Real compassion

I had heard the stories about U.S. District Judge Manuel L. Real. A tyrant. Lawless. A dictator in a robe. As a journalist, I had written about misconduct allegations lodged against the judge, who had been on the bench longer than I had been alive. And here I was, a newly minted public defender, representing a young, mentally ill man who stood accused of hijacking an airplane, standing in front of this tyrannical, lawless, dictatorial judge. I was terrified. Terrified that my client would never again know freedom. Terrified that the judge would run roughshod over my client. Terrified that my nerves would cause me to vomit in open court.

Fortunately, none of these events came to pass. My client was sentenced to probation six months later, after receiving the mental health treatment he so desperately needed. Judge Real demonstrated a real and deep-seated compassion, telling my client at sentencing that he was proud of him and that he hoped he continued to get treatment moving forward. And I managed to not throw up on the floor of Judge Real's cavernous courtroom.

In the half-dozen cases that I litigated in front of Judge Real over the next five years, he consistently displayed the empathy and independence that I saw during our first meeting. Although I never knew Judge Real outside of court, it was clear that his sense of justice was innate: He was aware of the awesome power that the government possesses when it seeks to prosecute and incarcerate its citizens, and saw the judiciary as a necessary check on the excesses of the executive branch. He knew that incarceration had its limits, and that all of us, including those individuals accused of violating the law, are more than the worst thing we've ever done. Despite the tough-on-crime rhetoric that has pervaded our criminal justice system, and political attacks on the independence of the judiciary, Judge Real stood as a bulwark against calls to lock up those convicted of crimes and throw away the key. He knew that offering a second chance -- a shot at redemption -- was in the best interest of those convicted of crimes, to say nothing of society's interest in reintegrating criminal defendants. He was willing to take a chance on the least of us, and that willingness to see the humanity in those who appeared in front of him paid dividends, time and time again.

My last case in front of Judge Real involved a minor organized crime figure from Chicago who had been convicted of bankruptcy fraud in the late 1980s. While on federal probation, he was convicted of murder conspiracy in state court. He was a model inmate and was paroled after serving 25 years in prison. Yet he still had to contend with the probation violation petition which had been pending during the entirety of his prison term. After being released on bond, my client was summoned to Judge Real's court to answer the government's contention that he violated the terms of his probation so many years before. Prior to the hearing, I told my client that he would be either going to prison for five years, or that we be going out for a drink after the hearing to celebrate his freedom. I told him that I was hopeful that we'd go out for a drink, but I was nervous. I was hopeful that Judge Real would see the person that my client was -- a valued son, brother and father who had paid his debt. I hoped that Judge Real would give my client a second chance -- but I remained concerned that the judge might throw the book at him. Be prepared for anything and everything, I advised my client. It's going to be a wild ride.

My client and I stood at the lectern as Judge Real entered the courtroom. The courtroom stood at attention as his law clerk read a modified pledge of allegiance, affirming the flag as representative of the freedoms and protections enshrined in the constitution. If this pledge means anything, I thought to myself, it means that my client will go home to the people who have supported him for all of these years.

True to form, Judge Real asked the prosecutor if the government really needed this case to add to its conviction statistics. Before the prosecutor could respond, Judge Real dismissed the probation violation petition and walked off the bench. Stunned, my client and I looked at each other and embraced. He had received a second chance, courtesy of Judge Real. The next day, Judge Real terminated his probation.

Five years on, my client is gainfully employed and is a proud grandfather of two grandsons. He is determined to be present for those boys in a way that he was not able to be for his own daughter. He is making the most of the second chance that Judge Real gave him.

I reached out to my client last week after hearing of Judge Real's passing. In our conversations over the years, he never failed to mention Judge Real and the compassion that the judge demonstrated on that day -- a day which could well have resulted in his return to prison. My client was devastated to hear that the man who had shown him dignity and humanity in what is often a compassionless, assembly line system of justice was no more. As we had done years before, we raised a glass to Judge Real in gratitude for the second chances he afforded.

Dostoyevsky once said that a civilized society can be judged by the way that it treats those convicted of crimes. The compassion, care and respect Judge Real demonstrated to the least of us has made us a more civilized society, indeed. 