I have no experience with our state judicial system and district attorneys; OTOH, I have more experience with the federal judicial system than I care to recall.
I was a silly man who once believed that the U.S. judicial system was, first and foremost, concerned with the acquisition of truth and the administration of justice. I was once rabidly pro-American and took pride in our judicial system’s due process of law – the best in the world, said I. My motto: work hard, play hard, pay your taxes and keep your nose clean. That motto served me well (though not terribly exciting)…at least for the first 42 years of my life. Things have been a little topsy-turvy since then: Late-life first marriage, late-life kids, a dog…oh, and a little misunderstanding with my beloved American Judicial system.
Excitement? Try experiencing the pit bull death grip of an overzealous, but misguided federal prosecuting attorney (AUSA) and his band of merry FBI agents for 5 years. Experienced it I did, but it’s a show that I do not recommend – the cost of admission is greater than you can imagine.
Nutshell: I was accused of a federal white-collar crime that I did not commit. Not a case of non-guilt due to a technicality or fuzzy logic, but utterly and unambiguously guilt-free. Though the jargon, billing, coding and profiling practices of my profession may be somewhat illusive to the lay public, any truth-seeking prosecuting attorney worth his salt, with the help of competent expert witnesses, should have determined quickly that the charges against me were without merit. They dropped the ball. I offered to pick up the ball and give them the truth; they declined the offer. In actuality, and paradoxically, close inspection of the specifics of my case reveled that I was more than 100% innocent of the crime with which I was charged.
Being thrust into the gaping maw of our judicial system was an experience totally alien to me. Surely truth and justice would prevail, I thought. I thought wrong. I quickly learned that the system is rife with dirty tricks: threatening friends and colleagues until they “flip” on you (gratefully, most showed intestinal fortitude and did not succumb); trumping up charges until you beg for a plea bargained deal (I did not succumb); outright deceit…the list, unfortunately, goes on and on.
When FBI agents came calling for tea, biscuits and a little chat, I went against the advice of my attorneys and invited them to sit down in my office so that I could explained the errors of their ways. We would all have a big laugh, they would apologize for having inconvenienced me and we would all have another cup of tea. It didn’t quite work out that way. They cut me off at the pass every time I tried to explain errors in their reasoning. They were quite adept at adjusting their jackets so that their shoulder-holstered pistols gleamed in my eyes (funny thing: even if you realize that you are the recipient of psychological intimidation, it’s still effective). When I finally asked them to refrain from further questions until I secured council, they did not drop a beat before saying, “so, you’re hiding something, you’re obviously guilty”. To top it off, they even left cookie crumbs on my desk.
Alrighty, maybe the FBI is a little too hard-core. Perhaps I would have more luck speaking directly to the AUSA? Taking a proffer (meeting) with the prosecutor and “showing my hand” was completely against the advice of my charming, though exceedingly expensive team of attorneys. Smelling a “winnable case” they tried in earnest to convince me to keep my defense close to my chest, defend my honor, knock the feds down a couple of pegs…and take my case to the federal courthouse. No, I’d really rather take a proffer and explain things to the AUSA – he’s probably a regular Joe and he will understand the misunderstanding. I have video tapes, expert testimony from respectable consultants, a fib-free polygraph report from a nationally ranked polygraph expert, a neatly typed defense outline and a snazzy new tie to wear – I’m good to go. (wait). Too bad, although he offered proffers to nearly everyone else, he doesn’t want to talk to you. He said (I kid you not), “I don’t like him and the only time I want to see your client is in court. If he doesn’t accept my plea agreement, I’m going to nail him to the wall”. Dr. Phil would probably say that ol’ Dr. PoopiePants had a few self-esteem issues on the day he heard that. (BTW: his generous plea agreement included a felony charge, restitution in an amount that would gag Bill Gates and being bound to the house by an electronic dog collar for a long time. I wanted to ask if my daughters would be allowed to take me out for walks so long as I was properly leashed and a pooper-scooper was brought along. Of course, if I went to court and lost, Mr.AUSA assured me that he would ask for a somewhat worse punishment, something in between electrocution and lethal injection.
After doing a little research on my AUSA, I could see that I was dealing with a real character (by that I mean an aggressive, dirty-dealing, kill-your-mom-for-a-buck, glory hound – IOW, a lawyer
). His name appeared often and glowingly in numerous high-profile case articles. He did, however, manage to attract a little bad press for slinging the racial slur, “when are you going to stop wasting the court’s time with your schuckin’ and jivin’” to a black defendant. My future may be in this guys hands next – wee!
My case was as close to a slam-dunk as they get, said my attorneys. They told me that the government invested too much money in my case and the AUSA would never drop it without a pound of my flesh. Forget proffers and forget the plea bargain, you’re not guilty and it’s your duty to take this to court. Besides, we really want to give this smug piss-ant his comeuppance. Relax and enjoy the show we plan to put on. Are you guys chomping at the bit so much that you’re willing to put on your show pro bono, I ask? Well, no, we’ll need another 300k to put on a really good show (sorry, but we’ve already spent your first installment). Superb! Best-case scenario: I win my case and get to live in the poor house with my family. Of course there’s that nagging little possibility that I could get a hostile jury and actually lose my case. In that event, I wouldn’t have to worry about leaving my girls in the car while I paid for my gasoline because they would be about 40 and 42 years old by the time I got out of prison.
Long story short (I could drone on for hours): I managed to get my “self-authored, 32 page, single-space type written defense dissertation” into the prosecutors hot little hands…and I waited. I waited 2 more years. I waited a total of 5 years from the time my case was heard by the grand jury (yes, they really would indict a ham sandwich), until the statute of limitations was reached. (I smoked a Cohiba cigar and shared a bottle of Merlot with the wife on that day 2 years ago). Five years could have been saved if only I were allowed to explain things on day one. Did I receive so much as a “sorry, ol’ bloke, we made a mistake” from the feds? No, they just remained silent. To save face, they just let my case fizzle away with no indictment. They didn’t even put me on their Christmas card list.
Final Tally:
The Feds: Even-Steven: They prevented a “loss” in their “win-loss” register.
Defense Attorneys: Gained: My life savings.
Me: Lost: Life savings, my career, 10 years of post secondary school preparation, my naivety and nearly my sanity. Gained: a nice calendar from my attorneys.
My Family: Lost: Too much to mention.
American Tax Payer: Lost: Gobs of money thrown into investigating an easily disprovable case of wrong-doing; Lost: someone whose career involved helping people and saving tax-payer money by accepting compensation below fair market value.
Isolated experience? I learned that the same federal witch-hunt that ensnared me also netted a friend of mine from college (a bright and ethical fellow with a ready smile and a young family) who now lived in a distant state. I wanted to call him to commiserate and ask what was going through his mind during this ordeal. I was told that his ordeal was over – he discovered an alternate way out. Apparently, the last thing to go through his mind was 00-buckshot when he walked into the woods, sat down by a tree and sucked on the pay-end of his shotgun. Nice guy; sad choice.
Still pro-America? Ironically, yes, I am. I realize that the system probably works most of the time, but when it doesn’t, it really sucks eggs. I do love my country, but lady liberty doesn’t appear quite as tall to me anymore. Call me a silly man.
…but, I digress. Where were we? Ah yes, children. Keep them safe…and teach them well!