My First Felony One
The indictment says "Aggravated Robbery with a Deadly Weapon - F1." F1 is short for first degree felony. As I look at the charging instrument, it hits me. The moment of truth has arrived. I have been hired on my first first-degree felony.
As a baby lawyer, I have the good sense to appreciate the gravity of the situation. This is as serious as it gets, short of a capital charge carrying the possibility of a death sentence. With the return of this indictment, my client (who, unbelievably, is actually even younger than I am) now faces a charge that carries a term of imprisonment of 5-99 years in the penitentiary. Cases this serious normally go to lawyers with a lot more grey hair on their head (or no hair at all, as the case may be). I, on the other hand, have only found one grey hair so far, and its offending presence was quickly remedied.
The case is assigned to one of our more conservative judges (bad news), and has a deadly weapon allegation, which means that if convicted, you serve 1/2 any prison sentence day-for-day (even worse news). The prosecutor and I, to put it mildly, do not see eye-to-eye on how to resolve this case. Despite all of these things, and the intimidation I feel about finding myself in this situation at the ripe old age of 29, I find another emotion in the mix . . . would it be preverse to call it excitement?
This is what I wanted to do with my life. While many of my friends practice comfortably in high rise buildings, I wanted to be a trial lawyer. I wanted to be in the trenches, on my feet, battling for clients every day in court. I wanted to fight for the least of those in society, to understand how and why things happened, and to tell their story in such a way that a group of their fellow citizens could come to identify with (and acquit) them.
It's no small task, and I wonder everyday if I'm up to it. I tell myself that nothing great in this world was achieved without risk. I remind myself that a trial is nothing more than a democratic decision about the rightness (or wrongness) of a person's conduct. In the words of Wayne's World, "Game on!"
As a baby lawyer, I have the good sense to appreciate the gravity of the situation. This is as serious as it gets, short of a capital charge carrying the possibility of a death sentence. With the return of this indictment, my client (who, unbelievably, is actually even younger than I am) now faces a charge that carries a term of imprisonment of 5-99 years in the penitentiary. Cases this serious normally go to lawyers with a lot more grey hair on their head (or no hair at all, as the case may be). I, on the other hand, have only found one grey hair so far, and its offending presence was quickly remedied.
The case is assigned to one of our more conservative judges (bad news), and has a deadly weapon allegation, which means that if convicted, you serve 1/2 any prison sentence day-for-day (even worse news). The prosecutor and I, to put it mildly, do not see eye-to-eye on how to resolve this case. Despite all of these things, and the intimidation I feel about finding myself in this situation at the ripe old age of 29, I find another emotion in the mix . . . would it be preverse to call it excitement?
This is what I wanted to do with my life. While many of my friends practice comfortably in high rise buildings, I wanted to be a trial lawyer. I wanted to be in the trenches, on my feet, battling for clients every day in court. I wanted to fight for the least of those in society, to understand how and why things happened, and to tell their story in such a way that a group of their fellow citizens could come to identify with (and acquit) them.
It's no small task, and I wonder everyday if I'm up to it. I tell myself that nothing great in this world was achieved without risk. I remind myself that a trial is nothing more than a democratic decision about the rightness (or wrongness) of a person's conduct. In the words of Wayne's World, "Game on!"
Labels: The Practice
posted by Marjorie Bachman at
8:56 PM
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