Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, March 5, 1990 TAG: 9003052350
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A-3 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: DOUGLAS PARDUE STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Unlike most of those in the drug trade,Hirschhorn earned his money legally as a Miami defense attorney hired to represent dealers facing trial.
Now he's in federal court in Roanoke where,today,a jury is expected to decide the fate of his client,Stephen Lucion,a former Roanoke real estate salesman charged with racketeering. Lucion,42, is accused of cheating 85 Roanoke investors out of $2 million.
The trial is far from the pastel limelight of Miami,but it's among the most important in Hirschhorn's career.
He's desperately trying to prove he can be a successful,money-making attorney without representing drug dealers.
"There's no money in it anymore," Hirschhorn said. That's because federal prosecutors are now allowed to seize an attorney's fee if the money came from drug profits. "The government took the profit out of drug defense work," Hirschhorn said.
And he unabashedly admitted that "I've abandoned the practice of drug defense work because I'm a capitalist. I'm a greedy guy with bills and mortgages. I like getting paid."
Such comments have brought Hirschhorn national publicity. Newsweek magazine pictured him gloating in front of a 42-foot yacht named A Quit-All that he bought with drug fees. And the New York Times recently quoted him as saying,"There's only one reason to represent someone charged with a drug crime and that's money,big money."
His capitalistic bluntness also brought attention he didn't want - a law journal article questioning his professional ethics.
Hirschhorn believes he should get professional compliments for his honesty,not criticism. And he makes no apologies for going for the bucks with drug defense work.
"A law practice is a business too,and drug work pays lots of money. And I got good at it," Hirschhorn said. Drugs turned his one-man Miami practice into a money-making machine. He enjoyed it and flaunted his success before prosecutors,judges and stuffy members of Miami's big law firms.
He dressed in Italian shoes and garnished his fingers and wrists with gold and diamonds galore.
They called him "Diamond Joel."
Now Hirschhorn,46, wants to shed that image. He no longer wears his diamonds or gold. He's embarrassed by what he dismisses as his previous "immature flamboyance . . . I thought it was neat walking into court with gold all over me."
Hirschhorn had begun to tire of drug defense work even before the government made it unprofitable. Part of the reason for that was the effect it had on his wife,Evelyn,and two sons,Douglas,18, and Bennett,21. When his boys were younger,schoolmates teased them because their dad defended drug dealers. And at cocktail parties,Evelyn had to deal with gossipy snips from people asking "How can he defend these people?
When the government tried to seize one "six-figure" fee paid to him by a drug dealer,Hirschhorn decided it was time to quit.
Last year he gave up his practice and joined one of Miami's more prominent law firms,Broad and Cassel,a corporate firm whose 90 lawyers were more comfortable in board rooms than courtrooms. Hirschhorn was taken on to strengthen the firm's trial work,especially with white-collar crime.
It was a risk for both Hirschhorn and Broad and Cassel. Hirschhorn was a good criminal trial attorney,but his reputation was almost entirely as a drug lawyer. And when he gave up drug dealers,he had few monied clients to bring to Broad and Cassel.
That's why Stephen Lucion is so important to Hirschhorn.
Drug cases tend to be cut and dried,and Hirschhorn needs to prove he can handle a complicated financial case involving file cases of convoluted contract,partnership and bank records.
In his early years he handled some complicated bribery cases,and part of his early reputation was as a constitutional lawyer representing porn magazines. But he admits that most of that work was years ago and that he has to prove anew that he can handle white-collar cases with the same elan and polish he developed in drug work.
"I was looking for a major case that would take me out of drug work."
Hirschhorn candidly admits that Lucion's case is a no-lose situation for him.
"The odds are overwhelming against Lucion" because his former partner pleaded guilty and testified against him,Hirschhorn says. So if Lucion is found guilty,no one will be surprised. And if Lucion is acquitted,Hirschhorn will be well on his way to establishing a new reputation for defending white-collar criminals.
"People don't look down at you when you represent someone in a major white-collar crime," he said.
Early on in the three-week-old Lucion trial, Hirschhorn was so pleased with the way he was handling the case that he invited one prospective white-collar client from Miami to swing by Roanoke on a business trip to watch him in action.
But Lucion's case didn't end up as smooth as Hirschhorn would have liked. Perhaps that's because his own client,Lucion,did much of the work gathering and organizing documentary evidence for the case. Lucion put together more than 50 file boxes of documents,and Hirschhorn repeatedly had trouble finding the documents he wanted while questioning witnesses. He also was chastised by U.S. District Judge James Turk for dragging out questioning and for asking the same questions over and over.
Hirschhorn accuses the judge of showing favoritism to the prosecution led by Assistant U.S. Attorney Peter Strasser.
Strasser and Hirschhorn are about as opposite as attorneys can be.
Strasser,lean,with the posture of a military cadet,is aloof,stiff,almost cold. The desk in front of him is clean,except for carefully placed and indexed notebooks. His questions are as lean as his physique. They sound rehearsed,as if memorized from a script. His rare display of emotion is to stretch back in his seat,and rest his head on the back of his chair to show boredom with Hirschhorn's defense.
Hirschhorn's style is as seemingly uncontrolled as his bushy hair and moustache. He likes to joke and tries to catch witnesses off guard by stopping in the middle of a question to ask something else.
Hirschhorn says he loves complicated white-collar cases,but the stress of trying to shed his drug attorney image is showing. He had wanted to give up smoking,but can't. During breaks in the trial, he rushes outside to grab a puff. And he refuses to take time to eat. Instead he sends secretaries out to get apples and small bottles of his favorite brand of Florida fruit juice. Staying hungry,he says,keeps him alert and aggressive. It also keeps him on edge,quick to anger and snapping at the temporary secretaries hired to run errands.
He makes no apologies,other than to admit he's gotten wrapped up in the case.
"I really do love what I'm doing,and this case gives me the chance to prove I can take on major white-collar cases."
But the case has one aspect that is all too similar to his old drug practice.
He may lose his fee.
Lucion gave Hirschhorn a gold coin collection worth at least $150,000 to cover his fee. But,because Lucion filed for bankruptcy,the collection might have to be turned over to the bankruptcy court to be divided among Lucion's creditors.
And if Lucion is convicted,the federal trial judge might order the coin collection seized as restitution to be split among the investors who lost money in Lucion's deals.
by CNB