Jeremy Barnicle

The first time I met Julie Mancini, I was interviewing her to be head of the Mercy Corps Action Center. I wasn’t the hiring manager, but they were down to two candidates for the job and wanted my two cents on who would be better. The first candidate was a well-assembled, bright-eyed 30-something woman with a stellar professional pedigree.

Then came Julie and I was totally sold – on the other candidate. I’d never met or heard of Julie, and my interview with her was like a 45-minute acid trip. She was positive and funny, but when she walked out, I was literally dazed and confused. What the hell just happened?

I communicated my preference and figured we were done, but then I heard the hiring team had decided on Julie. According to the longtime Portland folks in leadership at Mercy Corps at the time, this person was a legend, a creative genius who was connected and beloved here. That would be especially important for Mercy Corps as we were moving to our new Old Town HQ, building out the Action Center, and doubling down on our hometown pride.

And so my relationship with Julie Fucking Mancini began.

Of course, Julie did not distinguish between being a friend and being a colleague. As soon as our kids were born, she became a fairy godmother. Easter baskets the size of parade floats. Outings for candy, ice cream, and pizza. Their first and only Patagonia gear – seriously, who spends that kind of money on a toddler fleece? She and Dennis “flocked” our house with lawn flamingos twice before that became a thing - once for their birthday and again just because we laughed so hard the first time.

With her own kids, it was amazing to me how Julie could be so expressively proud of Alec and Peter without sounding braggy. When it came to her daughters-in-law, she dropped the no-brag pretense. If Julie got started on Rose and Julia, you were wise to get comfortable and prepare to be blown away.

Within a couple years, I was Julie’s boss. If you’ve read this far, you obviously loved Julie and knew her well, and thus understand what an absurd notion this was. I’d make common boss-requests like “please bring your proposed budget and plan to our meeting so we can discuss it” and she’d show up with no budget and no plan, but with Diet Coke, crappo party favors, and maybe a signed Joan Didion to offer.

This one time, a bunch of my team had a meeting and afterwards different people came up to me with this point or that point they wanted to make individually. Julie was waiting around and when everyone else is gone she looks me in the eye, says “Never wear that fucking shirt again,” and walks out. She was Larry David in Eileen Fisher… or whoever made her damn uniform.

The incredible and befuddling thing about Julie as a colleague was that although she operated outside the organizational norms and mechanics I was used to, she got AWESOME things done. She made magic, in ways no HBR article or management training was ever going to teach. Of course, none of that magic would have worked without Julie’s unflappable alter-ego and partner Megan McMorran, who had the clipboard and the plan and deserves massive kudos for making the Action Center happen.

In a lot of the Julie tributes, people say things about how Julie believed in them and made them feel great about themselves. I feel the same way.

Did she think I was great in any objective sense? Fuck no.

But that was beside the point. She cheered for us not because we were all as brilliant as she said we were, but because she knew life is hard and that it’s connection, affirmation, fun, and love that make it worth it.

Julie: Thanks for showing up. Thanks for raising your paddle. Thanks for seeing me. Thanks for giving us everything you had. Rest in peace.