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Authors: Judge Sam Amirante
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five years. That’s what you do when you work for the Office of the Public Defender of the County of Cook, State of Illinois. You live in courtrooms. You live there, you eat there, and often enough, you sleep there.
Doesn’t that title sound impressive, the Office of the Public Defender? Then you have the really impressive part, the County of Cook, State of Illinois part. Sounds pretty important, huh? What the office is, in reality, is a conglomeration of disparate, harried individuals, most of them very new to the profession, scurrying here and running there like chickens with their heads cut off, overworkedand underpaid, many of whom are asking themselves daily, “Whose friggin’ idea was this?” Men and women of all stripes that had finally come to the conclusion that perhaps they should have listened to that parent, that mom or that dad, who told them time and time again to become a doctor or a stockbroker, maybe a banker, anything but a lawyer. Son (or princess), they would say, the jokes they tell about lawyers are true. Don’t you know that? People don’t make those things up. They are true stories. Sharks? Professional courtesy? You have heard the shark jokes, right? That is exactly what lawyers are—they are sharks. Is that what you want? To be a shark? But of course, we didn’t listen. No one seems to listen to their parents at that age.
And me, I was their boss. Sam L. Amirante, supervisor, Third District Office, the boss of the entire disparate and harried troop. I had already done my years of harried scurrying, and I had been promoted. So I was their boss, at least I was until the day that I submitted my resignation.
I had, in fact, submitted that resignation only a few days before I received the fateful call from Mr. Gacy. I had finally decided it was time to strike out on my own, to hang up the proverbial shingle, to become a private criminal defense attorney. I had done my internship. I had worked in the mill that was the PD’s office. I had been trying cases for five years—lots of misdemeanors, lots of felonies, a couple of murders—and it was time.
So I leased an office in a building in Park Ridge with several other lawyers, friends of mine. I moved in a few sticks of secondhand office furniture that I picked up, including my first desk, which, if you have ever had a first desk, then you know … is a great feeling. I tacked up my diploma, license, and other lawyerly documents and mementos on my freshly painted wall. I put my wife and kid’s pictures on the credenza, and presto, I was a criminal defense attorney for hire.
When John Gacy called me, I was in jeans and a sweatshirt. I didn’t have any clients to see because I didn’t have any clients.So why get dressed up? I was so new at being a private criminal defense attorney I still had a check or two coming from the PD’s office for vacation that I had never taken. Therefore, when I say that Mr. John Wayne Gacy was my first real client, that would be true.
Mr. Gacy called the right guy, though. I say that without blushing because I was absolutely dedicated to my job, passionate, immersed. In spite of the fact that my dad was one of those parents that wanted me to be a doctor, and that some people look down their noses at lawyers, until they need one, that is. Then everybody loves their lawyer. In spite of the fact that being a lawyer is a 24-7 job that sometimes precludes what most people would call a normal life. I loved being a lawyer, still do. It suits me.
I’m not sure why Gacy called me. There was a lot of wild speculation by others about that. Did I chase the case? Did I steal it from the PD’s office? Who was this young upstart, and why was he representing this guy? Why was he in front of all those cameras?
Well, during my time at the public defender’s office, I had met a lot of people. By coincidence, the Des Plaines police headquarters was in the same building as the Third District Office of the Public Defender, and
Doesn’t that title sound impressive, the Office of the Public Defender? Then you have the really impressive part, the County of Cook, State of Illinois part. Sounds pretty important, huh? What the office is, in reality, is a conglomeration of disparate, harried individuals, most of them very new to the profession, scurrying here and running there like chickens with their heads cut off, overworkedand underpaid, many of whom are asking themselves daily, “Whose friggin’ idea was this?” Men and women of all stripes that had finally come to the conclusion that perhaps they should have listened to that parent, that mom or that dad, who told them time and time again to become a doctor or a stockbroker, maybe a banker, anything but a lawyer. Son (or princess), they would say, the jokes they tell about lawyers are true. Don’t you know that? People don’t make those things up. They are true stories. Sharks? Professional courtesy? You have heard the shark jokes, right? That is exactly what lawyers are—they are sharks. Is that what you want? To be a shark? But of course, we didn’t listen. No one seems to listen to their parents at that age.
And me, I was their boss. Sam L. Amirante, supervisor, Third District Office, the boss of the entire disparate and harried troop. I had already done my years of harried scurrying, and I had been promoted. So I was their boss, at least I was until the day that I submitted my resignation.
I had, in fact, submitted that resignation only a few days before I received the fateful call from Mr. Gacy. I had finally decided it was time to strike out on my own, to hang up the proverbial shingle, to become a private criminal defense attorney. I had done my internship. I had worked in the mill that was the PD’s office. I had been trying cases for five years—lots of misdemeanors, lots of felonies, a couple of murders—and it was time.
So I leased an office in a building in Park Ridge with several other lawyers, friends of mine. I moved in a few sticks of secondhand office furniture that I picked up, including my first desk, which, if you have ever had a first desk, then you know … is a great feeling. I tacked up my diploma, license, and other lawyerly documents and mementos on my freshly painted wall. I put my wife and kid’s pictures on the credenza, and presto, I was a criminal defense attorney for hire.
When John Gacy called me, I was in jeans and a sweatshirt. I didn’t have any clients to see because I didn’t have any clients.So why get dressed up? I was so new at being a private criminal defense attorney I still had a check or two coming from the PD’s office for vacation that I had never taken. Therefore, when I say that Mr. John Wayne Gacy was my first real client, that would be true.
Mr. Gacy called the right guy, though. I say that without blushing because I was absolutely dedicated to my job, passionate, immersed. In spite of the fact that my dad was one of those parents that wanted me to be a doctor, and that some people look down their noses at lawyers, until they need one, that is. Then everybody loves their lawyer. In spite of the fact that being a lawyer is a 24-7 job that sometimes precludes what most people would call a normal life. I loved being a lawyer, still do. It suits me.
I’m not sure why Gacy called me. There was a lot of wild speculation by others about that. Did I chase the case? Did I steal it from the PD’s office? Who was this young upstart, and why was he representing this guy? Why was he in front of all those cameras?
Well, during my time at the public defender’s office, I had met a lot of people. By coincidence, the Des Plaines police headquarters was in the same building as the Third District Office of the Public Defender, and
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