May 2001 Volume 82 Number 5 "serving the protectors"
WHY COPS BECOME LAWYERS
by Brett Williams

Legal careers have been a popular alternative to law enforcement for many SA cops in recent years. Now, as that trend continues – with other officers pursuing law degrees – three ex-cop lawyers tell how and why they made the switch.

Michael Woods, 38
Criminal defence lawyer
SAPOL: 1980 – 1995

Some of Michael Woods’ former police colleagues asked him how he could “cross to the other side” when he became a criminal defence lawyer. He had always expected a few officers would consider he had joined the enemy. And those who sneered at his career move were, as he describes them, older-style detectives from his last post in the force.

But their gibes might have seemed vindicated when, in later courtroom battles, Woods would have to attack many police witnesses.

“That’s what being professional is about,” he says. “And, if you’re being professional, we all realize that both sides need to do their job.”

But courtroom conflict does not spill over into Woods’ personal relations with police. He has spoken and laughed with officers he has known after cross-examining them in court. And, in recent years, he has for the Police Association acted in many officers’ defence.

Woods had never even considered a legal career before joining the SA police force in 1980. The thought only occurred to him when, in his early 20s, he was working as a police prosecutor.

Fronting up against qualified lawyers in those days overawed him. As time passed, however, he came to understand just how well he could hold his ground against them. This early courtroom experience bolstered his confidence and gave him “self-belief”.

But he was not then confident enough to launch himself into the pursuit of a law degree. He instead joined the CIB, where he remained for the last seven years of his police career.

As he enforced the law as a detective, the “nagging desire” for a law degree returned to him. At that time, however, he intended only to use it as a means of furthering his police career.

“My aim was always commissioned rank,” he says. “And, I thought: ‘If you throw your name in the hat, and your face fits, that’s all well and good’. But, if it didn’t (fit), I wanted some security.”

So Woods acted on his “nagging desire” and began a law degree at the University of Adelaide in 1992. Before he had completed his studies, well-known lawyer, former cop and defender of police, Bill Morris, offered him a job.

Woods – after a 15-year police career – quit the force and happily joined Morris’s practice in 1995. He began as a law clerk on less than the $44,000 he had earned as a detective.

The following year, he graduated from law school with first-class honours and top-student status. By then, he had won 13 academic prizes.

Still, he held unshakable views about protecting one’s image in the move from policing to law. “I still feel that if you’re going to leave the department and cross the floor to defence,” he insists, “you need to keep your credibility, reputation and standards high.”

Woods saw his commitment to standards as partly shown through his association with Morris. He saw him as one of Adelaide’s best criminal defence lawyers.

But, for Woods, was security the only attraction to a legal career? As professions, he saw both policing and the law as holding much of the same appeal.

Of the comparison, he says: “You’re dealing with people, the unpredictable, a good level of excitement, and intellectual stimulation. The financial rewards don’t go unnoticed if you’re out there in private practice (either).”

Woods warns, however, that not all lawyers reap the same financial rewards. Those on salaries in private practice, he suggests, would “struggle” to earn $50,000 per year.

“If you open your own business, or go into partnership in criminal law – and you have a good practice – you can earn three times that amount,” he explains. “That certainly was something I did last year.”

While large incomes might conjure thoughts of prestige professions, Woods sees little glamour attached to life as a lawyer. He works harder and longer – double the hours he worked as a police officer – and has to “drag the business in, too”.

False perceptions of glamour and status, he believes, belong to those outside the occupation. But he concedes that glamour might reside with lawyers high up in the corporate world.

Woods recognizes that, for him, the practice of law is simply a better career than policing. He “enjoys” the law and relishes operating as his own boss. He finds it far removed from the police bureaucracy that used to frustrate him.

As a cop, he craved the right to make decisions without input from superiors, who thought they “had a better call on them”. Decision-making freedom was, for Woods, far too short in supply.

But Woods never underscores the solid grounding his police career gave him. “Those day-to-day people skills and decision-making on the spot – at the coalface – will do you very well in law,” he says.

“It has given me a good chance to forge a career as quickly as I’ve done, (and) not just through those skills, but in knowing how police operate.”

His advice to cops thinking of a legal career is to “ask around” and “do the research”.

“If that’s what you want,” he says, “then go for it. You’re going to get blown off course every now and again. As long you get back in the right direction, you’ll make it to the other side, and feel very satisfied. There is life after the police.”

Chris Patterson, 53
Criminal defence lawyer
SAPOL: 1964 - 1998

When Chris Patterson joined the legal profession, some of its practitioners noted that he had “left the dark side” and welcomed him to the light. He understood the phrase but, during his 34 years as a cop, would have applied it to law rather than policing.

His former police colleagues had uttered few gibes, and gave him total support through his mid-’90s quest for a law degree. They thought it admirable that, in his early 40s, he was taking on such a challenge.

He found his law school workload demanding. But, with more than two decades’ experience in the CIB, he “knew a little” about criminal law – although not as much as he had thought.

“I found that my knowledge of the law did not really help me,” he says, “apart from some elements in criminal law. It was all new, and it all had to be learnt. It was very different. For me – as a mature student – it was intensive, and relatively hard to succeed.”

Patterson had joined the police force in 1964; and teaching was the only other career option he had ever considered. Thirty years would pass before his foray into the law.

And, with his degree, he had first intended simply to “progress within the police department”. That plan, however, never came to fruition. Patterson saw rules for promotion to commissioned rank as subject to constant and needless change. This left him greatly frustrated.

So, when Adelaide law firm, Tindall Gask Bentley, offered him work – a year before he graduated – he accepted. Patterson was now about to begin a legal career after retiring from the police force at the age of 50. He has remained with the firm since 1998.

Today, he sees the practice of law as “a very different career”, and well understands its realities. “Being a lawyer,” he says, “you are driven to service clients, to the extent that you complete your billings.

“There’s an expectation within the profession that a certain level of billings must be achieved. At the end of the day, law firms are businesses and have to make a profit otherwise they’ll go under – just the same as any other commercial enterprise.”

And courtroom action has, for Patterson, presented its share of pressure as well. In a recent drug case, he found himself up against police investigators with whom he had worked closely in the police force.

“I did, at times, feel a little self-conscious,” he concedes. “I’m sure they realized that I was doing my best for my client, and they were doing their best to achieve what they thought was justice.”

So why does Patterson – who understands all the demands of a legal career – believe the law draws so many police? He suspects some see their former colleagues as lawyers around town and think: “If they can do it, there’s no reason I can’t.”

He also believes in cops’ natural desire for success. And such slow rates of promotion in SAPOL, he asserts, leave young officers prepared to quit after only short-term careers.

“They’ll look to improve themselves outside if that’s not going to be within the department,” he says.

And just how valuable is a police background to budding lawyers? Patterson says his police career has greatly enhanced his ability to practise law.

“Being a lawyer is more than knowledge of the law,” he insists. “It’s an ability to communicate and negotiate with people; to give customer service and all those types of things that one learnt in the police force.

“They (ex-cops) bring a lot of the skills they’ve learnt to the profession and become better lawyers quicker.”

But few ex-cop lawyers in their early years, he explains, earn incomes any greater than their former police wages. To the relief of many, however, he describes that circumstance as changing with hard work and the passage of time.

He estimates lawyers’ later earnings to be more than $100,000 per year. “…and going up,” he says, “depending on their position, and whether they’re in a sole practice or a partnership.”

Patterson encourages police officers entrenched in law studies to “stick at it”. Earning their degrees, he insists, opens doors that, for as long as they stay in police work, remain closed.

“The attributes of the police officer on their own are not going to carry you a great way forward,” he says. “But when you couple those qualities with a degree, it’s going to be very persuasive to prospective employers.”

Nick Healy, 31
Industrial relations lawyer
SAPOL: 1988 - 1995

Nick Healy hopes to earn around $350,000 per year by the time he reaches his early 40s. But the ex-cop, and now industrial relations lawyer, always seemed destined for a highly paid legal career.

His lawyer grandfather – and old schoolmates who earned law degrees before him – were always an influence on his career outlook. He even applied for a law course after leaving school, but his marks were insufficient to win entry.

Today, full of ambition, he sees some Melbourne- and Sydney-based lawyers earning $1 million incomes. And even less established lawyers, he believes, can – in partnerships – earn around $250,000 after only “a few years” in business.

So, naturally, he does not strain to understand why so many cops gravitate to law. To Healy, it simply offers more rewards and fulfillment.

“Money does play a part in people’s lives,” he explains, “and your earning potential is unlimited. And, whether it’s right or wrong, there is credibility attached to the qualification. Therefore, it will open doors for you – in various areas.

“There is also a bit of status attached to it, and probably a bit more respect to a certain degree. At certain points of your life, those things do become an attraction. So that (status) aspect probably doesn’t hurt.”

Healy – who never saw his police career as a long-term option – quit the force in 1995, after only seven years’ service. The following year, he began full-time study for his law degree at NTU. But, in 1998, he returned to SA to take a job in the industrial relations arena.

He had by now completed a business degree but was only half way through law. For that degree, he continued his studies in Adelaide.

But, never short of job offers, he soon accepted another position back in Darwin. There, he finally finished his law degree in 2000.

His first offer of a job as a practising lawyer came in March this year. An Adelaide industrial relations law firm offered him a position in its Melbourne office. He accepted.

“I sort of fell into industrial relations,” he says, “but it’s an area of law that I love. It’s very dynamic.”

Despite his police background, Healy has never worked in criminal defence. He sees it as totally removed from industrial relations law and, for him, an uninviting field in which to practise.

“It was never my intention to go into the criminal field,” he says. “I’ve got absolutely no interest in it.

“I’ve had my time in that area: seven years (as a police officer) dealing with criminals. I couldn’t see myself on the other side of the fence actually defending them. I don’t want them as part of my life.”

But Healy concedes that his police experience has been a great benefit to his legal career. Of greatest value to him has been the “(police) way of thinking”.

“The police force trains you to think about the elements you’ve got to prove (in court cases),” he says, “and it’s just like being a lawyer.”

Today, that old police training helps Healy apply critical thought to the claims he makes – and defends – in court. It keeps his judgement sharp about what he must prove and disprove.

By comparison, he says, new young lawyers without similar training are at a disadvantage.

And, of opposing them, Healy says: “You just know you’ve seen more than some stuffed shirt you’re up against who’s representing the other party. You’re a lot street-smarter.”

Also from his police background – and obvious to those who deal with Healy – are his finely tuned “people skills”. He sees them as impossible to overestimate in a legal career.

“Intelligence will only carry you so far,” he says, “especially in the industrial relations game, which is very people-orientated, and a lot to do with negotiating. You can be head-and-shoulders above the next person, because you’ve just had so much dealing with people. It definitely gives you the edge.”

Healy believes cops who act sooner rather than later to become lawyers can make their transition easier. He says older aspirants committed to young families – and with financial constraints – would probably find the task much more rugged.

The road to a law degree otherwise, he asserts, is “not hard at all”. “I’d say 95 per cent of the cops I worked with could easily have done, academically, what I did,” he says. “It’s not brain surgery. If you’ve got communication skills, that will get you 80 per cent of the way through.

“Don’t be frightened by it, because it’s certainly achievable.”

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