Make sure you check out the recurring column on the Atticus Finch moment in the May 8, 2006 edition of Texas Lawyer. They profile a prosecutor this week.

John Stride's Atticus Finch Moment, with thanks to Texas Laywer:

John A. Stride � assistant criminal district attorney � Collin County

When I was a child I wanted to become a doctor, like my surgeon father. But, because he was disappointed with the bureaucracy of the medical profession in England, my father did not encourage that endeavor.

I left an exclusive private school in England, Eton College, at age 16, the minimum leaving age, with no plans except to get out of school. I didn't see the sense of school, if I had no plans requiring further education. I spent about four years in agriculture, as the germ of becoming a doctor or a lawyer grew within me.

Farm work was wonderful for a developing young man's body. I have never been fitter � or poorer. But I needed greater mental stimulation. In my early 20s, I traveled to Australia on a working-holiday visa.

Before I left, I knew when I returned I would go back to school to pursue medicine or the law. I spent nine months on a sheep station as a jackaroo � working cattle and sheep � in western Australia and then more than two years working in catering in Perisher Valley ski resort and on the beach in Manly, Sydney.

While down-under, I learned that my sister, Anne, a nurse at St. Mary's Hospital in London, had been raped. The experience was horribly traumatic for her, and she never really recovered.

Meanwhile, I had come to know a few Australian lawyers and determined that law would be the profession I would follow. I wanted to become a barrister in the English courts and leaned toward practicing criminal law.

Back in England, I went to college, obtained "A" levels � like earning a diploma in the United States � and gained entrance to the University of Hull Law School. While there I met my future wife, Cindy, from north Texas, who was there on a Rotary scholarship. We became engaged and then married.

After graduating with an LLB � similar to an undergraduate portion of a law degree � I moved to the United States to be with Cindy and begin our life here. I attended Southern Methodist University Dedman School of Law.

My sister Anne came to the United States for a visit the spring of my last year at SMU, a trip I later came to believe she used to say goodbye. The weekend after I finished my final exams for a J.D., she took her own life. Always considerate of others, she had waited until then so as to disrupt others as little as possible.She left behind her husband and 1-year-old twins.

I knew then I wanted to become a prosecutor. As luck would have it, the late Chris Marshall, then-chief of the appellate division at the Tarrant County District Attorney's Office, brought me on board. I spent just less than 10 years in that outstanding office, sadly losing my mentor Marshall in 1992, when a gunman opened fire in the Tarrant County Courthouse.

In 2000, I was hired as chief of the appellate division in the Collin County DA's office, a position I continue to hold. For me, combining prosecution with appellate work is completely fulfilling. I do it to help in some small way to protect the community from predators such as the one who irrevocably harmed my sister.

In the process, I hope I have a slight part in influencing the development of the criminal law for the better of those living in Texas.

A moving story,well written.

I read the posts on this page, and often wonder who some of the regular posters are. Now I know a little about Stride. Most of the rest of y'all are still pretty much a mystery.

I liked the picture, too.

Stride:

I'm curious if you met many other Etonians working as jackaroos in Oz.

I was under the impression Etonians went to to jobs as Prime Minister, or Lord of the Exchequer, directors of MI-5 and MI-6, etc.

In many ways, I am a Black Sheep.

quote:

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Originally posted by Terry Breen:
I read the posts on this page, and often wonder who some of the regular posters are. Now I know a little about Stride. Most of the rest of y'all are still pretty much a mystery.

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Terry, I have to say that you are a mystery, too.

I think Terry likes it that way.

I've known Terry since the early 90's, and he remains a mystery to me! Although I have always found him to be nice. He also has great stories about his prosecution days in Africa!

I think that settles it. Terry needs to submit his colorful and unique story to Texas Lawyer for the Atticus Finch column.

I'm sure there are many of you with fascintating pasts and inspiring stories. I shared in part as a means to cope with my sister's sad life. On a positive note, one of her twins is studying to become a doctor and the other is apprenticed to an electrician (any guess who will make the most money with least training expense!). Don't let the civil types be the only ones telling their stories. Not all of us enter the the profession to make money, wield power, and become famous.

But what is you don't have an Atticus Finch moment? What if you just went to law school because it seemed like a more appealing option than getting an M.B.A.?

Some may have always known they want to be an attorney, others may have a single moment when they knew, but I suspect that for many it was a journey and, for lots of us, travel makes interesting reading!

Andrea Handley from the Dallas CDA's office is featured in this week's "AF moment" -- if anyone subscribes online, maybe you could reprint it here ....

From Texas Lawyer:

Andrea Handley � assistant district attorney � Dallas County District Attorney's Office

I was finishing my college degree in communications research. My folks assumed I would pursue a Ph.D. in the field, but I really didn't want to spend my life doing research.

During my last year in college, my boyfriend was the victim of a home-invasion robbery. The intruder cut my boyfriend's neck from one ear to the other, all to steal some laundry money. My boyfriend ended up needing 250 stitches.

By the time the intruder's criminal case went to trial, my boyfriend had lost 50 percent of his body weight. I watched him on the stand, where defense lawyers questioned him for six hours, trying to make this college kid look like the bad guy. I thought, "You've got to be kidding me. Certainly it's not supposed to work this way. I can do this better."

So I decided to go to law school. There had never been a lawyer in my family, let alone among our friends or neighbors. While gathered around the dining table, I announced, "Daddy, I am going to law school."

My father, who had only the stereotype of lawyers to rely on, dropped the fork from his hand. Brushing food from his lap he said, "I understand there are many things you can do with a law degree . . . besides being a lawyer."

He is my biggest fan now.

I grew up here in El Paso. When I was fourteen, my grandmother was sexually assaulted and murdered by a two-time loser out on parole. However, that was not my Atticus Finch moment.

My Atticus Finch moment came after I went to law school in Washington state, and then worked as a public defender around Seattle for five years. By the end of that time I had reached certain observations and conclusions: Drunks do not stop drinking and driving; Thieves do not stop stealing; Rapists and child molesters are incurable; and the best way to prevent recidivism among domestic violence perpetrators would be to sentence them to 30 minutes in a locked room with a corrections officer wielding a baseball bat. At that point, I knew it was time for a change.

So I moved back home to El Paso and joined the DA's office.

I grew up the child of a successful Houston attorney. He was an ada in Harris County in the sixties, quickly rising to administrative assistant. He then went into private practice, and took a case against Harris County for some elected officials to the US Supreme Court and won. He maintained a very successful but hectic civil/criminal/family practice until 1998.

I was primed to take over his practice. I had been a police officer prior to attending law school. I initially went into prosecution, planning to become a PI attorney at some point and try to get rich. My priorities were all wrong.

Then my friend and prosecution court partner Gil Epstein was murdered in 1996, by a two time loser parolee/crackhead. The murderer saw his badge as he was committing an aggravated robbery on Gil and decided Gil was a cop. Holding Gil at Ben Taub as they unplugged him that night from the life support machines, I knew I had already found my calling, which is to lock up violent criminals for as long as possible. I had been married less than a year, and had to explain to my wife (who worked in oil and gas) why Gil appeared to have freckles on his face (stippling) as he laid in that hospital bed, already brain dead.

I do not and will not ever believe most violent criminals can be or will be rehabilitated.

I follow the words of now-retired District Judge Bradley Smith: "There are two kinds of criminals. Those we need to help, and those we need to be afraid of and keep locked up."

To paraphrase Orwell;

People can sleep peacefully in their beds at night because good men stand ready to combat violence on their behalf.

We all do a job that must be done. Not for awards. Not for recognition. Not for money. Simply, because it must be done.

If you notice in this latest edition of TDCAA's The Prosecutor, there will be a new column for prosecutors to explain more than just their "atticus finch" moment, but also why they became prosecutors or why they continue to do so. Check out the latest edition of The Prosecutor for more details, and send your "answers" to the always fab editor, Sarah Wolf at TDCAA.