My first trial as an intern Assistant Public
Defender, still in law school, was representing a guy charged with stealing a
stereo system from a local store.  He was
seen walking out with it, the cops were called, and he didn’t get very
far.  He went by the street name of
Fudge. 

At the time of his arrest, his hair was plaited
close to his head.  At trial, he wore an
Afro; he looked like he’d stuck his finger in an electrical outlet.   His change of coif gave me an obvious
defense strategy:  misidentification.  It didn’t work, of course.  Although the store clerk had been flummoxed
by the hair issue when cross-examined, the arresting officer certainly wasn’t. 

Upon conviction, the judge remanded him to jail and
the bailiff cuffed him and took him out. The jail was across the street from
the courthouse.   It seems that as they
left the building toward the jail, the defendant prevailed upon the bailiff to
let him go into his wallet to get an important paper to give to his girlfriend,
who was tagging along, crying for poor Fudge.  The trusting bailiff removed Fudge’s cuffs so that he could get into his
wallet.  Fudge immediately took off
running.   It was feet, do your thing.

As I was exiting the courtroom with others,
including a newspaper reporter, I could see through the double glass entrance
doors to the courthouse a few yards in front of me.  All of a sudden, we all saw Fudge go flying
past outside, with the stunned bailiff following about ten yards behind.  The girlfriend was running with them,
screaming “Fudge, Fudge, come back!”

Some other law enforcement folks had joined the
chase and, at a point a couple of blocks from the courthouse, Fudge went left
and the girlfriend went right, drawing off some of the pursuers.  That’s when it became apparent that she was
in on it.  (I would subsequently
represent her for that.)

The bailiff, who was in pretty good physical
condition, caught Fudge several blocks away.  The reporter, who for some reason had taken a liking to me, published an
article about it the next day.  It said
that when I had seen my client take off running, I wondered whether or not I
ought to run along with him and advise him of his rights as he ran but then I
thought better of it.  Of course, this
was a figment of the reporter’s fervent imagination.  But it was good publicity for me, getting my
name out there even before I’d finished law school. 

Coda:  Fudge, who was a cocaine addict, subsequently
escaped from the jail and was eventually caught in Texas.  Extradited back to Florida, he committed suicide
by hanging himself in his jail cell.  The
girlfriend got probation.  The bailiff
got a helluva chewing out.  I got to go
back and finish law school.