Gotta hear this one song, it will change your life I swear

So, I suppose that what you are about to read is the type of blog that should be reserved for the end of one’s career.  Oh, dare to dream, with a pregnant wife, a mortgage and a future dental bill that will likely fund our orthodontists Malibu beach house I am in for the long haul.  Absent a coronary, I will be doing this for a long long time and well, I am ok with that.  Regardless, I am still going to reminisces a bit about my humble beginnings as a criminal law attorney.   

As I have mentioned in past blogs, my first gig out of law school was at a public defender’s office.  It changed my life in the short time I was there.  If my time at the PD’s office were a song it would be New Slang by the Shins (Editor’s note, that is a deep cut reference for me and unless you are one of my two brothers or Zack Braff you probably won’t get that one).  

What made the PD’s office so great were two things: 1) The People.  There are few better on the planet, the attorneys not the clients.  2) The work.  While I am a prosecutor at heart, there was no time to bow to formality.  You just had to jump right in and do the job.  If you did not know it, you had to learn it… quick.  My boss would refer to it as “Meatball Lawyering.”  Referring to MASH, he said we were on the front lines and we did the best we could to keep our client’s alive (figuratively not literally), just like the MASH unit depicted on the TV show, but with less people shooting at us… at least on a good day.  The big shots in the fancy suits could take the glory and the money, we did what we did to save people. 

With this attitude, I started my career in criminal law.  My first day was a Monday, I argued release conditions at 1:00 p.m. that day and was visiting client’s by Thursday.  

To truly get the flavor of this story you must understand where we worked.  Our office was an old house that had been remodeled, sort of, to serve as office space.  As the newest attorney in the office, I of course, was assigned the office in the kitchen.  Not surprisingly there were many times that people would come in, microwave their lunch and make coffee while I was trying to do my work, but that was just the price I had to pay as a newbie.  Another note, I don’t drink coffee and I just cannot stand the smell of it.  That coffee pot was hell for me.  Back to the story.   

So, my first Thursday, with three and a half days under my belt I was set to meet with my first client.  I knew I should not let on how new I was.  I was so new that just in case I should be asked how to get to the Courthouse I devised a plan as what I could say since I had literally no idea where it was.  I decided that the only way to get through this was to fake it and play like I was an old school big shot.  It didn’t work, I did not fool anyone.  

To this day I can’t imagine what this guy must have been thinking when he walks in to a kitchen to meet with his lawyer.  So, I am there with my desk, next to the refrigerator and I have a visitor’s chair set up for him.  Right as he sits down, he asks if we could just meet in my office.  I made some dumb joke about being overweight and eating a lot, so I asked to work in the kitchen to save me the travel time every day.  The joke did not land, which was a bit offensive if I must say.  I think at this point I saw this guy start to cry.  I know his inner monologue must have been “this idiot (me) is supposed to keep me out of jail, I am getting the chair for sure, I bet he does not even know where the courthouse is.”  Sensing that I was about to lose him and any hope of instilling confidence I explained that we just needed some privacy to talk and I would close the door. 

Funny thing about kitchens, some have doors, some do not.  When you are officing in a kitchen, might I recommend checking on the whole door situation in advance, and before you have a client sitting there.  I of course explain to my terrified client that I will close the door as we need privacy, then I get up from my desk to close it.  Some people may be able to look cool in that situation when they discover for the first time that there is no door.  I am not one of those people.  As I was taking the long walk back to my desk, next to the fridge and with a 44 ounce cup of random condiment packets someone had left on it, my client muttered: “You know I think I will just plead guilty.” 

The best I could stammer is yeah, that is probably a good idea.  At this moment a senior attorney walked in to refresh his coffee mug and asked both of us if we knew who was playing in Thursday night game. 

I eventually worked out a code with my coworkers for when I had a client in my office.  A little sign that said the kitchen was closed would keep them out… sometimes.  Eventually we moved buildings and I was given a real office.  Over the years I have been blessed to work with more wonderful organizations and more amazing people and the idea of working in a kitchen has ceased to be a concern for me.  That being said I am grateful for, and love where I started.  

While I now get my choice of office and even threaten to banish the newbies to a cubicle in the break room, I don’t think it was at all a bad starting place.  It got me motivated and gave me a sense of accomplishment.  I planned out my first trial victories from that little desk and even though I have years of work as a criminal law attorney to go, looking backwards, I would not change a thing…. Except the coffee pot, I still can’t stand the smell of coffee. 

I'm tellin' ya Ma, it was the perfect crime.

So way back in my early days as a prosecutor I had a kid who truly thought he was a genius, so he decided to rob a bank.  Let’s be honest, bank robbers always get away with it because banks don’t see it coming, right?  It is not like the have the best security on the market, or do they?

Anyway you may be asking, wait just one minute, you are a State prosecutor and robbing a bank if a Federal crime, why were you prosecuting it?  Well, this Einstein was so embarrassingly bad at robbing the bank and the Feds did not even want to waste their time with it.  This kids was literally too dumb to prosecute.  That is just a sad sad place to be in.  Anyway as the Feds did not want the bank robbery, so I took over the prosecution for aggravated assault against the tellers as well as armed robbery of the individuals who were there in the bank.

So if you are going to rob a bank, the first thing you need is a disguise.  One could use a mask, but that is so every day, why not mix it up a bit.  Our guy decided to duct tape his entire head. 

Neck to crown, this kid wrapped duct tape mummy stile all over his noggin. 

Step two, a weapon.  No one is going to hand over the cash if all you have is a water balloon and very few are going to buy the “I have a gun in my pocket” routine so let’s get the real deal.  Guns can be hard to come by and can be traced, a knife on the other hand.  We have a winner.

Finally we need a getaway plan.  Everyone runs from the bank, why don’t we go hide behind the bank?  They will never look there. 

So with a plan in place our mummified future Baby Face Nelson

went in to the bank.  Knife in hand, he demanded the money in the drawers (just like in the movies).  It was about this time, that it he determined that he needed a 4^th step in his planning, he had no bag to carry the money away in.  Not to fear he improvised, he shoved it in his pockets.

With loot in hand, er ahh pockets, he ran out of the bank, dropping his knife and some of the money along the way (insert coughing noise that sounds like "finger prints" here).  Our not so brave hero then went out back and over the next five minutes and in front of a security camera pulled the duct tape off of his head.  Trust me it was not pretty.  Leaving massive chunks of hair and skin (can we say DNA) and completely exposing his face to the camera the newly minted bank robber finally left the scene. 

As he made his way home, he learned that those stories about the exploding die packets are true as the money became currency that would only be accepted in Smurfville. 

He lost the ability to spend literally 80’s of dollars due to the dye explosion.  Yeah he only made it out with 87 bucks. 

With nothing to show for his efforts, as he made it to the solace of his home he found that the police were already there waiting for him.  Bleeding, missing large patches of hair and skin from the duct tape fiasco and blue from the waist down our young hero had nothing to show for his actions other than a booking photo and a striking resemblance to Yondu Udonta.    

Upon viewing the banks security tapes, one of the teller’s immediately recognized the robber has her son’s friend and police went to his home and were waiting for him before he made it back himself.  As if the ID and the blue pocket region were not enough, the DNA he left in the skin and hair on the duct tape behind the bank and the finger prints on the knife would be plenty to prove him guilty. 

While this crime was ill-conceived at best, the part that has made it stand out in my memory all these years was the recorded jail call between Yondu, Jr. and his mother.  He literally said to her “I have no idea how they got me? I had this thing planned out perfectly!  There is no way they should have caught me. I just can’t figure it out.” Chief Wiggum could have

solved this one before the first commercial break.  Besides being grateful for the admission that I could play in a subsequent trial, I just could not help but laugh.  This kid was too stupid to even know how bad at robbing a bank he really was.   

It’s all seeds, stems and res, man!

As you may have noticed in this blog, from time to time I report on some of the funnier cases I have seen in my career.  While not all of them are funny, some sure are.  This one, I had nothing to do with.  This is a news clipping that popped up on my Facebook time line from five years ago, but it was so good, I thought I would have to share.

If you would like to read the story directly form USA Today, here is the link: http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2014/04/07/woman-calls-cops-bad-pot/7448783/

If you want my summary, keep reading.  There is not much to it.  

Don’t you hate it when you buy illegal drugs and your dealer rips you off?  I mean seriously, if you

can’t trust your local drug dealer, who can you trust?  I remember when your dealer was more than just the dude who sold you pills and weed.  He was a friend.  Someone who you could share your problems with, a listening ear of sorts.  What happened to those times?  Gone are the days where you could have a bar tender on call and for Hamilton he would deliver your product, a friendly smile and some words of wisdom right to your door.  It’s like the drug world has gone corporate.  Now all they care about is the money.  It’s like my best interest are not even a concern to them.

Since I have never actually purchased illegal drugs, and definitely did not do it in the days of yore, I have no idea if my romanticized perception of your corner hustler is factually accurate, but if I have learned anything from movies, it is that drug dealers were loveable scamps with hearts of gold.  Your dealer was your friend… back in the day anyway.  Just watch

Fletch.  Fat Sam, Gumby?  Come on, they were people people.

Today, you just can’t trust them.  It is a cut throat business, and I only say that because they will literally cut your throat if you tick them off.  In fact, it has gotten so bad that you can’t trust them to actually deliver your dime bag… which is now forty dollars (is it a four dime bag now?).  

This happened to poor Evelyn Hamilton of Lufkin, Texas back in 2014.  She paid for some quality

product and got nothing by stems and seeds.  Then, to add insult to injury and to make matters even worse, when she called the police to report this great injustice, all the police did was arrest her for possession of drug paraphernalia.  There is just no justice for the everyday street addict anymore. 

So, the moral of the story? I guess bring a scale maybe?  Not sure we should be looking for moral lessons in this one.  Be leery of your dealer?  There we go, that is a good take away… I guess.  Not only may he be planning to shoot you, he may even short you on your product. 

Oh and one more minor note to end the story.  Even the cops thought she was ripped off.  By only charging her with the paraphernalia as opposed to possession of the marijuana, they must have agreed it was skunk weed at best. 

The Courtroom Crapper

Perhaps this is not a story I should share.  If you are squeamish, or take great offense to bathroom humor, stop reading now! (But please do take the time to comment below as I need comments for the class I am taking which requires this blog.)  If you continue to read, I will assure you I am not going to try and document this story with realistic photos. 

Early on in my career I learned that there are some people who will find a way to get their revenge on the system… no matter what, even if they just get themselves in the end. (How was that for a set up?  Just a hint, I made use of foreshowing.  My 10^th grade English teacher would be so proud.  I did it Mrs. Marshall!)

Now in fairness, I must confess this experience pre-dates my days as a prosecutor.  Right after I graduated from law school I was hired by the Twin Falls County Public Defender’s Office.  While I wanted to prosecute, my only job offers out of law school in criminal law were defending, so I took the job.

This was without a doubt one of the best decisions and most positive experiences of my entire life.  I was taught how to be a lawyer by veteran public defenders John Hansen, Casey Robinson and Marilyn Paul.  They are amazing people and truly gifted advocates.  What they taught me, set me up for my career.  While I did not continue with defense and I jumped to prosecution as soon as circumstances permitted, to this day I am proud of the work I did and will be eternally grateful for the people who taught me.

Back to the point.  In addition to the three senior attorneys I mentioned, there were three of us who were younger lawyers and would defend the misdemeanor cases.   Christa, who was younger, but more a seasoned attorney than I, was the one who showed me the ropes day to day.  She taught me so much and trained me and another newbie how to defend misdemeanor crimes.  Once we got up to speed and could handle things on our own, she jumped over to the juvenile court. 

One of Christa’s clients was a kid who did not want to be in jail.  Heck, no one does, that is not surprising.  What was surprising was the extremes this young man would go to in order to retaliate against those who jailed him.  As a means of revenge and protest, he would… well, stink up the place.  His best devised means of protest was to defecate in his jail jump suit.  He was a master of his craft.  The bowel control that he possessed was legendary.  He could always do his business, no matter time nor place.     

While initially this plot to protest sounds extremely childish and disgusting, it, well, after reflection… nope, still does.  WORST PROTEST EVER!

Anyway this kid was so bad that the juvenile detention facility determined that the only way to keep this kid in clean shorts was to put two guards on him and attempt to intimidate him in to well… using some restraint.

The juvenile transport van that shuttled the kids from the detention center to court was so smelly after this kid’s reign of terror that our office considered filing a motion to dismiss the cases pending against all the juveniles who had to ride in the van.  Our argument was that being forced to endure the six minute ride form the jail to the courthouse in that van was a clear violation of the eighth amendment’s protection against cruel and unusual punishment.    

After the guards were positioned and remained on contestant watch, the protest was quelled for a time.  What the guards did not realize however was that our courtroom crapper was simply biding his time.  He was waiting and plotting, while I don’t know this for sure I suspect he was loading up on the beans and hot sauce.  Planning for a time of his choosing to strike when it would have the most impact, and be the least expected.  The juvenile, and his entire digestive system was waiting to attack the Courtroom. 

While in court, and during a hotly contested release hearing between Christa and the prosecutor, the Judge ordered the attorneys to the bench.  While I was not present, this is how Christa explained it to me: After leaving counsel table, both attorneys went to the Judges bench.  The juvenile remained seated at council table.  After a couple of minutes of discussion between the Judge, prosecutor and defense attorney, the smell hit them.  As Christa explained, in unison all three caught whiff of the juveniles protest and turned to look at him at the same time.  What they saw was the juvenile laughing uncontrollably and in a self-congratulatory manner at the realization that his bomb detonation had been a success.       

The smell did not get out of that windowless courtroom for a week.  Halftime score: Juvenile 1, criminal justice system 0. 

A few weeks after the incident, the juvenile was again in court and sentenced to the juvenile department of corrections.  (While I will sum things up at the conclusion of the blog, I must editorialize, maybe don’t stink up the room that the guy who gets to decide the next three years of your life has to spend eight hours a day in.  Just saying, not a good strategy.)  AS I suspect you may be able to guess, the juvenile was ordered detained until he turned 18.  As often happens, the protest was unsuccessful and all the juvenile got for his efforts was diaper rash and a restitution bill for $62.50 to cover the cost of the jumpsuit he was wearing when the bomb went off.  He lost his liberty, his part time job and even the freedom to go to his junior prom.  That being said, considering the juveniles personal hygiene habits I not sure the courts really played a factor in that prom thing.      

The moral of the story… there is not one.  Don’t crap yourself!  Hopefully you did not need to read this blog to learn that.  If you did, I fear for your children.  Just remember, if you do, it will always get you in the end.  (See foreshadowing.  Don’t you feel bad about giving me that A- now Mrs. Marshall.)

I’m Taking the Day Off…

In my current position, I rarely, if ever get a day off.  OK, that is not completely true I frequently have days where I don’t have to come in to the office, however equally frequently I get calls about all sorts of stuff while I am on my personal time.  These calls typically come from officers and are anything from “What do you think we can charge,” to “any idea where we can store an oversized dead body.” OK that second one was totally made up.  Anyway I am always on call.  

I have to admit from time to time I get frustrated by this.  It sucks that the calls seems to always come when my Cougars are driving in the fourth quarter, or right as my kids comes up to the plate in Babe Ruth league.  It can however, be nice when the call comes in the middle of church and the speaker is dragging a bit.  More than once I have left my wife to juggle all the kids by herself as I slip out of the pew with a “sorry hon, its work.”  Anyway, a I mentioned I am always on call. 

Now you may be surprised that the point of the blog is not to make you feel sorry for me, in fact, it is quite to the contrary.  I have it made in the shade.  I get a call saying “what should we charge,” after the poor detective was called in at 2:00 a.m. and has been working for 45 of the last 48 hours.  I answer a five minute call, the officers give their lives to helping those in need. 

There have been many times that I have received a call on a Sunday afternoon and then met with the officer on Monday morning to talk about the case.  I spoke on the phone and then went back in to the church, the officer has not been at home or slept since we talked.  

From time to time I mention to my wife, I just can’t deal with these cases any more.  I lament that I have spent the entire day going over autopsy reports and looking at pics of dead bodies.  She is kind enough to remind me that at least I was not the one who had to be there taking the pictures, moving the bodies and notifying their loved ones… The officers were.  

So my point, it is pretty simple: I have it great! I am on call and I have to be interrupted in five minute increments on occasion.  The Detectives and Officers who keep us safe, they are interrupted in multiple day long increments.  They are always on call, always working, always doing what we don’t even want to talk about because it scares us… They do it for their communities, their families, their loved ones.  They do it for us, strangers who they may never meet.  We are safe because of them.  We sleep well because of them.  

So to the Detectives who brought me over an extremely sad case involving little kids yesterday and to those Detectives who were forced to listen to my whining about having to read about these atrocities, thank you.  Thank you for not reminding me that you did not just read about it but you lived it.  Thank you for being the ones who were there with the kids.  Thank you for being the ones who tired to dry their tears.  Thank you for being the ones trying to remain stoic as you were doing the best you could to provide their moms and their dads some relief.  Thank you for spending another weekend away from your own kids little league games, barbecues and sports on TV to make our community a better and a safer place.  Thank you for your sacrifice for us.

My most sincere thanks to all the men and women in blue.  If I can help you in some small way, please... call anytime.

I Feel the Need, the Need for Speed!

OK, back to the fun stuff my last post was a bit heavy.  This one is just plain fun, well unless you are the defendant.  Digging in to the deep recesses of my mind, I have come up with another one that I thought was fun and worth sharing.  Now I need to be honest, I am not doing any research and the facts may have become a bit foggy, or even slightly blurred over the decade plus since I have prosecuted this case but this is the honest truth as I remember it.  

I was prosecuting cases in juvenile crimes back in 2004 – 2005.  I had a great case where a juvenile stole a car.  The fun part was this was not just any car, he stole a police car.  Now I am not an officer,

nor have I ever been one.  That being said, some of my all-time closest friends have been police officers and as they have explained it, this is about the worst thing that can happen to an officer.  

To use the best analogy I can in an effort to explain what it is like for an officer to have his car stolen, pretend you are playing on Super Bowl Sunday.  You pick up a fumble and charge for the end zone.  Somewhere in the carnage of the game you get turn around and run it in thinking you have scored the winning touchdown, however, in reality, you have given the other team two points for a safety… on national TV.  That is what it is like for an officer.  It is something that they will never live down. 

What makes this case so funny is not the poor officer who is now the Jim Marshall of his department, but the 15 year old kid who stole the car.  Right after stealing the car he got nervous about his new foray in to the thug life so did the only rationale thing to do in this situation, he called 911 to report the theft. 

OK, the following is close, but this is in no way a perfect word for word transcript of the 911 call I had in my file.

Dispatch: 911, what is your emergency.

Juvenile Delinquent (JD): Ahh I would like to report a stolen car.

911: Do you know where the car is?  

JD: I do, it is on University and Country Club right now.  

911: Right now?

JD: Ahh yeah I am driving it. 

911: You are driving a stolen car?

JD: Uh huh.  

911: You need to pull over and give me your exact address so the police can come meet you.  

JD: I think they know where I am, they are chasing me.  

911: Sir, you need to pull over. 

JD: Will they arrest me?

911: I can’t answer that, but you need to pull over.

JD: Do you know how to turn on the sirens? 

911: Sirens?

JD: Yeah the sirens?

911: I am not what sure what you mean sir, you need to p… wait are you in a police car? 

JD:  Does that matter? 

911: Yes, it certainly does! You need to pull over imediat… (Interrupted by JD)

JD: Never mind, I got em. (The sound of sirens start.)

911: SIR, PULL OVER NOW!

JD: So, can you get them to agree not to arrest me if I pullover. 

911: No, you need to stop the car now!

JD: Nah, if they are going to arrest me, I am going to have some fun.  They are not going to catch me.  

Call ends.

Approximately 30 seconds later. 

911: 911 what is your emergency? 

JD: Ahh I need to report a wrecked car. 

OK, I am not doing it justice, but the kid kept driving and quickly wrecked the police cruiser.  He was then, of course, taken in to custody by the police.  

This juvenile was so nice to give me a play by play commentary of most of the pursuit, it made it oh so easy to prosecute him.  This case just goes to show it is always a good idea to give it a ten count before you make any decision.  If you see a police cruiser running with the keys in it.  Just take a second and decide whether or not it is really worth it.  It’s not!