Friends,
I have known Lou Curran since I arrived in
Baltimore. In 1990, I was convicted for protesting the first Iraq
War. Seven of us were arrested when we climbed on top of a roof at
Baltimore’s National Guard armory and poured blood, oil and sand on a sign
indicating Gov. Donald Schaefer was the commander of Maryland’s National Guard.
I refused to pay a $500 fine, and instead sent the money to the American
Friends Service Committee Persian Gulf Relief Fund. Initially, Judge
Edward Angeletti put me on probation. However, on February 14, 1991, I
was to appear before Angeletti for a probation hearing. The courtroom was
packed, and I was standing with Lou in the doorway.
Some poor soul appeared before the judge, and was
given an outrageous sentence for involvement in the drug trade. As the
marshals were preparing to take this gentleman to jail, he bolted and ran
towards the door. Lou reached out to grab the runner but only ended up
with his jacket. Immediately afterwards, Angeletti pointed at me to
appear before him. Since I had not paid the fine to the court, he
sentenced me to six months in jail with a $2,500 fine. Those same
marshals then escorted me to jail as I did not run away.
Kagiso,
Max
'My
Lawyer!' A legendary Baltimore public defender retires
Public
defender Lou Curran retires this month. (Handout)
Todd Oppenheim
Most lawyer
awards are fluff. They are generally handed out by bar associations, civic
groups and the like to insiders and connected folks. The awards too often
recognize average practitioners rather than pioneers. This year's Maryland
Criminal Defense Attorney Association's Fred Bennett Award for zealous
advocacy, handed out in June, was an exception. The winner was Louis Brendan
Curran, my colleague. Lou, who retires this month, is a deserving recipient.
He's a legend, a firebrand who left his mark on Baltimore.
Lou's legal career has been devoted to public
service. He has worked in the Maryland Public Defender's Office for the past 30
years. Since 1995, Lou has labored in the Baltimore City Felony Trial Division,
where I now work. In our unit, we handle criminal cases for indigent clients
that range in nature from drug offenses all the way up to murder. It takes
fortitude and dedication to make it 30 years here. Anyone who's practiced
criminal law in Baltimore in the 2000s knows Lou and his iconic ways.
As defense lawyers, we are also investigators.
We visit crime scenes (sometimes with private detectives) to delve into certain
cases. Lou was known to do his own “middle of the night investigations” all
over town to get a truer feeling of places and events. Safety was only a minor
concern to Lou, who, despite being a small Irish American, has always been
savvy enough to avoid sticky situations.
Speaking of crime scene visits, Lou did one last
summer that garnered national attention. Perhaps you saw the controversial body
worn camera video that went viral in which a Baltimore cop claimed to “reenact”
his discovery of a drug stash. Well, that was Lou's case. He uncovered the
cop's mishap and quickly ran out to the scene to better understand the area.
After our litigation team was alerted, Lou's client's case was soon dropped.
The cop now faces criminal charges of evidence tampering. Lou never really took
any credit for the work.
Catching Lou in action in court was a sight to
behold. Never to be accused of being a man of high fashion, you'd be lucky to
see Lou in a full suit. Usually, a blazer and khakis comprised his uniform. It
didn't matter though. Lou knew his cases like no one else because of his
preparation; his arguments and gregarious personality were at the core of his
representation.
Whether he was grilling a witness on the stand
or addressing a judge, he was fearless and creative. At times, you didn't know
whether to laugh or gawk in awe at the sheer passion that Lou poured into his
orations. When defendants enter guilty pleas, a series of questions has to be
answered to assure that they are pleading knowingly and voluntarily. Most
Baltimore judges pawn this task off to defense attorneys or more pointedly, a
public defender, if one is present. To say that Lou gave a detailed and
thorough rendition of this “advisement” is an understatement. We're talking Gettysburg
Address proportions. Lou's lack of brevity was so well known that we'd all
volunteer for the task to preempt him. To his credit, Lou never abbreviated his
shtick.
Lou was forever testing the limits of the
justice system, knowing how oppressive it can be to our clients. He'd visit his
incarcerated clients at all hours of the night. Not surprisingly, Lou would get
stuck waiting for corrections officers on his visits, since they weren't
exactly expecting to have to work on their red eye shifts. Lou would document
the access restrictions he faced in nearly weekly emails to the entire office.
At one point, due to to some “disagreement,” Lou was banned from a local jail.
Even to me, who's run for judge and consistently rocked the system's boat,
getting banned from a jail was pretty impressive.
Lou was a character. “My lawyer!” he'd call out
in passing to any attorney he respected. He often biked to work. He wore a
large ushanka hat in the winter. He posted social justice news clippings around
the office elevator and the men's urinal for perusing. Besides his day work,
Lou has been an advocate for local criminal defense groups, AIDS research and
environmental issues, and he has consistently raised money to support animal
welfare organizations. The Orioles even owe Lou a debt of gratitude. Every
year, he organized a handful of fundraiser outings to ballgames to support his
charities of choice. In fact, Lou once predicted that by 2020 the Orioles would
win the series and marijuana would be legalized. Let's just say that he's not
wrong yet.
Lou's compassion for his clients, who loved him,
is what truly made him special. He described it best at his retirement party.
His goal in representing someone was to make that case the client's last in the
criminal justice system — to solve that matter, but also put them on a path to
success. Lou noted that he's come to realize the near impossibility of that task
due to systemic racism, an unequal justice system, and a lack of jobs and
infrastructure in our clients' neighborhoods. The odds are stacked high. With
each new client, though, comes a chance to try again. That's what kept him
going. We all have to keep trying, just like Lou did throughout his career.
Todd Oppenheim is an attorney in the
Baltimore City Public Defender's Office. Twitter: @Opp4Justice; email: toppenheim@opd.state.md.us.
The public defender's office says this police body camera
footage from a January drug arrest shows an officer placing a bag of drugs
in a trash strewn lot. The officer can then be seen walking to the street,
where he flips on his body camera, returns to the lot and picks up a soup
can containing a bag of drugs.
Police cameras have a feature that saves 30 seconds of
video prior to activation, but without audio. When the officer is first in the
alley, there is no audio until 30 seconds later.
Copyright © 2018, The Baltimore
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Donations can be sent
to the Baltimore Nonviolence Center, 325 E. 25th St., Baltimore, MD
21218. Ph: 410-323-1607; Email: mobuszewski2001 [at] comcast.net. Go to http://baltimorenonviolencecenter.blogspot.com/
"The master class
has always declared the wars; the subject class has always fought the battles.
The master class has had all to gain and nothing to lose, while the subject
class has had nothing to gain and everything to lose--especially their
lives." Eugene Victor Debs
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