20 Questions: Scott Turow

We may not like lawyers, but we certainly enjoy reading about them. That became clear beyond a reasonable doubt in 1987 with the publication of Scott Throw's critically acclaimed first novel, "Presumed Innocent," the main character of which, like its author, was a big-city prosecutor. The blockbuster movie version of the book opened around the time Turow's second novel, "Burden of Proof," took its place at the top of best-seller lists.

In addition to garnering praise from critics, Turow earned high ratings from his legal colleagues. During eight years as an assistant U.S. attorney in Chicago, he made his mark prosecuting crooked judges in the Operation Greylord probe. After that he went into private criminal practice with the firm of Sonnenschein, Nath & Rosenthal, representing a mostly white-collar clientele and doing pro bono litigation. Turow is now a half-time partner at the firm, practicing law in the afternoon after writing in the morning.

Although writing came as a second career for Turow, it has always been his first ambition. He wrote two unpublished novels while an undergraduate at Amherst and a grad student-instructor at Stanford. He then sidestepped literary life for Harvard Law School. But even there Turow kept writing. "One L," a journal of his first year, was published in 1977 and sold 300,000 copies.

His new novel, "Pleading Guilty," out this month, will delight readers who savor Turow's penchant for irony. It features Mack Malloy, an ex-cop turned lawyer who loses his edge--and his wife--after he stops drinking.

Articles Editor John Rezek and mystery novelist Paul Engleman deposed Turow at his office near the top of Chicago's Sears Tower. He attempted to prejudice their judgment by proffering Girl Scout cookies. Citing journalistic ethics, they declined. Their report: "Turow is an astonishingly organized thinker. He answers questions in fully formed sentences, without pauses or equivocation. We couldn't find a single 'uh' in the entire transcript. He appeared to be absolutely candid at all times, though we couldn't swear to that."

1.

[Q] Playboy: Why do you suppose the misappropriated line from Henry VI--"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers"--is so popular?

[A] Turow: In some part of every American's heart, there's a hatred of attorneys. But it's fused with a shadowy awe of them. The law has taken on an extraordinary preeminence, and the reason is relatively clear. Society is less regionalized than it was when I was growing up. The media have given us a sort of national state of mind. As our centers of influence--regional practices, ethnic customs, church, the gravitational force of schooling--break down, what's left? The law. It intervenes powerfully in everybody's lives. And lawyers, as the manipulators of that system--and they unquestionably manipulate the system--are viewed with awe and suspicion. People in a big law firm constantly rationalize the compromises that they make. People perceive that about lawyers and the law, and they don't like it. They don't like our comfort with what makes them uncomfortable.

2.

[Q] Playboy: You have a close-up view of white-collar crime. What is it like to see grown-up, well-heeled men cry?

[A] Turow: You see a lot of crying, usually in anticipation of being caught. The worst moment is sentencing. The criminal justice system depends on a form of state-imposed brutality. We take people, put them in chains and lock them up. And through all of the niceties of the law you avoid confronting that right up until the moment sentence is pronounced, when, all of a sudden, reality descends. As a prosecutor it was always a terrible moment, because you say to yourself, "My job is to get a conviction. The judge does the sentencing." Then you stand up and say, "Lock the door and throw away the key," and the judge does it. As a defense attorney I've found that most clients are extremely well prepared, because they know what's coming when they get to the courtroom. With white-collar defendants the worst part of the process is the anxiety. It's the investigation, as it wears on, that's really incredibly destructive. The few clients I've had who have been incarcerated generally report that the experience, at least in the federal system, is psychologically far easier than waiting for it to happen, waiting for their lives to fall apart. So the sentencing is sometimes anticlimactic. In many ways, it finally brings some certainty to their lives.

3.

[Q] Playboy: What's the most common motivation for white-collar crime?

[A] Turow: Greed. Now what's the psychological significance of it? It differs from case to case. Money is a strange thing. That was one of the things I played with in Pleading Guilty. It always represents something. Everybody wants money, but it's ultimately a symbol to every individual.

4.

[Q] Playboy: Is the specter of homosexual rape the greatest deterrent to white-collar crime?

[A] Turow: From what I've been told it does not appear to be, at least in the federal prison system. In the state prisons, on the other hand, it was reported to me as commonplace during the years I was a prosecutor. The effect was that a lot of state court judges wouldn't send well-to-do defendants to prison. They'd grant bail to a wealthy white defendant rather than put him in Cook County Jail. And that's still the case. I recently had a discussion with Norville Morris, who is one of the country's greatest penologists. He claims that gangs, which now run most federal prisons and certainly most state prisons, have had a really salubrious effect on this problem. There's discipline within gangs. Rape isn't acceptable conduct. Gang members protect one another from it and it's much less prevalent.

5.

[Q] Playboy: In your writing you are a scholar of your characters' motivations, using a skill that borders on the psychiatric. Where did you acquire this ability and what is it that you notice about people?

[A] Turow: I actually come from a family of psychiatrists. My father was the only practicing physician in the family who wasn't a shrink. My wife's uncle was an analyst. He was married to another analyst. My father's brother is a psychiatrist. His son is a psychiatrist. When I was in college, before I conceived this ambition to be a novelist and in my weak moments, I thought I might be a shrink. I used to pride myself on my perceptiveness. I doubt that I'm that much more perceptive than most people. But the thing you learn in writing is how to get it on the page.

6.

[Q] Playboy: Is there a surefire indication that a person is lying?

[A] Turow: I don't believe in the sweaty palms or the shifty eyes, though you see a lot of that. There are people who are stone liars who are great at it. One of the things that drove me crazy about interrogating police officers--there are lots of honest cops, but there are also cops who aren't honest--was that they are so goddamned good at lying that it's frightening. Put them in the witness chair and they're limp. They're so relaxed they could fall asleep. They never raise their voice. They've testified so much that they're phenomenally good at it. It drives me crazy doing police brutality cases where police officers, for understandable reasons, are protective of one another. And you put them before the grand jury and hear what the citizen witnesses say. The victim has such horrible physical marks that they can't have been made up. And yet every cop there says it didn't happen and they look great saying it. The grand jurors believe them, and you're saying, "Hey, look at the photographs!" I don't think there are any sure signs of when someone's lying. Some people do it better than others. My wife seems always to know when I'm lying, though. I must not do it very well.

7.

[Q] Playboy: Are there more corrupt cops, judges or lawyers?

[A] Turow: Those groups are held up to enormously high expectations, and we're constantly disappointed in them, because they're no better or worse than anybody else. One thing that disappoints people about the law is that they expect it to be fairer than any other aspect of life. It frequently isn't. Lots of people occasionally stray from the ideal. That seems to be a characteristic of human behavior. People get disappointed with lawyers, judges and cops because they're never supposed to stray from the ideal.

8.

[Q] Playboy: Families, especially fathers and sons, figure prominently in your work, with the sense that there's a kind of genetic determinism. What things do we inherit from our fathers and what is the possibility of our being able to exorcise them?

[A] Turow: As a parent I'm always amazed at how much seems to be flat inheritance, because those of us who survived the Sixties implicitly believed that, in the nature-nurture debate, nurture was far more important. But raising children changed a lot of minds. I still think that role modeling matters a lot. It becomes impossible to differentiate between genetics and learned behavior, because little kids so deeply absorb the patterns of behavior they observe.

9.

[Q] Playboy: In Pleading Guilty you write that children have learned the basics of criminal behavior--violence, bribery and fraud--by the age of three. By what age have they learned the lawyerly skills to defend themselves against accusations?

[A] Turow: They know how to misbehave by three. They know how to rationalize their behavior by three and a half. I'm always amazed by the sort of lawyerly skills inherent in the minds of three-and-a-half-year-olds. My kids are a bit older than that, but when they start arguing with me, they will negotiate as well as the best $400-an-hour partner.

10.

[Q] Playboy: What is left out of most discussions about sexual harassment?

[A] Turow: There's a line in Burden of Proof where Sandy Stern's daughter says to him, "It's always there, isn't it?" Stern says, "What?" And she says, "Sex." He concludes rather sadly, since his life has become quite complicated in that area, "Yeah, it is always there." Many discussions of sexual harassment leave that out. We pretend as if there ought to be no preconscious awareness of sexual difference. I have no quarrel with the proposition that gender difference should have no influence whatsoever on the distribution of any social benefit, but sometimes we want to create an image of sterility that I don't think exists in most minds, or hearts, or boys.

11.

[Q] Playboy: You admit to having sexual fantasies all the time. At what moments of the day are they most and least welcome, and which have been appropriated by characters in your books?

[A] Turow: I'm really not uncomfortable with this and I don't think it ever gets out of control. I'm not unable to concentrate when I should be concentrating. I once had a witness in a fraud case who was, I thought, clearly high on cocaine while testifying, which didn't make me happy. One juror was a grand-looking human being of the female persuasion, and I couldn't get the son-of-a-bitch witness to look at me as I asked the questions. He was leaning over the witness box leering at her. I don't lose myself to that extent. I just accept my sexuality. Whether it's odder than anybody else's or more driven, I don't know, but I don't think it keeps me from functioning. I think virtually all of my fantasies have been appropriated by my characters.

12.

[Q] Playboy: Is there something that you should never tell your attorney and, conversely, someone with whom you can be completely candid?

[A] Turow: Pleading Guilty repeatedly asks, With whom can you be completely candid, and repeatedly answers, Not even yourself. And that's probably my view. I'm pretty stalwart about following ethical mandates. If a client comes in and tells me X or Y, I let him know that I won't allow him to testify not X or not Y. And to the extent I emphasize that, some of them are smart enough not to tell me X or Y in the first place. That's one of those things that drive people crazy about lawyers: If I don't know, then it's OK, and if I discourage someone from telling me the truth, then he can get up there and lie and I won't have any ethical problem. I know how that sounds, but you have to play the game by the rules of the profession.

13.

[Q] Playboy: Which is the most reliable indicator of a lawyer's skill--suit, shoes or attaché?

[A] Turow: I admit I look at the suit, but I don't think that's a profound or reliable judgment.

14.

[Q] Playboy: Success breeds success. It can also breed resentment. Do you encounter more resentment from other lawyers or other writers?

[A] Turow: Actually, the most resentful group is judges. It's not because they envy the financial success or the prominence. They're afraid they will lose control of their courtroom when a "celebrity" walks in. So occasionally I have to deal with some judge thinking that he or she has to pound me into my place the minute I open my mouth. But that's not a common experience for me.

15.

[Q] Playboy: What is the lamest alibi for a defense attorney to work with? (concluded on page 132) Scott Turow (continued from page 114)

[A] Turow: "I was at home with my mother." The problem is that sometimes it's true. It doesn't matter. You cannot put Mom on the witness stand and hope that she'll be believed.

"In my view, there isn't a human being on earth whose time is really worth $350 an hour."

16.

[Q] Playboy: Which two-word phrase should strike more fear into a defendant's heart: "found guilty" or "attorney's fees"?

[A] Turow: Taking that as a serious question, we are entering a period of moderation in lawyers' fees that, in my view, is long overdue. I came here from government service, where I felt really well compensated. I was working hard and, God knows, I thought the taxpayers were getting their money's worth. But I never felt on the verge of poverty. We were about to have our third child when I started private practice. Looking down the road, I felt that I needed more money than I was making as a government lawyer. But I was shocked to find out how much money lawyers in private practice make. In my view, there isn't a human being on earth whose time is really worth $250 or $300 or $350 an hour. I don't care what kind of advice they're giving. That's just overvalued compared with what other people earn on an hourly basis. As a doctor's son, I feel this acutely right now, because we are getting ready to limit the amount of money doctors can make. Why? Because the service they render is so important that if we let them bargain for it they'd have all the money in the world. What lawyers do isn't really important. We're so busy in this country congratulating ourselves for the demise of communism that we tend to forget that this market system is hardly perfect.

17.

[Q] Playboy: If you could make one improvement in the legal system, what would it be?

[A] Turow: There are a number of things, ranging from the insignificant to the all-encompassing. In terms of civil litigation, there's a good argument that the so-called American rule, in which people pay their own legal fees, ought to be abandoned. If you sue somebody you'd better be prepared to pay his fees if your suit is baseless. We are awash in litigation. Legal fees are so high that you can squeeze a settlement out of a defendant for a fraction of what the suit would cost. Of course, lawyers are the unwitting accomplices in that act of extortion. On the criminal side, the most serious and controversial answer goes beyond the legal system. As a society, as we become better adjusted to the notion that our resources are not infinite, we'll have to look seriously at drug legalization. I've never seen the point of incarcerating people for engaging in conduct where the victims are not unwilling. I'm realistic about what I'm saying. I know it means addiction rates will rise. I know it's a cruel thing to do to many people, and I wish there were some alternative. But I am not convinced that the social investment in apprehension and interdiction is really worth it. I'd much rather spend the money educating people.

18.

[Q] Playboy: Mack Malloy, Pleading Guilty's main character, would never be an alcoholism recovery poster-boy. But he is an interesting recovery character. Have you met many people for whom recovery is not much of a blessing?

[A] Turow: I've met a lot of alcoholics over the years, and it's just an observation that sometimes lawyers can try the hell out of a case when they're drunk. When they sober up, they're lost, they can't go near a courtroom. Supposedly they're better off, but they can't function. It's always struck me as a painful irony. It's one of those ironies I adore.

19.

[Q] Playboy: Most authors who had their books made into movies came away from Hollywood shaking their heads in disbelief or contempt. But you seem to have emerged from the experience unscathed. Were you accorded different treatment or are you just reasonable?

[A] Turow: I understand what shocks other writers about seeing their work filmed. I saw a trailer for Presumed Innocent that had a scene that was in every way the realization of what I had in my mind in terms of color, the way the characters interacted, the way Harrison Ford was behaving on the screen. It was perfect except that the camera was on the wrong side of the room. I always saw it from the other side of the room. I think there's a tendency among writers to say it's all wrong because it's from the wrong side of the room. A lot of writers are not good at accepting compromise. Fortunately for me, that's not a part of my character, as stubborn as I probably was twenty years ago. Also, Brian Dennehy told me something that had never crossed my mind and gave me some perspective: A movie of a novel is an abridgment. He said Presumed Innocent would be as good as the best Reader's Digest abridgment of a novel could be.

20.

[Q] Playboy: What's your favorite lawyer joke?

[A] Turow: How do you tell the difference between a dead lawyer and a dead skunk in the road? There are skid marks in front of the skunk.