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Yes. And it was the distilled, ultimate, example of how the American criminal justice system works in all of its glory and insanity.I was empaneled as a juror on a criminal case in which two men were accused of robbing money from another person. What starts it out as a remarkable case is that the victim never even reported the crime. In fact, the victim was a drunken homeless person on the street, and the muggers rolled him over and took $5 from his pocket. Their only problem was that they happened to do this right in front of a team of undercover police officers who were staking out a building across the street…and who promptly arrested them.When their day in court arrived, they were represented by a public defender, since they didn't have the money to pay for their own lawyer. When the prosecution put on its case, the victim was not even in court, because when they sent someone for him, he was still drunk and incoherent.The prosecution put on a serious case, including calling several of the cops as eyewitnesses. The public defender put on a serious case, including calling (and paying for) an expert witness to testify about sightlines and visibility. The jury took the case very seriously, and listened carefully to hours of testimony.As the counsel made their summations, I looked around me at the courtroom. There were twelve jurors and two alternates. Of the fourteen of us, twelve had college degrees and eight had graduate degrees. There were legal teams on both sides. The judge, clerk, bailiff, court officers. The court facilities. All told, that trial to that point must have cost the People of the State of New York $50,000. All to ensure that justice was served in a case involving two idiots rolling a drunk for $5.I was never so proud of my society.And while I was thinking that, the Gods decided to kick it to the next level.The summations finished, the judge charged the jury [that is, read us the relevant law and explained what we had to do]. With the charge completed, deliberations had officially begun. But it was 4:00 pm, the end of the court’s official work day. So therefore, to our astonishment, the judge informed us that because this was a criminal case, the law required the jury to be sequestered during deliberations!We were therefore taken, under the careful guard of court officers, to a basic motel, where we were fed dinner and given rooms for the night…and forbidden from communicating with anyone—including our fellow jurors! The officers made calls on our behalf to let our spouses or employers know where we were, but they had to make sure that no one could talk to us for fear of “contaminating” the jury! In my case, what put this firmly over the top was that it happened to be my daughter’s fifth birthday, so not only was I missing her party, but I was incommunicado. After being politely insistent with the officers, they finally compromised by having my wife put my child on the phone, after which I was [only] allowed to wish her a happy birthday.The next day, we were returned to court to begin our deliberations. When we entered the courtroom, we noted that one of the defendants wasn't there, but were instructed by the judge to disregard that. We were then taken to the jury room where we started deliberating. Again, I was blown away by how strongly our system works to ensure justice. The twelve jurors, all decent, rational people, of different colors, religions, classes and educational backgrounds, tried as hard as we could to review all the evidence, give the defendants the benefit of the doubt, follow the law as the judge had instructed us…and generally conduct ourselves with the full knowledge that people’s liberties were at stake.After an hour or so of discussion, we reached a decision, were brought back to court, and were individually polled, announcing our verdict that the defendants were guilty. We were thanked by the judge for our service and dismissed.Following the verdict, the prosecutor came over to speak with us, and told us that the reason the second defendant wasn't in court was because he had skipped out on bail. Which meant that the upstanding citizens were locked up, while the criminals were walking away!As I left the court, I marveled at what I had just experienced. On the one hand, I had witnessed the societal expenditure of probably $100,000 worth of time, effort, facilities, inconvenience and opportunity costs, as literally dozens of people—professionals and regular citizens—twisted themselves into pretzels to ensure that justice was carried out in a case of a $5, non-violent, theft, with a victim who was too drunk to realize he was robbed, and a perpetrator who skipped out on bail.But on the other hand, I had just witnessed exactly the kind of process that I would want carried out, with exactly the same dedication and protections, if I were ever to be on the other end of the system, an innocent person accused of a crime.To say that I was—and am—conflicted would be an understatement.

Replace the words “public defender” with defense attorney and you’ll get the most accurate answer: It depends on what you mean by winning.Look, I know what people are thinking when the look at the criminal justice system: it’s adversarial and there are just two interests at stake in any one case, one wins and the other loses.Unfortunately, law practice is rarely that black and white.All criminal defense attorneys, private or public, have the deck stacked against them:By the time we even see a case a professional investigative body has concluded that this person has committed a crime. The police have named the suspect and have provided the evidence.The district attorney’s office has looked over the reports and have come to the same conclusion.After that, the defense attorney gets to take a look at the case all nicely and neatly wrapped up for them. Defendant did X, then Y in violation of law Z.The only way to describe the feeling is by thinking about this:Imagine playing a game of poker with just you and the dealer. The dealer can see every other card they deal you and The dealer only plays if he has a good hand, otherwise the game never starts.Would you seriously think you are going to win many hands in that situation?That’s exactly what criminal defense is like. Only cases where the prosecutor thinks they can get a conviction go forward.With this in mind, winning takes on a new meaning.What if you could avoid some of the consequences of a conviction by agreeing to plea to a different, lesser charge?What if you could agree that as long as you were extra good for a year the charges would go away?What if you could agree to do community service instead of jail time?It’s like getting back some of the money you wagered in that hand and if you are looking at a dealer who has a straight flush and you’ve got a pair of 3’s, those options start looking really good.Some cases are faulty and can be won at trial. Most are fairly solid and don’t leave you with a lot of options.Criminal defense attorneys pride themselves on giving clients options.So back to the question, do criminal defense attorneys win many cases?If you consider winning any of the following:Preventing a defendant from receiving jail time.Preventing a defendant from receiving a felony conviction.Preventing a defendant from losing a driver’s license for multiple yearsPreventing a defendant from losing their second amendment rightsThen yes, we win quite frequently.If you consider winning having an acquittal after a trial, then you don’t understand how badly that deck is stacked against you. It is rare by design.Or maybe you are just a gambler.Good luck with that.

Earlier in my law practice, I knew an attorney who took on oddball cases, small stuff like apartment evictions, small claims disputes, dog bites, public defender matters, and divorces with no assets that the local bar eschewed. It was no way to make a living.Dave always looked just this side of scruffy when appearing in court, his tweedy suit jacket worn over his short and slightly pudgy frame not quite a fit, a shoelace untied, hair never quite in place. And he took more time than seemed reasonable in open court to pull paperwork out of his boxy attaché case as his clients waited nervously beside him.I’m not even sure he had an office. He could meet clients in the courthouse, the library, the diner. He didn’t seem to care about bricks and mortar or any outward show of stability or success.Dave was a Harvard law grad, very smart, accurate, prepared, articulate. He researched and pursued legal rights of his clients as his reason for being. It wasn’t you he so much cared for, it was your right to stay in your home, your right to a vigorous defense to keep your record clean even from a minor offense, your right to live peaceably, free from harassment by your vengeful neighbor or the local police.You were entitled to the full arsenal of legal ammunition available to a citizen, same as if you were privileged to hire the finest, prestigious law firm.I saw flashes of brilliance that seemed too intense for the local courtroom handling the everyday squabbles of citizens or turning up on the local police blotter.We conducted an amiable, respectful professional relationship. I enjoyed our random exchanges over the years, spiced with his satirical humor. There was something offbeat but noble and true about this guy and I tuned into it. We never had a case togetherThen, the dramatic news spread around the legal community that he had died, no reason given for sudden death in his mid-forties.I cleared my calendar to attend the funeral service in a small chapel. But I had two young children and something needed my attention before I could leave the house. And then, I encountered every red light along the way.I arrived at the church thirty minutes late. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but by then it was empty, doors still open but the service already concluded and everyone disbursed. If to a cemetery or a reception, there was no sign in sight or anyone to direct me.Typical of Dave, I thought…..no fuss, do your job, move on to the next case, come what may.Gone baby, really gone.Dave was single. He didn’t have a secretary to field calls or a paralegal to organize documents. I didn’t know about his family ties, if any. Rumors abounded as to why he led a slightly strange and solitary life.I had so wanted to pay my respects in some concrete way but missed the opportunity. I realized, as I stood alone on the church steps, that Dave was a maverick, so fearless, so unabashedly himself. And that, even being on the periphery of his life and whatever made him tick, I would truly miss him.I researched online for his obituary but found nothing. Other than local legend remembered only by retired colleagues, he did not seem to leave a trace.I write this appreciation decades later, for whatever it is worth.