A Day in the Life of a Public Defender

8 a.m. "Brockton: City of Champions" reads a sign that greets visitors to this gritty city tucked in the northwestern corner of Plymouth County.

A former manufacturing center, Brockton's decades-long downward economic spiral has left it tattered, tough and, at times, dangerous.

But citizens retain their pride in the "City of Champions" mainly due to the prowess of its high school teams on the playing fields.

In truth, Brockton is now enjoying a modest revitalization, the centerpiece of which is a gleaming new courthouse on Main Street.

Public defender Karen L. Swenson frequents the new courthouse, as well as the 109-year-old edifice housing the Superior Court just around the corner.

Out of law school just over two years, Swenson manages her own case assignments, which makes up a lot for her low salary, she says.

On a glorious, sunny day in October, Swenson is the first to arrive at the public defender's office nestled between the courthouses.

She has a busy day ahead of her: a pre-trial conference in District Court first, followed by a hearing in Juvenile Court over her request for confidential records. In between she has to gather her thoughts in preparation for two trials scheduled the next day.

Despite the daunting schedule, Swenson maintains a calm, almost serene, demeanor.

9 a.m. Swenson's client appearing at the pretrial conference is a college student who was cavorting with a group of fellow college students at a Bridgewater tavern where the drinks were flowing and the dancing was easy.

Caught up in the moment, he apparently started to dance with a disabled female in a wheelchair on the dance floor.

Swenson says the woman had a pitcher of beer in a basket in front of the wheelchair and was apparently enjoying the dancing and drinking.

But then Swenson's client allegedly took it a little too far and essentially engaged in an uninvited "lap dance" involving physical contact.

Her client was eventually charged with "indecent assault and battery." The "indecent" tag means he will have to register with the Sex Offender Registry if convicted, she says.

The pre-trial conference in the criminal session is scheduled for 9 a.m., but Swenson arrives at 9:15 since it's rare that the list is called right on the dot. This allows the assistant district attorneys and defense lawyers to mingle about and talk about possible ways to resolve the various cases.

The courtroom is filled with attorneys milling about, flipping through files, conferring in hushed tones. The gallery is packed with defendants and family members, looking a bit confused and bewildered by the scene.

Not every client will show up for a pre-trial, but Swenson's client is here today.

"That's the start of a good day," she says brightly.

Swenson tracks down the ADA handling her client's case and confers with him at the prosecutor's table.

Shortly thereafter, First Justice David G. Nagle enters the courtroom and the call of the list begins.

The list is called alphabetically and Swenson's client's last name begins with an "S." It could be a long wait.

"I've sat in this session until 2 p.m. waiting to be heard," she mentions.

If parties can reach some sort of plea bargain and place a "green sheet" containing the terms of the settlement into a wooden box at the side of the bench, the chances of being reached sooner are greatly enhanced, she notes.

But there's no settlement in the offing, mainly because the ADA hasn't been able to reach the complaining witness (the wheelchair-confined dancer).

"It's helpful to know that they haven't been having contact with her," Swenson says. "Maybe it means she's not willing to go forward."

So the "green sheet" is put aside and a pre-trial conference report is instead given to the assistant clerk-magistrate.

10:30 a.m. Swenson's case is finally called.

The assistant district attorney, Thomas J. Flanagan Jr., summarizes the charges, then Swenson makes her pitch that the dancing was basically consented-to by the alleged victim and that the "lap dancing" part of the allegations is false.

Nagle mentions that the defendant "may have a lot of exposure here." He suggests that Swenson confer with her client about the possibility of him accepting a compromise where the case is continued without a finding ("CWOF" in the defense parlance).

Bottom line: if he complies with the terms of probation for a year, the charges would be dropped. But the sticking point is that he would still have to put his name in the Sex Offender Registry.

Swenson and her client mull it over in the hallway, and he decides he'd rather take his chances at trial.

"The reality is that we can always resolve this on the day of trial," Swenson says matter of factly.

They return to the courtroom and get a trial date of Dec. 4.

11:13 a.m. Swenson arrives back at her office to return phone calls and review the Juvenile Court case file.

She also has to nail down whether a drug case scheduled for trial the next day in Superior Court is going forward. If so, then the District Court trial will have to be rescheduled. (Understandably, in the pecking order of courts, Superior Court cases take precedence.)

Just before noon, Swenson decides to walk to the nearby Superior Court to track down the courtroom clerk.

On the way over, Swenson is joined by her colleague, Cecely A. Reardon.

Swenson finds assistant clerk Brendan P. Sullivan sitting in the courtroom, who informs her that the trial before Superior Court Judge Richard J. Chin is a go for the next day. Swenson will have to contact the District Court about having to reschedule the trial in that court.

Noted criminal defense attorney Robert L. Jubinville happens to be in the courtroom on another matter and has brought pastries to court, as is his custom whenever on trial. Swenson and Reardon sample the goodies. Chin pokes his head out of chambers to ask Sullivan a question.

Swenson then bumps into the assistant district attorney handling the trial.

While they confer, Reardon mentions that Swenson "is what ADAs call a 'true believer.' She's really committed to the work. She's a great trial lawyer."

Swenson, a 1998 graduate of Northeastern Law School, says being a public defender combines her competitive side (she had played field hockey and lacrosse in college), her compassionate side, and her desire to solve legal problems.

(Her job definitely affords her some challenges. Swenson's client in the Suerior Court case is Daniel Griffin, an individual later featured in a Boston Globe article on solitary confinement. According to the Globe, Griffin tried to hang himself after "two stir-crazy months" in solitary.

Griffin was hospitalized but survived, and Swenson defended him in his drug case.)

On the way back to her office, Swenson says her chances of winning the Superior Court drug case are "slim to nil" because it involves a "hand-to-hand" drug transaction where Griffin attempted to sell a $20 rock of crack cocaine to an undercover police officer.

There's no chance for settlement since the prosecution is not willing to reduce the charges, she says.

12:40 p.m. Swenson has lunch in the office "break" room with Reardon and another colleague, John M. Pavlos. They chat about cases and joke around a bit.

1:25 p.m. Swenson has been unable to reach her client in the District Court trial that has to be rescheduled. But she knows that she lives close by.

So Swenson strolls a few blocks to her client's apartment. She is luckily at home. Swenson lets her know that the trial has to be rescheduled and confirms the woman's telephone number.

As she leaves the high-rise apartment building, Swenson mentions that it's unusual for her to visit her clients.

"It can be dangerous," she says flatly. "I wouldn't go alone."

2 p.m. Swenson makes her way to the new courthouse, where the Juvenile Court is located.

The hearing is on a motion to obtain confidential records from a prior case in Juvenile Court involving her client. The current criminal case is in Superior Court and involves horrifying allegations of sexual abuse inflicted by a mother and father on their minor son.

Swenson represents the mother, who, at the time of Juvenile Court proceeding in 1996, was a drug addict. She was declared unfit as a mother and her parental rights were terminated, as was the father's.

The allegations of sexual abuse by their son didn't come to light until a few years after the Juvenile Court proceeding ended.

The attorney for the defendant father is seeking exculpatory evidence in the files of another attorney who represented the father in the Juvenile Court action.

Swenson is taking a different tack. Just before the hearing, she files a motion seeking investigatory records maintained by the Juvenile Court. She is requesting the court to lift an impoundment order shielding the court file from public view.

Suddenly the relative calm of the courthouse is shattered with the jarring sound of a fire alarm, forcing the lawyers, parties and courtroom personnel to troop out of the building to join a large group of other people who are patiently milling about.

Swenson takes advantage of the fire alarm by speaking with the assistant district attorney handling the rescheduled District Court trial. They work on coordinating the rescheduling of the matter.

After a few minutes, the Brockton Fire Department says it is okay to reenter the building.

The lawyers settle back into the courtroom, and Juvenile Court Judge Robert F. Murray enters to commence the hearing.

The various attorneys assembled -- including a lawyer representing the Department of Social Services and the lawyer representing the children -- have their say for about one-half hour, but Murray isn't prepared to rule, saying the request beyond the court's investigatory records seems overly broad.

But he might be willing to release certain documents if the requesting attorneys submit a more detailed affidavit spelling out the precise records wanted and why they could assist the mother's and father's defense.

3:10 p.m. The hearing ends, and the attorneys convene in the hallway to hash out further details on what the supplemental affidavits should contain.

Swenson heads back to her office a few minutes later. Her day is far from over.

She now has to refine her preparation for the Superior Court trial the next day.

Swenson has already compiled a trial notebook, but she still wants to fine-tune her opening statement, do more research in support of her evidentiary motions and make sure her jury instructions are ship-shape.

Before the day ends Swenson says she "will practice my opening and closing in the car, in front of the mirror, my husband ... whoever will listen."

But before she can dig into her last-minute trial preparation, Swenson returns a number of telephone calls. She also updates the case files from the day's activities.

4:30 p.m. Swenson starts the trial preparation. She decides to redo her opening. She also prepares summonses that she then turns over to the investigator in the office for service.

8 p.m. Swenson is finally satisfied with her trial notebook.

But she still has to go to the Plymouth County jail to visit with her client.

9 p.m. Swenson arrives at the jail and spends about 50 minutes with Griffin going over his testimony.

When the day first started, Swenson predicted a late night, and she got it.

It's not until about 10 p.m. that she heads home to eat dinner and watch the World Series game on that night.

What's left of it.