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I was only 26 years old when I first got justice on behalf of a child. While most of my law school classmates were still just the third and fourth ranking attorneys on depositions and far from a courthouse, I was already in the courtroom seeking justice on behalf of women and children in my first year as an attorney. There is sometimes a perception that prosecutors are just the law school grads who couldn’t get a job at a high-power firm. My experiences tell me that perception couldn’t be further from the truth.

I had gone to law school in the way many people do, with dollar signs in my eyes and not a very clear idea of what I wanted to do with my degree.  In the law library, while sitting near classmates who were studying cases and looking up legal terms, I was busy looking up law firms, starting salaries, and internship opportunities.  At the end of my first year, internships in firms were low in number for first-year students, so I took an internship at a prosecutor’s office here in Indiana. I thought at a minimum it would be an interesting summer with good “people watching” possibilities, and then I could get back on track to becoming an intellectual property attorney.  Instead, it was my awakening. 

By the time I graduated from law school I had already tried three cases in front of a jury.  At the conclusion of my first year as a lawyer, I had increased that tally to eight and the number just kept growing until I lost count somewhere after 100.  The types of cases on that list ranged from forged documents to women beaten or sexually assaulted at the hands of a loved one or stranger, to men killed and taken from their families too soon and babies who didn’t survive a brutal shaking.  I don’t say this to make me sound “cool,” (if that’s even a word people use anymore?).  I say this because I’m not unusual. 

When you read news stories, whether it’s the one about the girl who said no and the guy who got away with it, or the one about the elderly woman who got cheated out of her money she thought she was spending on a new roof, or the one about the child who gets sent to school covered in bruises, you can feel helpless.  As a prosecutor, I never had to.  Being a prosecutor means standing between a bully and a victim and saying, “not today.” 

Prosecutors literally cannot go forward with cases unless they wholeheartedly believe in the guilt of the defendant.  Even a deputy prosecutor like I was.  Why is that important? It means it’s one of the few jobs – especially in the legal field – where any long hours are entirely because of your own volition.  They are entirely of your own drive on behalf of Emily or Mike or Sarah or Bill, or whomever was wronged.  I got to seek justice in the daytime and be home for kids’ sports at night.  Yes, there are late nights.  But those nights are with a clear goal of a jury trial and not the whims of a managing partner. 

We are moms, dads, brothers, and sisters.  We are members of your community seeking to make it better.  And, no, we don’t make as much money as someone in a big firm, but as you rise through the ranks, you can make a living.  Law school handed me my diploma.  The prosecutor’s offices I have worked for handed me my superhero cape.  I have held the hands of crying children.  I have laid on the floor of my office to make eye contact with a boy who would not look up at me.  I have held the weight of more than one victim who physically could no longer keep him or herself upright.  I am not alone in this sentiment.  I am not remarkable.  My hope for the future is that the men and women who are younger than me and just starting out in this noble career of law don a cape and join the helpers.  Right now, there are several openings across the state for different areas of criminal law as deputy prosecutors. If you’re an attorney or even have interest in law school, consider the cape. Your life will be better for it.

Courtney Curtis is the assistant executive director of the Indiana Prosecuting Attorneys Council. To view opening jobs across the state, visit IPAC: Employment Opportunities (in.gov)

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