“I only charge guilty people, Dave” I’d say, a little tongue
in cheek. While I simultaneously believe and
strive for that statement to be true, I'd mostly say it to needle him. “Exactly what I expect a soulless Persecutor
to say!” went the snarky reply. This
exchange happened in just about every conversation I had with Dave. We both knew the other sort of meant it, but
we both said it in good humor as a sort of “tip of the hat” to our
stereotypical roles and expected attitudes toward the criminal justice system
we both served.
Dave passed away on Monday.
I was a brand new assistant prosecutor when I met Dave. We were covering the Misdemeanor docket
together. It was the best/worst mashup
of reality TV you can imagine. Jerry
Springer meets Family Feud with a little bit of Judge Judy thrown in to remind
us that we were, after all, in a courtroom.
Dave had a wild mane of hair, which he clearly hadn’t seen since
morning, a beard that he beat in to submission at least twice per year, and carried
a briefcase that looked like it had been in great distress since the Hoover
administration. He had a gravelly smoker’s
voice that carried a wry, dry wit perfectly.
It often took me a minute to tell if he was giving me the usual ration
of crap, or if he really was ticked about something. Either way, we’d both be in our seats well
before the docket. He’d dutifully look
for his clients, ask me for my offer in the case, tell me it was outrageous,
talk to his client and move on to the next one.
Often he might swing back by and give me a tidbit of information to see
if that might move the offer. Sometimes
it did. The wheels of justice ground
away.
Though I’d had a taste of being on that side of the “v.”, I
learned a lot just by watching him work.
A satchel stuffed with files, jail visits, conversations with the
defendants, conversations with the families…on and on it goes. I also learned that I didn’t always have the
whole story. More than once we’d have a
case set for trial, and he would reveal that he had some “secret strategy” that
might just get his guy off. Though I don’t
think it really ever worked out that way (as I recall), he made me a better
attorney as I turned my case file upside down trying to figure out how he was
going to beat me. I also learned that
some complaints flowed from him as defense attorney mantras…”DISCOVERY!” was
the battle cry. I wondered sometimes if he thought saying it
three times would make me dismiss the case. Usually, I would just give him a snarky reply
about the secret discovery we kept in a blast proof bunker under the courthouse
for trial emergencies. He knew I was
kidding, but I suspect he wondered.
There isn’t one. Really.
We didn’t hang out after work. We didn’t win each other over in terms of
politics, viewpoints, case results or haircuts.
He did his job, and I did mine. That’s
what made the system work. It was Wile
E. Coyote and the Sheepdog. Clock in;
beat on each other; clock out. It wasn’t
personal. Usually.
Though some may have had different experiences with Dave,
these were mine. He was a dedicated
professional who truly believed in his role in the system. If I was going to successfully put someone in
jail, he was going to make sure, to the best of his ability, that the State had
done everything right. That is as it
should be. Criminal defendants in Kansas
City lost a strong voice on Monday…
…but Dave, since I get the last word, don't worry. I only charge guilty people. Guilty, guilty, guilty.
My prayers are with his family and colleagues.
