Defender of Poor Is Rich in Friends

For nearly three decades, Public Defender Ronald Y. Butler has been one of Orange County’s most dedicated public servants. He’s been a tenacious, diligent advocate for the poor in the courtroom, an ardent believer that, in his own words, “the system works best when both sides get a fair trial.” His lawyers march into the fray knowing he’s fully behind them.

Now Butler is fighting the most gallant battle of his life. He is under treatment for advanced stages of throat and jaw cancer.

Word of his condition has shocked and saddened those in the legal community who have heard about it. Some of the top lawyers here wanted to put together a tribute dinner for him. But Butler had to decline because of his illness.

Butler’s era as the county’s public defender, nearly 16 years, has ended for now. Technically, the county supervisors have placed his longtime chief deputy and close friend, Carl C. Holmes, in the top post.

But Holmes has told Butler he’s only holding the fort until Butler returns. Butler and his family remain optimistic that he will be productive in that office again. Even now, facing chemotherapy, Butler makes it to work a few hours each week. His efforts are a tremendous inspiration to his staff, and he’s still able to give advice on cases. “Ron is universally loved, and not just in this office,” said Holmes.

Here’s an idea just how much:

Scores of Butler’s own deputies and staff, other court staff, and many of his courtroom adversaries from the district attorney’s office have donated as much as eight hours of their vacation time to the 62-year-old Butler. That’s all the law permits for county employees.

The donations give Butler an extra 1,500 hours off, allowing him what the county calls a “catastrophic leave of absence.” It will give him time for chemotherapy and other treatment as he fights the disease.

Butler’s health faltered two years ago when he had to undergo open-heart surgery. When I interviewed him last February, he said he felt great and was excited to be back at work full time. It wasn’t until later that he learned about the cancer and how quickly it had spread.

Butler joined the public defender’s office as a young deputy in 1968. It wasn’t long before he became one of its top trial lawyers. Perhaps his biggest case came in 1977, when he won acquittal by reason of insanity for Edward Charles Allaway, a janitor who killed seven people in a rampage at Cal State Fullerton the year before.

“Ron sees some good in everyone,” said attorney Jennifer Keller, a longtime friend and golf partner of Butler’s. “It would absolutely crush him if one of his clients was executed.” None has been yet.

I happened to be present at the Board of Supervisors meeting in May 1981 when Butler was appointed public defender, following the death of Frank Williams. I well remember what a popular choice he was with the lawyers in that office.

But not long after Butler took over, the very county supervisors who had appointed him began to question his judgment. Butler, it seemed to some of them, was simply too aggressive. They appointed a blue ribbon commission of legal minds to look into Butler’s conduct in the Thomas Edwards murder case.

Butler and his deputies had begun advising Edwards even before they were appointed to represent him. That infuriated law enforcement officials, who had been questioning Edwards until Butler’s lawyers got him to shut up.

The blue ribbon commission’s report was an overwhelming endorsement of the new public defender. This is what he’s supposed to be doing, the commission said. Let him do his job.

Michael P. Giannini, now an administrator in the public defender’s office, was assigned the Edwards case. He told me this week how much it has meant to him over the years that Butler stood behind his lawyers.

“Ron is the one who had to take the heat,” Giannini said. “I talk to a lot of deputies in other counties. They tell horror stories about working for public defenders who lack the courage to stand behind their people, [because they’re] too afraid of the county supervisors.”

Butler’s general philosophy, Giannini said, is to do everything possible for the client: “Ron would say, ‘If you put in the energy, I’ll find the money.’ ”

An example: Rene Dayco, who killed his wife and mother-in-law, faced the death penalty in 1984. Butler backed his lawyers, who wanted to travel to Dayco’s native Philippines, at considerable cost to the office’s small budget, to find witnesses who had known Dayco as a young man. Butler then flew some of the witnesses here to testify.

Jurors who convicted Dayco decided to spare him from the gas chamber; many credited the Filipino witnesses with making the difference.

The move brought criticism from the Hall of Administration. But Butler has never been afraid to defy the county supervisors. In his years as public defender, he’s been the only county department head to refuse to sign a waiver of his civil service rights. It’s standard at his level to waive those rights, to serve at the supervisors’ pleasure. Butler steadfastly believes that would interfere with the independence needed to represent indigent clients.

The result is that Butler has been passed over for raises so many times that many of his deputies earn more than he does. What’s not generally known is that the supervisors were on the verge of approving a long overdue pay raise for Butler when the county bankruptcy hit nearly 26 months ago. That ended that. In recent weeks, though, the county has increased his salary.

Here are reflections on Butler’s distinguished career from some who know him best:

From Holmes: “Ron has created the kind of environment that has made young lawyers want to stay in this office. He’s the kindest, most caring man I’ve ever met.”

From Keller, 1996 Orange County Bar. Assn. president, who served two stints in Butler’s office: “When we hear about Ron’s plight, it’s as if it’s our own. The public defender’s office in many ways was more akin to a family than a workplace, and that was because of Ron. It may sound hokey, but we were all relieved when he got the job because we knew he cared so much about the Constitution.”

From Superior Court Judge Kathleen E. O’Leary, a former public defender: “Ron was like the warrior king. You’d have to see him in the courtroom to know how good he is. He has an innate talent for talking to a jury.”

When O’Leary was first appointed to the bench, she asked Butler to speak at her swearing in. He did, then broke into a verse of “My Wild Irish Rose.” Those are the kinds of things you never forget about a friend.

Jerry Hicks’ column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Readers may reach Hicks by call-ing The Times Orange County Edition at (714) 966-7823 or by fax to (714) 966-7711, or e-mail [email protected]