Deputies’ Lawyer Raises the Bar on Accountability

The first time he saw the video, Gregory Emerson knew there was going to be trouble for the deputies who fired 120 shots into a Compton neighborhood last month.

As general counsel for the Los Angeles County Professional Sheriff’s Assn. -- one of two unions representing deputies -- he would have to advise his nine clients and devise a defense of their actions in the May 9 shooting, which left a deputy and the suspect wounded.

Even Sheriff Lee Baca, who apologized to residents for the incident, was giving them flak, not to mention activists such as the Rev. Al Sharpton.

What happened next, however, surprised not only Emerson but also almost everyone who has dealt with law enforcement in Los Angeles County.

During a discussion of news accounts that compared their actions with “the shootout at the O.K. Corral,” one of the deputies shifted the conversation to accountability.

“Whether you live in a cardboard box or a mansion in Beverly Hills, you demand respect for where you live,” Emerson recalled one deputy saying.

His other eight clients agreed. Their aim had been to protect residents, not harm them. And they thought an apology was in order.

That unprecedented mea culpa, at a news conference on Friday the 13th, was described by Baca and other high-ranking Sheriff’s Department officials as “an act of courage” and a “big step in the healing process.”

It also thrust Emerson into the international talk-show spotlight.

There was a time when being a sheriff’s deputy meant never having to say you’re sorry. At least publicly.

After one of the most controversial cases -- the 1989 beating of several Samoan Americans at a Cerritos bridal shower -- then-Sheriff Sherman Block expressed no regret and said he would not sacrifice his deputies for the sake of public relations. A jury later awarded the partygoers $23 million.

But Emerson saw room for contrition in the Compton shooting, which started when deputies responded to a “shots fired” call and spotted a Chevrolet Tahoe that matched the description of the vehicle reportedly involved in the shooting.

Deputies tried to question the driver, Winston Eugene Hayes, but he took off, leading them on a brief pursuit through a working-class neighborhood off Alondra Boulevard.

At one point Hayes was surrounded, and three deputies got out of their patrol cars. When Hayes backed up in their direction, 10 deputies unleashed a barrage of gunfire, wounding the unarmed Hayes and one of their own while stray bullets peppered at least five homes.

Former U.S. Atty. Michael Gennaco, who heads the Sheriff’s Office of Independent Review, suggested that the shooting could have been a case of “contagious fire,” in which the sound of gunfire literally “triggers” other deputies to fire.

“They were not apologizing for the actions they took against the suspect,” Emerson pointed out. “They were taking responsibility for what happened to the residents. There’s a big difference.”

Attorney Harland Braun, who successfully represented one of the L.A. police officers involved in the 1991 Rodney G. King beating case, said such candor by deputies was long overdue.

“Part of the job [in law enforcement] is maintaining your credibility with the public,” Braun said. “And if you never admit a mistake, you’re never going to have any credibility. There should be more apologies, in my opinion.”

Not everyone is convinced.

Deputy Roy L. Burns, head of the county’s dominant deputies union, the Assn. for Los Angeles Sheriffs, called Emerson “a self-promoter” who sold out the deputies and set a precedent that could harm the rights of all officers patrolling Los Angeles.

“For reasons that are obvious to all, televised apologies by rank-and-file personnel incur liabilities that will be difficult if not impossible to overcome in litigation that will certainly follow,” Burns wrote in a letter this month to the California Peace Officers Assn.

The 7,000-member sheriffs union, Burns added, “does not, and will not, support the parading of its sworn personnel in front of the public.”

Responding from his 28th-floor Bunker Hill office, the 35-year-old Emerson was unrepentant.

He called the comments by the rival union outdated, unsophisticated and ultimately harmful to the very people they represent.

The second-oldest of four children, Emerson says he knows when it’s time to fight and when diplomacy is needed.

The son of a U.S. Defense Department analyst, Emerson was born in the city of Orange and spent his formative years in San Diego, New Hampshire, Ohio and Texas.

After high school, he attended Fullerton College before transferring to the University of Utah, where he set his sights on a legal career.

At Southwestern Law School, Emerson initially wanted to become an entertainment lawyer. But the more attorneys he met in the industry, the less glamorous it seemed. After passing the state bar exam in 1999, Emerson represented a Chino police officer accused of assaulting a suspected gang member.

In court, Emerson argued that the man had no injuries and that the officer was defending himself. He also said the prosecutor was using the officer as an example against the backdrop of the Rampart police corruption scandal in Los Angeles. The jury sided with the officer.

But not everything has been smooth sailing.

In 2002, Emerson resigned from the law firm he was working for and was suspended for a month by the state bar for failing to properly deposit a client’s fees into a client trust account.

Although Emerson admits he made a mistake that was unintentional, he says the firm unfairly used the state bar discipline system to target him. It’s an experience that motivates him when defending his law enforcement clients, he says.

“I feel empathetic because I realize what it’s like to be judged when people don’t understand the full story,” Emerson said.

Accountability is important, he added.

“When incidents happen, the goal tends to be to insulate the officers’ actions from being scrutinized and prevent discipline. That’s a mistake,” Emerson said.

“Officers have badges and carry guns, so they should be held accountable for what they do,” he added. “When discipline is warranted, it should be fair and consistent.”

But the department “should also get them the training that would help prevent those kinds of mistakes from occurring in the future.”

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Varied career

* Emerson’s varied resume includes a stint as general manager of a Salt Lake City Chuck E. Cheese restaurant, a quality control analyst for an Orange County cutting tools supplier, a staffer on the Senate Judiciary Committee during the 104th Congress, and constituent affairs liaison for former Utah Gov. Mike Leavitt, now secretary of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.

* When he began at Southwestern Law School, Emerson dreamed of a career in entertainment law. That lasted until he and classmates went to a lunch held by a studio lawyer who said he had a nice house and car but “a miserable life.”

* He once borrowed a necktie that played Christmas tunes and posed for a photo in it with Sen. Orrin Hatch (R-Utah). Hatch asked if he could have the tie. Emerson obliged, getting the senator’s in return.

* Emerson’s biggest case to date was a wrongful-death suit against the manufacturer of bulletproof vests on behalf of the widow and 2-year-old son of a slain Oceanside police officer.

* Emerson says, “A lot of the success I’ve had so far is because I’m afraid of failing.”

Los Angeles Times