Posted by: Ed Chernoff
May 22, 2007
Topic: Business is Good, Memorial Park is Bad

            On Sunday I got "The Question" again. My neighbor came over while I was putting up some outdoor lighting. She had a friend in tow, who had traveled from Los Angeles for a visit. We drank the few beers I had in my fridge and talked. Eventually the conversation turned to my job, and after several stories my neighbor's friend asked me "The Question". Usually I throw out one of my canned responses, but maybe I was tired, because all I said was, "Hey, it's what I do." She seemed genuinely perplexed.

            What can you say to explain a job that not one person out of a thousand understands? Almost nobody expects they will need a criminal defense attorney, so they are free to judge the ethics and morals of the lawyer who chooses to make that his specialty. Defense attorneys are expected to be flawed, crooked or worse. That's why they make such good characters in the movies.

            In my younger days when I was asked how I was able to represent someone I knew was guilty, I would answer with rancor, which usually ended the conversation. I have mellowed. Now, I explain to them that I don't see my clients in black and white. All of them come to me with problems and life circumstances in shades of gray, and it is my job to make their lives better. Still, that explanation doesn't satisfy everybody. What about the client who approaches the dark side of the spectrum? How about the murderer?

            Today my client, pale and shaken, his wrists and ankles shackled together asked me what the difference was between a life sentence for Murder and a life sentence for Capital Murder. He is 22 years old, barely five feet five inches and 130 pounds. While we talked, his eyes darted back and forth as if he were expecting a bullet at any moment. We sat in the jury box, while court was in session. He was surrounded by three Ft. Bend deputies. Downstairs, at the exit doors, more deputies kept guard.

            Lately he has been shuffled back and forth from the Fort Bend District Court to a jail cell in Liberty County. The sheriff's answer for why he was being housed in Liberty County, was safety. My client asked if there was any way he could be moved into the Ft. Bend Jail. I told him that I could file a motion, but that his housing situation was for his own protection. He looked down and said, "I don't feel protected."  For a split second, I thought about my cat.

            My cat Willie, has lately been paying his rent. I don't allow him inside, because I don't want the mess. Actually, I don't like cats, but I didn't pick Willie. He picked me. He showed up at my door one day, after his owner, my next door neighbor moved a block away. Apparently Willie didn't like that block. I called my old neighbor and advised him of the situation. He asked me to watch him for awhile until the family became settled and Willie could become acclimated. I assumed he meant a couple of days, so I agreed. I didn't have any cat food, so I started feeding him tuna. Willie never left.

            Perhaps out of gratitude for the tuna, he has been bringing me presents. The day I ran the marathon, he left me a dead baby bird, shell and all. It was waiting for me on the front porch when I came back from the race. Since then it has been a parade of dead squirrels, mice and birds. Almost always, the kill is only half eaten, as if Willie is paying me tribute.

            This last Saturday morning, the weather was perfect. A rare cool front had blown in. I sat on the back deck smoking a cigar and reading the newspaper, when I saw Willie walk through the back door I had inadvertently left open. In his mouth was a dove. I followed and watched him lay the dove down in the living room at the foot of my fireplace. I bent down to get a closer look. I was surprised to see the dove was alive. He didn't move a muscle below his neck, as if his body had been duct taped, but his eyes darted back and forth and his head turned spasmodically.

            I picked up the bird with one hand. Still his body didn't move. I guessed that Willie had crippled the bird during the hunt. I carried it out into the back yard, trying to decide what to do. I supposed that it would only be fair to throw it out into the back yard for Willie to enjoy. It was his hunt, after all.  Not wanting the bird to suffer, I decided to kill it first. I laid it down on the deck, with the intention of getting a hammer to finish the job. As I released it, I was shocked to see it fly away! I hadn't any experience with doves, so I hadn't considered that it might only be paralyzed with fear. Willie watched it go, and then looked up at me with what I perceived to be pity.

            It was that moment I thought of as I sat next to my client. In the background the Judge was admonishing someone for not coming to court without a lawyer, but the cameras, law enforcement and audience eyes were firmly fixed on my client, almost as if they expected him to run away at any moment. I said goodbye. I told him that I would come and see him the next week to discuss trial strategy. For the first time that afternoon, he looked me in the eyes. He delayed for a moment, searching for the right thing to say. Finally, he said simply, "Thank you for everything, Mr. Chernoff." As I walked out, I turned to see him again. He sat perfectly still, his eyes squinting at the lights in the courtroom, almost like a bird.  

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