By Karrin Peterson

Over a decade ago, I was a public defender. I was young. I had a navy blue skirt suit that I wore to jury trials, having bought into the notion that blue is a soothing, truthful color. I had matching moderate heeled pumps and tasteful pearl jewelry. But for all my efforts to look professional, I might as well have litigated naked because I had clients who insisted upon dressing like Billy Idol, despite my efforts to coach them into suits for their legal appearances.

These guys (and a few gals) seemed intent upon making social statements. The juries always put their own interpretation upon those statements.

I recall a particular case where my client, let’s call him Wannabe Billy because that is who he looked like, was charged with assault. He’d allegedly commenced a spectacular brawl in a downtown bar, after imbibing large quantities of low-grade beer and taking exception to the behaviors and appearance of some sailors on shore leave. He’d also allegedly taken off his metal spiked belt, a black leather contraption with numerous chromed spikes and square metal pieces, and tried to lash a sailor with it.

Wannabe Billy had been charged with four counts of assault, one of them a “threat” assault with that distinctive belt, and a count of malicious mischief for his allegedly lusty way of throwing his opponents into walls, doors, and furniture (to the detriment of the property). His belt had been confiscated as evidence.

Wannabe Billy wanted his day in court, because he was certain that he had been just sitting there peaceably, enjoying his brew, when those nasty Navy men came up and started disrespecting his apparel. He was also certain that he had been assaulted first by one of them, and that he was just defending himself the whole fifteen minutes or so the brawl was likely to have gone on. Conceding him his right, I begged him to appear for trial in appropriate clothes. He came dressed as he had been the night of the brawl, complete with an identical three-inch- wide leather belt, studded with chromed spikes and heavy metal squares. Like Michael Jackson’s glove, Wannabe Billy had his punker belt.

Under normal circumstances, I’d found that barroom brawls were kind of fun to litigate. The utter chaos of the events, the numerous less-than-sympathetic witnesses, and the counter accusations of who did what when made for a chaotic and difficult case for the prosecution. I had obtained acquittals in my previous cases, so I’d had some hopes for Wannabe Billy, until he appeared for jury call in his belt, black muscle T-shirt, and ripped-at-the-knee jeans. At that point, as the prosecutor started chuckling (really), I saw our chances slipping away.

My premonitions were right. This was the only barroom brawl case that I ever lost. I still managed to get four of the five charges dropped or disbelieved by the jury, because of the utter chaos of the event. But Wannabe Billy was convicted of using that belt to menace a sailor. Having two such weapons in the courtroom for the jury to stare at for eight hours probably didn’t help Wannabe Billy’s case (one on Billy’s waist and one duly admitted into evidence).

Clothes may not make a man, but they can speak loudly about what that man is or may have done.