Public defender still going at 74

"My experience always led me to want to be on the side of the little guy. My experience in the military has taught me that, while not every client is innocent or falsely accused, they are all entitled to have the case against them fairly proven without violating their rights. There is little that I can think of that is more satisfying, other than an acquittal, than having a client say, after being convicted, 'Thanks, you did a good job.' "

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Those words, written 22 years ago on a public defender job application completed by Denis Hynes, go a long way to define who Hynes is and why he's doing what he does.

They also answer the question of why he's still doing it at the age of 74. That makes him the oldest public defender in the state, a fact about which Hynes is both proud and reflective.

"I think that our Constitutional rights are important and if you don't protect them for the bad guys, who's going to know that when you're on trial — or anybody else — that you're not the bad guy?" Hynes said. "You don't have the rights if you don't protect them."

"You don't have to like people to represent them," he said. "My job isn't to win, to get them off. It's to make sure their rights are protected."

He's done that in thousands of cases since joining the St. Cloud public defender's office full-time in 1994.

Raised in the area, he moved to Washington D.C. in 1959 when his father, an ethics and sociology professor at St. John's University, agreed to become a legislative assistant to Sen. Eugene McCarthy.

Hynes, who attended St. John's Prep School and St. John's University, graduated from George Washington University Law School in 1968 before working as a judge advocate general, trial defense counsel and military judge.

He spent eight years as assistant general counsel at the Federal Trade Commission before returning to the St. Cloud area in 1982. He spent 12 years in private practice, which was more about collecting bills than he liked. And then his first wife was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.

He gradually become more of a caregiver to her and watched her slowly die. He had been on a part-time contract with the public defender’s office for misdemeanor cases when he decided he had time to return to full-time defense work.

"I think it's important work, and I enjoy it to the extent I enjoy working with people with troubles," he said. "The majority of them are good people who made terrible mistakes, usually because of drugs and alcohol. And they need help."

That sense of helping others in need was passed down from his parents.

His mother also worked with clients in need as a patients’ librarian in the country’s only federal mental hospital. She created the first comprehensive hospital-based training for bibliotherapy, a method of engaging patients in literature as a process of healing and personal growth.

The family’s strong connection to Collegeville manifested itself when his mother, at the age of 65, joined the Sisters of St. Benedict.

"I'm the original son of a nun," Hynes joked.

He has had almost 7,000 cases since he started to keep track in the early 2000s. He still works on 115-130 cases at a time, and isn't treated any differently than any other full-time attorney in the public defender's office, said his boss, Rex Tucker.

"It speaks to how tough-minded and how strong Denis Hynes is," Tucker said.

“Denis is a legend," said Bill Ward, chief public defender for the state. "It’s a combination of being around as long as he has and being as on top of his game for as long as he has. This is an incredibly difficult and challenging job physically and emotionally. And to be able to be still at the top of his game, I hate to say because of his age, is absolutely remarkable.”

Hynes still enjoys beating prosecutors. He keeps a list in his desk drawer that reminds him of his accomplishments, titled "Victories Great and Small."

It could be getting a fine reduced, getting a client a sentence of fewer days in jail than the prosecutor sought or filing a motion that gets a charge dismissed.

He tells the story of a client who was charged with committing a robbery he claimed he didn't commit. The client said it couldn't have been him because he was in the Wright County Jail at the time of the robbery.

Hynes relayed that news to the prosecutor and suggested the prosecutor check the jail records. Those records showed that the client indeed was in the Wright County Jail when the robbery happened. Hynes soon learned that the prosecutor dropped the charges against his client.

"That's why we do this," Hynes said. "Sometimes people do tell the truth. Sometimes they really didn't do it."

There also was a check collection case against a company hired by the city of St. Cloud that violated rules of the federal debt collection act, he said. He filed motions outlining 18 violations in which the collection company routinely engaged. The case was dismissed and the city then terminated its contract with the collection company, Hynes said.

Tucker marvels at the energy Hynes has, to keep a full caseload, to offer help around the office whenever anyone needs it, to take an extra case when needed.

Public defense work is grueling because of the workload, the stress and having to battle the resources of law enforcement and prosecutors.

Most public defenders leave the job by the time they hit their 60s, Ward said.

“I don’t mean this in any disparaging way, it truly is a young person’s game,” Ward said. “Every trial takes a piece of your soul, win or lose. It just does. We’re not limitless. I don’t care if it’s a driving after cancellation, no insurance or a murder case, it takes a piece of you every time.”

Tucker recently received notice that a public defender in his early 40s was leaving the job.

"The stress of working in the criminal justice system under the current conditions is just too tough for him. He's given up,” Tucker said. “That's never occurred to Denis. That thought has never passed through his mind."

Hynes laughed when asked if he ever finds himself wondering why he’s still in the grind when others have retired at a much younger age. It’s more common that he’s wondering about a client rather than his career.

"And it's usually at 2 in the morning," he said. "When I wake up and say 'What am I going to do with this guy?' I think about that, and I think it's important. Sometimes it's a real pain. Some of these people are not really very nice."

That’s a change he’s noticed over time. Clients are less respectful of authority, of him and what he’s trying to do for them.

“You're the dog that's there to kick,” he said. “They're in trouble and they want us to fix it.”

He admits there are days when he gets tired. He’s beat skin cancer, has three stents in his heart and this summer learned that he’ll have to undergo radiation to try to shrink a prostate that has been steadily growing for the last five years.

He recently began talking about retirement, and likely will do so in the next year or so. But he’ll clearly miss the work that he believes is so important. And he’ll miss the clients.

"I've enjoyed it. As much as you can enjoy working with people that are in trouble,” he said. “And a lot of them are troubled."

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