This is the third guest post by Steve Epstein, about his book Extreme Punishment: The Chilling True Story of Acclaimed Law Professor Dan Markel’s Murder.
The following is an excerpt from Chapter 7, Till Death Do Us Part:
Dan’s Meat Market 2.0 turned into an eerily familiar, harried adventure through the elevators and corridors of the Marriott Wardman Park. Yet with a very different outcome. This time around, when he entered the different law schools’ hotel suites, the professors seated around him were bowled over by his energy, hunger, and intellectual bandwidth. He was engaging—almost charming—showing off his ability to connect as a human as much as his brilliance. With only modest adjustments in his approach, the aspiring professor had come across as passionate and ambitious—equally as impressive in person as on paper.
Which led to numerous invitations for on-campus, callback interviews. Topping that list was UC Berkeley—the nation’s tenth ranked law school according to U.S. News & World Report—a dream job Dan believed was a perfect match for his skill set and ambition. Further down on his list of callbacks was Florida State—number 67 in that year’s rankings—a school and faculty Dan considered mediocre at best. Not exactly where he hoped his teaching career would begin.
To Dan’s deep disappointment, UC Berkeley didn’t extend him an offer. As it turned out, his most attractive offer came from Florida State, whose faculty saw tremendous potential in the two-time Harvard grad. If Dan wanted to avoid another year’s wait and a Meat Market 3.0, a move to Tallahassee was his most logical step forward. He swallowed his pride, yet again, and accepted Florida State’s invitation for a site visit, so he and Wendi could explore Tally’s cultural scene, synagogues, schools, and check out housing options.
At the time, neither knew much about the Sunshine State’s capital city. What they learned during their visit gave them both pause. Tally was nothing like Boston, Phoenix, D.C., or Miami—places they’d lived as adults. Unlike each of those bustling cities and cultural meccas, Tally was quite small, with a miniscule Jewish population—just over 4,000 Jews among its 150,000 residents. Its cultural scene and public school system were marginal at best. Worse still, the Florida State campus was surrounded by dilapidated, crime-ridden neighborhoods that were most unsafe after dark.
And though it was geographically situated in Florida, Tally had far more in common with Georgia and Alabama—both a short drive away—than with South Florida. Locals they met spoke with a distinct southern drawl, and ever so slowly. For Wendi, the continuity of remaining in her home state held precious little appeal knowing she’d be seven hours from her family in an unfamiliar place where she didn’t know a soul. She wasn’t at all convinced Florida State was a good fit for Dan—or Tally a place she had any interest in living.
Yet Dan felt certain he’d succeed in climbing the academic ladder in short order, with Florida State likely a launching pad for the rest of his career, one he hoped would lead him all the way back to Harvard Yard. Or at the very least, a city more like New York or D.C. He convinced Wendi that—if in fact they were embarking on a life together—Tally would merely be a brief stepping stone in their path. Thus, for the sake of his career, Wendi reluctantly agreed to move to a place she knew from the outset she’d want to escape as quickly as humanly possible.
This excerpt foreshadows so much about what would happen in the ensuing years: Dan and Wendi’s separation and divorce, their battle over Wendi and her family’s attempt to relocate their children to South Florida and, ultimately, his murder. Neither could have predicted when they migrated from Washington, D.C. to Tallahassee in August 2005 that Dan would still be teaching at Florida State as late as July 2014. That had never been either’s plan. And though Wendi had improved her station considerably during those nine years—eventually heading up a new clinic at the law school, garnering a $100,000/year salary—the passage of time had not made Tally significantly more appealing to her than at the time of their site visit.
This passage likely resonates with many who have chosen legal education as a career. Very few law professors have the luxury of choosing where they will live, some landing in locales they (and their spouses) find quite inhospitable. Though many believe a climb up the academic ladder is likely, as EXTREME PUNISHMENT illustrates, that doesn’t always turn out to be the case. Add young children to the equation, and the conundrum expands exponentially. Though the Dan Markel/Wendi Adelson story had an outcome far more extreme than should have occurred, the arc of their lives—sans the murder—is sadly all too familiar for many who stand at the front of law school classrooms all across America.
"This passage likely resonates with many who have chosen legal education as a career. Very few law professors have the luxury of choosing where they will live, some landing in locales they (and their spouses) find quite inhospitable."
I don't think anyone outside our profession understands this, and how impactful it can be on relationships, family, and life in general. It can be devastating to be isolated from people and places meaningful to a person. I just wish more people understood that this is a real sacrifice.
Posted by: Anon | October 28, 2022 at 12:28 PM