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Gilley kicked around the corporate world for three more years, but ever since he was a boy in Oklahoma, where he idolized his neighbor who was a state trooper, he longed to be in law enforcement. In 1993, he applied for police work in Richardson, Collin County and the Dallas County Sheriff's Department, but only the sheriff was hiring. Though Gilley wanted to be a deputy, new hires in the sheriff's department begin as detention service officers, and Gilley first had to do time in Lew Sterrett, booking prisoners into and out of the county jail. In 1994, he applied for entrance into the deputy sheriff's academy but was denied a slot after he scored poorly before an oral examination board. Because he found it suspicious that older officers received low scores on their orals, and Gilley had aced the more objective written exam, he filed an age discrimination grievance with the county. But lost.
Undaunted, Gilley, at age 60, applied to the academy again, but this time was accepted in 1996, though just barely. After 13 weeks of training, however, he was rejected because he had failed one of the six physical agility tests--the one-mile run--required to graduate from the academy. But that didn't make sense to him: He had always been able to compete physically with men half his age. He was 48 when he resigned from his Army Reserve unit, which had rigorous fitness standards. He suspected the sheriff's department had set him up to fail, employing fitness criteria that seemed nearly impossible to pass for someone his age. Certainly Sheriff Jim Bowles had the right to require that his officers meet a minimum standard of fitness for duty. But Gilley would contend that the sheriff had no right to discriminate in the way he administered those standards, which effectively promoted younger officers at the expense of older, most of whom were drummed out of the academy for being physically unfit.
"This [age discrimination] happened to me once in the private sector," Gilley says. "I just wasn't going to let it happen again."
"By compressing it in the way they did, they gave the younger group an extra 48 seconds to run the mile and took 45 seconds away from the older group," says Gilley's attorney Ken Molberg.
Gilley could have used those 45 seconds. He ran the mile in 10 minutes and 15 seconds. Although he comfortably exceeded the minimum score on the other fitness tests, he was immediately removed from the academy and ordered to return to the jail as a detention officer. "They said I couldn't become a deputy because I didn't run the mile fast enough," he says.
Even though the department claimed its physical assessment standards "had been validated and were absolute," Gilley says, "meaning they could legally discriminate against us since passing was a job requirement," he pressed his case with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission in December 1996. After a three-year investigation, the EEOC found the department guilty of age discrimination and encouraged the parties to mediate their dispute. But when the county's lawyers "made no concessions whatsoever," Gilley says, "they left me no choice but to sue."
It didn't hurt his lawsuit that in the six academy classes that had been put to the agility tests, all the deputy cadets older than 55 had failed or that 57 percent of those over 40 failed compared with 11 percent of those under 40. "There was a clear pattern of them tightening the standards on the older group and loosening the standards on the younger," Molberg says. "There is no doubt in my mind they knew what they were doing."
Although the sheriff's department refused to comment on this story, citing the pending litigation, in court papers the department denied it had discriminated against Gilley, either directly or through its testing procedure. Instead, the department claimed it had a reasonable basis for differentiating Gilley from those who had made deputy because agility tests are necessary for the normal operation of the sheriff's department.