Criminals' families really do suffer, too

On the site tonight, there is discussion about Scooter Libby deserves what he gets, and that he's the one responsible for the trauma to his family. That's true as far as it goes, but I think it's worthwhile to take a look at exactly what this sort of thing does to the families, both immediate and extended.

This is the first time I've written about this - ever. I've not discussed it at any length with anyone, either. Damfino why I'm willing to do so at this time.

When I started practicing law in 1978, I shared an office with other lawyers, one of whom was my oldest brother. In 1984, I had a fucking banner year. I settled some big cases, I did a couple of murders, I had a new office, I was getting into decent physical shape, I was a line officer in a very busy volunteer EMS company which I enjoyed the hell out of and generally I had the world by the ass. On 13 November 1984, I walked into my brother's office for some now-forgotten reason, and noticed that he was seriously down. As it turns out, he had just talked to the FBI about some information that was bothering him, the upshot of which was that he was involved in what the feds said was a consigliari role in a sizeable cocaine conspiracy. This included at least one trip to Peru (when he said he was going out west somewhere on business), storing bricks of coke at home, breaking into a police lock-up to retrieve items from a dealer's car and general advice to the main conspirators.

This started a family nightmare that lasted, well, until now, at least. In the short term (the first five years), the effects were stunning. His wife was devastated. She had been a stay-at-home mom, which was their choice, and she was a great mom. When he went to prison about 6 months later, she was dependent on family for the sustenance of her three children for a couple of years. She returned to school to get an education degree, and after a couple of years found a job as a first-year teacher. He had three girls, ages 12, 8 and 3. The two older girls understood the loss and the shame. They each were cruelly treated by their peers. Children are just cruel at times. My oldest neice still remembers how her very few close friends (including my current partner) gathered around her and protected her as best they could. The littlest one couldn't understand why Daddy had to leave for "work" for a few years. Watching these children over the next few Christmases was absolutely heartbreaking. (And making those Christmases happen was almost unbearable.) Our parents were devastated, too. Because of issues that I won't discuss, it was left to me to tell them about the whole situation. I carefully picked a day (29 December 1984) which had no significance as an anniversary or anything like that. Immediately upon learning of this, my mother collapsed in grief, and my father reached for the nitroglycerine bottle for the first time in years. When my parents heard about the event (and, just a bit later, when my wife heard about it), they all assumed that since I was in the same office, I might be involved in the conspiracy, too. (I do not resent that the FBI and a federal grand jury investigated me, too. I understand why they had to do that. But even someone lily-white-innocent finds that process uncomfortable in the extreme.) I stood beside my brother as a federal district judge sentenced him to five years in prison. (I was co-counsel, even I'm not stupid enough to have first-chaired that case.) I drove him to the penitentiary. About half of my clients vanished. Oh, fuck it, it was a horrible time, and there is fallout until today.

So, I was a little misleading when I commented on the community blog about Spitz Channel's family. The reason that I talked so much with HIS brother was that I was still in the same place.

Trust me when I say that Scooter Libby's family doesn't deserve the pile of stinking pus that is about to be dumped on them.

R