the fall of 1997, and I had been serving as the judge's law clerk in the Central District for a few months, and I had already made the walk down the long hallway to his office many times. Even so, I was still painfully aware of the steep learning curve I faced as a young lawyer in his chambers.

As I sat in front of Judge Takasugi, he solemnly began to describe a case involving a defendant who had been wrongly convicted. He said that the case was keeping him up at night, and he asked me to research a writ of coram nobis (a rare remedy that considers facts not on the record to correct fundamental errors of justice) as a possible means of restoring the defendant's rights. He suggested that I start with Korematsu v. United States (584 F. Supp. 1406 (N.D. Cal. 1984)), the historic decision from District Judge Marilyn Hall Patel that, 40 years later, vacated Fred Korematsu's 1944 conviction for defying a military order to report to a Japanese internment camp.

After a few days, I returned to Judge Takasugi's office with legal research in hand. But instead of asking me about the results, he started talking about the historical context of the Korematsu decision and its significance to Japanese Americans. This unexpected conversation wasn't easy for me at first. Although my mother was born in Japan and immigrated to the United States after World War II, she shared the reluctance of most Japanese Americans to talk about internment. As a result of this cultural silence, I knew little about this historical injustice, and I had trouble relating to the Japanese-American community's feeling of oppression.

My discussion with Judge Takasugi helped me understand Korematsu's importance to Japanese Americans and, for that matter, to people of color everywhere. I will never forget what happened at the end of our conversation: The judge, who had been reading notes on his desk during our discussion, peered over his reading glasses at me and cracked a wide smile. He thanked me for my work and said, "That's exactly what I wanted." At the time, I still thought he was referring to my research. He would later tell me it was the first time he had heard me speak with passion.

Our conversation that afternoon was the starting point of Judge Takasugi's year?long lesson for me on serving the public interest. He shared stories from when he was sent to an internment camp at age twelve and told how his commitment to the community grew out of his experiences there. During the rest of my clerkship, we discussed (actually, he taught me) important Asian-American legal history, cases, and milestones. We discussed immigration issues, cases of anti-Asian violence, and numerous other topics. With a newfound interest, I watched Judge Takasugi as someone who dispensed justice. His decisions were right not only from a legal perspective, they were also right morally.

As you may have guessed, Judge Takasugi had no case before him requiring coram nobis research. Years later, he admitted to me that he fabricated the assignment. He said something about having a "hunch" that I would be interested in social justice. His hunch was right. Instead of taking the big-firm job that awaited me after my clerkship, I volunteered as a staff attorney at the Asian Law Caucus, a nonprofit organization serving the Asian-American community in San Francisco. (Later, I moved on to the San Francisco Public Defender's office.)

For more than twelve years, Judge Takasugi was more than my mentor. He was one of my closest friends, and I never made an important decision without his input. He passed away on August 4, 2009, at age 78, and I miss him dearly.

Although there are many ways to mentor young lawyers, the best lessons given are those that help lead them down their own paths to meaningful careers. Judge Takasugi surely recognized this, and his wise guidance set me on my journey as a lawyer. The next time you have a chance to mentor someone just starting out in our profession, remember his example, and try to offer a map to guide them on their way.

Edwin K. Prather is a criminal defense partner at Clarence & Dyer in San Francisco and president of the Asian/Pacific Bar of California.

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