Crime

Criminally Yours: The Happiness Quotient

Every job has its percentage of B.S. No job is completely enjoyable. The key is to find the job with the least percentage of B.S., or at least a quotient of B.S. that’s tolerable.

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I work often as a public defender. Even though I’m a solo practitioner and not a part of one of the large, public-defender offices, I get “conflict” cases assigned to me by the court and, as a result, represent some of the poorest, most pathetic people in New York.

I started last week trying to explain to one such person, who’s been in jail now for three years, in and out of sanity, that because his alleged crime was his “third” strike, he was looking at a sentence, after trial, of 16 years to life. His alleged crime was not different than the prior two he’d pleaded guilty to. Having no money and no where to live, he went into the same ATM lobby and, threatening to have a weapon, got people to give him their wallets. He was usually caught before making it across the street and, thankfully, no one was ever hurt. He generally didn’t have a weapon, just “what appeared to be,” and on one occasion was actually wrestled down by the woman he’d robbed.

This being his third crime for the same offense, same ATM and all, the best the prosecutor is offering him on a plea is 12 years to life. It’s the “life” part that gets to him. Already at age 53, “life” could mean just that. The Parole Board has all the discretion. He’d gratefully plea to any single-digit number and no “life” at the end, but that’s just not on the table.

When I spoke to him by phone last week to try and relay the sad but real truth about his plea offer, he became irate, confusing the messenger for the message.

“I’m not hearing that. Why are you still on this case, I fired you. I fired you twice! If you stay on the case, you’re dead. You’re a dead person.” When I told the judge of my concerns he said, “You’re still on the case Ms. Messina. I wouldn’t take him seriously.” Easy for him to say.

That was Monday, just days after I read the The New York Times article entitled, “Public Defender Beats Partner on Happiness Scale for Lawyers.”

Apparently having surveyed some 6,000-plus attorneys, the study concluded that public-service lawyers liked their jobs better and were, therefore, happier than their much-better paid corporate counterparts.

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Who else has to put up with stuff like this? I know every law business has its problem clients. Threats are made and tempers lost, but generally not by people who have already been to jail for making good on such threats. And if you notice, it’s generally the public defender the client hates — not the prosecutor. Remember “Cape Fear?” The psycho rapist went after his attorney when he got out, not the D.A.

As I sat in court the next day in a Part where the clerk is so slow it can literally take up to three hours just to get your case called, a colleague of mine walked out of the pew mumbling to herself, “I’ve had it. This is really it. I can’t take this anymore,” then left the courtroom. I don’t know if she ever came back.

The study the Times quoted was based on the so-called “three pillars of self-determination theory, a psychological model of human happiness.” Those pillars are: competence, autonomy, and connection to others.

I’d agree that most public defenders have those in spades. Once you’ve stuck with the job long enough and are not just treading water, you’ve tried enough cases to develop competence. The autonomy is natural, too. It’s every man for himself. While there’s generally fine training, and the realization that starting your first trial with a misdemeanor is better they diving headlong into a felony, you’re out there on your own pretty early in the game. Correcting some partner’s hand-written brief at 11:00 p.m. (as I’ve read another ATL columnist complain of), never enters the picture. When you put in those late hours, it’s your client’s liberty on the line, so the extra toil seems not only worthwhile, but compulsory.

Finally, the connection to others is unavoidable. Meeting people in serious trouble in sweaty back-room cells dappled with crusts of old baloney sandwiches is de rigueur for the job. The greater difficulty is connecting too much with others. If you lose their case at trial and become paralyzed by the loss, you’re useless to everyone. Compartmentalization is crucial for survival.

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I always knew I wanted to be a criminal defense attorney. It just looked more interesting than anything else. Quick paced, result oriented, high stakes, improvised, kind of like the work I did as a journalist. So before I switched professions, I asked a guy I met, a young lawyer, what being a lawyer was all about. I wanted to be sure I was making the right choice.

His words of wisdom were these: Every job has its percentage of B.S. No job is completely enjoyable. The key is to find the job with the least percentage of B.S., or at least a quotient of B.S. that’s tolerable.

And that, dear readers, is the happiness quotient.

Toni Messina has been practicing criminal defense law since 1990, although during law school she spent one summer as an intern in a large Boston law firm and realized quickly it wasn’t for her. Prior to attending law school, she worked as a journalist from Rome, Italy, reporting stories of international interest for CBS News and NPR. She keeps sane by balancing her law practice with a family of three children, playing in a BossaNova band and dancing flamenco. She can be reached at tonimessinalw@gmail.com or tonimessinalaw.com.

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