There’s only one job I left in tears. Correction: I ugly cried. I didn’t cry because the job was easy or satisfying, in fact, it was very challenging and demanding. It also wasn’t because the office was close to home; in fact, my commute on public transportation took nearly two hours out of each workday. It also wasn’t because I was being paid so well, although in 1996, I was earning more money than my husband. I cried because thanks to the manager I was walking away from, I knew I was a different person than the 17-year-old that started the job five years prior.
Maria Kortan was in her early-forties and in law school when I began working for her in 1991. While she was short in stature, she carried herself with a confidence that I always admired. She was the most impeccably dressed woman I’ve worked for, and while I wouldn’t say that “to know her was to love her”, I would certainly say that if you knew her, you respected her. She didn’t have a warm-and-fuzzy personality but was a precise woman who cared about every detail of not just her appearance, but her work. She had high expectations, and those who worked with her knew it. She managed the firm’s toxic tort group and coordinated litigation among a long list of law firms, and of course, we didn’t have enough staff to support the volume of work. She was quick to push me towards growth in my role and didn’t give a second thought to my youth and lack of experience. Whenever I suggested that I couldn’t do something, she would question why I felt incapable; she saw potential in me that I wasn’t ready to recognize. She cared for me professionally and personally, and quite literally became my “work mom”. If there was a seminar she thought I’d benefit from, she signed me up before I’d have an opportunity to object, and while the college career she envisioned for me didn’t come to fruition, I never felt less valuable in her presence than any other person in the room. Years after we both left the firm, she continued to introduce me as her “colleague” to people I’d otherwise never have had the privilege to meet.
She and I remained friends for over 30 years, and we’d occasionally get together to catch up. My husband and I were among the invited guests when she married her husband and I watched her become a grandmother, the role she cherished more than anything. Visiting her home during the Christmas holidays was always a treat and left me in awe as her skillful decorating transformed her residence into a wonderland that rivaled images in magazines. If we made plans to get together and the weather was pleasant, she’d insist on driving me in her convertible, and while I loathed riding in an open vehicle, I endured it knowing how thoroughly she enjoyed it. Ultimately, I’d work for her in three different capacities, the last of which was as her assistant when she was principal counsel to a multi-billion-dollar corporation until its acquisition which led to her retirement and consequentially, my departure.
For all the years I’ve known her, she never missed a Christmas card, that is, until 2021. That year, I sent mine, and recall wondering if hers might have been lost in the mail. The last time we communicated was to make lunch plans, but she had to cancel due to a case of Covid in her family. I reached out to her but didn’t hear back. Then I received the email from her husband: “Hi Violet, sorry for taking so long in letting you know about Maria passing. It was very sudden….” I was crushed. This woman, who could be tough as nails but brought out the best in people, and pushed me past countless comfort zones and set the standard for what I hoped to see in future managers, was suddenly and unexpectedly gone. Because her home is just a few miles from my own, I can’t pass through the area without being flooded by a myriad of memories and emotions.
She was my best job reference and I found out she was gone less than a month before exiting a then 10+ year job, and while I was fortunate enough to have several others vouch for me, the experience taught me some very important lessons:
- Confident leaders recognize potential in their employees and encourage professional development and growth. They also communicate that well, not only to the employee, but to fellow decision makers. Maria did that well, and in fact, occasionally expressed her frustration with me for not setting higher career goals. She also didn’t hesitate to recommend me for roles and projects that were out of my comfort zone. While I’ve seen managers that were threatened by driven employees, Maria certainly wasn’t because during her tenure at the firm, she worked her way up from an admin role to becoming a licensed attorney.
- In a leadership role, be a manager first, and a friend second. While she cared for me, she was cautious about maintaining professional boundaries in the employment setting. In my experience, where managers failed to do this, it hurt not just the office atmosphere, but sometimes the company as well. I can still hear her admonishment when our department encountered some tension among staff, and I made the mistake of confiding in a colleague. “Be careful who you trust, Violet”, she told me behind closed doors. I knew exactly what she meant, and who it was that betrayed my trust without her having to say another word. Unfortunately, it’s a lesson I’ve had to relearn more than once.
- Having job references from those that know your work well is invaluable. Until Maria was gone, it never occurred to me to ask work references to write a recommendation letter preemptively. The best jobs, as I learned over my working years, can sour very quickly, often unexpectedly, and losing a good reference can be a formidable challenge to overcome.
Despite the challenges she faced, Maria certainly accomplished what she set out to do, and while I was aware of some of her shortcomings, I couldn’t help but admire her endless “passion for excellence”, as someone wrote on her memorial page. Today, May 22nd, is the anniversary of her passing, and I remember fondly this woman who was one of my biggest cheerleaders, to whom I owe my biggest debt of gratitude, especially because the second role she introduced me to allowed me to work from home for nearly 13 years while raising our three young sons, well before working from home became popular.
I still recall looking out her office window on the 23rd floor of Cleveland’s Terminal Tower, gazing at the spectacular sunshine peeking through the clouds over Lake Erie’s shoreline after a heavy rainstorm. “This is how I imagine Heaven opening up when it’ll be my time to go,” she whispered. So, cheers to you, my friend, on your Heavenly birthday! You haven’t been forgotten, and you’re certainly missed. [In memoriam, Maria A. Kortan-Sampson, 1948-2021]
Unexpected Journey 