Speaking of Bob Packwood…
The writers of this blog were contacted by our former boss, AKA, "The Animal," in November, 1992...
After both of us resigned from our positions as Assistants to The Animal in early 1992, we tried, as difficult as it was, to move forward and put the sexual and emotional abuse behind us. It wasn’t easy, but new jobs in new companies eased the pain.
I stayed in Hollywood, and went to work for a great company with great people, as a Director of Marketing. My partner on this blog, left for Europe where she got a job in the International Division of a movie studio. Still good friends, we communicated via email almost every day.
The receptionist at my new job rang my buzzer one early afternoon and announced that, The Animal, CEO from the Movie Studio, was on the phone for me. The call was a surprise. It was unexpected. Although the headlines in the paper that morning gave me a hint as to the reason I was on his mind.
Even after you leave a traumatic situation, the feelings always seem to pour into you like waters flowing in at high tide, the instant any connection to the trauma hits you. What could hit you like a brick on the head more than the actual perpetrator calling for you, when you’ve been able to escape from his power and control, in your new safe environment?
Thus, when the receptionist announced his call, I promptly replied, “take a message.”
Now, at that time, in his career, not many people turned down The Animal’s calls. I knew, on the other end of the line, his poor “new” assistant, would have to bare the brunt of his rage, when learning that I would not be available to him when he phoned. “What do you mean, she’s not available? Was she there? Is she in a meeting? GET HER ON THE PHONE!” I could hear the screaming in my head, as I knew the routine perfectly. I felt badly for the new “girl” but was overjoyed that it wasn’t me making the calls for him. I’d escaped.
I could just see him in his office, with the new girl at his side, waiting to write down his every word as he’d pace back and forth and yell and scream and demand that I remain on his phone sheet until she was able to reach me for him. He was like a tiger after its prey and for the moment, I was something he needed to pounce on and obliterate.
I had seen the headlines that day. I knew that Senator Bob Packwood was being accused by staff member after staff member of sexual harassment as well as lobbyists. It was all over the press. It was on every news station. After Anita Hill/Clarence Thomas, this was the biggest story to break about sexual harassment concerning someone in a very powerful position in the U.S. Government, who was being accused of reprehensible behavior against the women he worked with.
I figured, The Animal must be calling me because he’d seen the headlines, and was worried sick that, since I was within the statutory period in which I could file a claim against him, his lewd and unlawful acts may be made public. Perhaps, if I too would read the newspapers or see the news, and was smart like him, maybe I would seize the opportunity to come forward and expose his disgusting and harassing behavior that he’d participated in for the two years that I worked for him.
Then I thought, no, that’s so obvious. No one would be that transparent. If he was really calling about that, he’d at least wait a week or two. Clearly calling the day the Packwood situation made the headlines was much too pathetic. Especially for such a clever smart studio head, like The Animal.
I sent an email to my partner, in England. I told her he’d called. What do you know? He’d e-mailed her on the same day. He told her he was just checking in, that he missed her, etc.
I was flabbergasted. Yes, he was checking in on his victims… Making sure we were in no way plotting our revenge, planning a law suit, seeking restitution and justice for his unlawful behavior.
So, I waited a day, and called him back.
After very brief hellos and how are yous were exchanged, I asked him, so, “why is it that you are calling?”
His answer in his thick Mickey Donovan accent, “You know honey, sweetie, you are missed here. You need to come and visit us here at the studio and give me a big hug. You know, that wouldn’t be sexual harassment don’t you?”
I was disgusted by his attempt to feel me out, and make such an overt attempt at discovery. He really did think I was a complete fool.
Problem was, that then, with my whole career in front of me, and my applications to law school waiting to be completed on my desk, applications that required letters of references from previous employers like The Animal, I felt stuck, trapped and helpless. How could I, how could we come forward and expose him? This was a time before reality TV and social media made it acceptable to air each and every shameful and embarassing life event. This was a time when "You'll Never Eat Lunch In This Town Again" was perceived as a career ending publication for it's author, Julia Phillips. Clearly, our perception at the time was that if we did expose The Animal, we would not only not eat lunch in town again, but that we would be unemployable for many years to come.
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