In what I regard as the singularly most embarrassing instance that I experienced as a practicing attorney, I was assigned to represent a woman who faced serious charges of threatening a police chief with a loaded gun outside her home. In first interviewing the woman, it became clear to me that she had some serious mental health issues. While awaiting disposition of her case, she became disruptive in prison, damaged some prison property, and was aggressive and assaultive towards the prison guards. Her physical appearance lent credibility that she was a disturbed woman, obese, clearly unkempt and inclined to speaking impulsively. Somehow, probably because of her mental health issues, I was able to negotiate a plea to a much lesser charge that would give her a chance to receive a probationary sentence or minimal jail time. I informed the district attorney that we would be entering a guilty plea to the lesser charges and the date for her plea and sentencing was set for the first day of criminal court of the following month.

On that date, I appeared with her in Courtroom #!, by far the most ornate and spacious courtroom in the courthouse. It being the first day of criminal court, the courtroom was packed to capacity, filled with district attorneys, defense attorneys, defendants waiting for their case to be called and other interested onlookers. After the list had been called to determine the order in which the cases would be heard, the President Judge called my case for a guilty plea. I stood in the well of the courtroom, my client by my side and listened to the Judge spell out the charges to which my client was pleading guilty. He then proceeded to question my client in what lawyers know as the colloquy. “Mrs.Q., is your guilty plea free and voluntary?” Answer: “Yes, Your Honor.” “Have any promises been made to you to enter your plea of guilty?” Answer: “No, Your Honor.” “Do you fully understand the charges to which you are pleading guilty?” Answer: “Yes, Your Honor.” And then the final question, “Are you satisfied with the services that your attorney has provided?” Answer, in an unmistakably loud and assured voice, “Your Honor, he has serviced me well.” The laughter in the courtroom was astounding. My face turned three shades of red and I wondered, “Does this courtroom have a trap door that I could suddenly fall into?” “Why did this have to happen to me?” At the conclusion of the proceeding, I was surrounded by my chiding legal colleagues, some who provided conciliatory and consoling remarks and some who offered less than wanted remarks, such as, “Bill, know we know how you spend your free time.” The comments truly overwhelmed me and I wondered to myself how long would it be until I revisited this courtroom. It was one of the very few times in my life that I was truly speechless . My only hope, after this traumatic experience, was that the Court in the future would simply reword the colloquy and ask future defendants, “Has your lawyer done a good job?”