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County prosecutor pens true-life book based on his criminal cases
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By Kris Hilgedick
khil@newstribune.com
When Cape Girardeau County Prosecutor Morley Swingle first heard about the General Motors technology that tracks stolen cars to their present location, he had one thought ...
“I can't wait until somebody with OnStar gets their car stolen!” he said to himself. The self-deprecating line drew a chuckle from the packed crowd gathered at the Missouri State Archives.
Swingle is the author of “Scoundrels to the Hoosegow: Perry Mason Moments and Entertaining Cases from the Files of a Prosecuting Attorney.”
Swingle has prosecuted thousands of cases, from misdemeanors to capital murder cases. Some of his work has been featured on the “Oprah Winfrey Show,” “Dateline,” and “Forensic Files.”
“Scoundrels” is a compendium of funny stories from his life as a country prosecutor.
“Every time something funny happened with one of my cases, I stuck in my ‘humor file,'” he explained.
The idea came from U.S. Supreme Court Justice Earl Warren, who once noted no one had ever really written about a book about the work life of an American prosecutor.
Swingle was invited by the Friends of the State Archives to share some of his stories from this book and two earlier novels, “The Gold of Cape Girardeau” and “Bootheel Man.”
Each “Scoundrels” anecdote - already road tested at law conferences and speaking engagements - has its own Perry Masonesque title.
For example, the story about the SUV thief is entitled “The Case of the Camera-Shy Car Thief.”
Swingle said the case became interesting when the defendant (caught red-handed in Carter County) noticed a TV reporter in the courtroom.
“What's he doing here?” he asked his attorney suspiciously.
When told about the reporter's purpose - to tell the details of his very case - the defendant freaked out. “I can't be on TV! My grandmother doesn't know I did this!” he said.
Instead of facing the press, the thief quickly waived his preliminary hearing.
But the TV reporter wasn't so easily dissuaded. He waited outside for the defendant, escorted by a burly deputy. “It was great camera work, with the dome of the courthouse in the background,” remembered Swingle.
The funny moment came when the thief looked right into the camera's eye.
“Don't mess with OnStar,” he said, guaranteeing himself the lead on the evening news.
“The Case of a Dog on Death Row” was Swingle's first attempt to make the crowd laugh.
The case involved a man who was given probation for a DWI. But the terms of the release involved eight hours of community service.
Normally offenders are assigned to sweep floors or pick up trash. But this guy was assigned to the Humane Society, said Swingle.
“He probably thought, ‘No big deal. I like dogs,'” said Swingle.
Instead he was assigned to eight hours of helping the veterinarian euthanize them. (Swingle said the rules do bar that sort of thing, but a mistake was made.)
“He came home after this awful, awful day,” related Swingle. “He thought: ‘One cold beer. Whose gonna know?'”
But the alcohol impaired his ability to make good decisions. He decided to rescue the animals.
“He scaled the wall (of the shelter) and set free all of the dogs,” recalled Swingle.
After that incident, local police were mad. They wanted Swingle to crack down on the misbehavior with burglary and felony stealing charges. And they had the evidence, too.
“Someone who is highly inebriated leaves a few clues at the scene of the crime,” said Swingle dryly.
Swingle said he chose not to over-react. “Where's the beef?” he asked himself.
In the end the judge kept him on probation and assigned 40 hours more of community service. “This time not at the humane shelter,” he added.
Swingle said “Scoundrels” was a “really fun book to write.”
“I knew I wanted to be a writer before I knew I wanted to be a lawyer,” he said. “I actually wanted to be the James Michener of Missouri.”
That is, he wanted to tell the state's history through compelling fictional stories.
His first effort, started in 1981, was “The Gold of Cape Girardeau County.” A book that was massive in scope, it originally started with the Mound Builders, a native culture inhabiting the Mississippi River plain thousands of years ago.
For years he wouldn't listen when people would tell him: “Unless your name really is Michener, nobody is going to publish it.”
Finally, Swingle relented, shortened the tale and a publisher came forward in 2002.
But that wasn't the end of Swingle's struggle.
For months, he agonized, waiting for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch to pen a review. None was forthcoming.
Finally, he called the editor.
“Well. It's here,” she said. “It's in a stack. But I get 200 books a week. Statistically, it's unlikely.”
But apparently Swingle made a good impression, because the editor liked the book so much she wanted to run a story prominently in the paper's Everyday section.
The waiting began again.
Finally an article was printed and Swingle stopped by a convenience store to pick up extra copies for his family.
The clerk recognized him.
“I could feel my head swelling!” remembered Swingle.
During the ensuing conversation - in which he flashed the article - Swingle could tell it wasn't because of his writing prowess.
“You're the one who gave me my felony conviction,” the clerk growled. “Don't you remember me? I beat up my girlfriend. I wrote threatening letters ...”
“What do you say to that?” asked Swingle.
After that incident, Swingle held out hope friends would mention the article. They never did.
“I finally realized that convicted felon was the only one to see the story,” he lamented.
“I can't wait until somebody with OnStar gets their car stolen!” he said to himself. The self-deprecating line drew a chuckle from the packed crowd gathered at the Missouri State Archives.
Swingle is the author of “Scoundrels to the Hoosegow: Perry Mason Moments and Entertaining Cases from the Files of a Prosecuting Attorney.”
Swingle has prosecuted thousands of cases, from misdemeanors to capital murder cases. Some of his work has been featured on the “Oprah Winfrey Show,” “Dateline,” and “Forensic Files.”
“Scoundrels” is a compendium of funny stories from his life as a country prosecutor.
“Every time something funny happened with one of my cases, I stuck in my ‘humor file,'” he explained.
The idea came from U.S. Supreme Court Justice Earl Warren, who once noted no one had ever really written about a book about the work life of an American prosecutor.
Swingle was invited by the Friends of the State Archives to share some of his stories from this book and two earlier novels, “The Gold of Cape Girardeau” and “Bootheel Man.”
Each “Scoundrels” anecdote - already road tested at law conferences and speaking engagements - has its own Perry Masonesque title.
For example, the story about the SUV thief is entitled “The Case of the Camera-Shy Car Thief.”
Swingle said the case became interesting when the defendant (caught red-handed in Carter County) noticed a TV reporter in the courtroom.
“What's he doing here?” he asked his attorney suspiciously.
When told about the reporter's purpose - to tell the details of his very case - the defendant freaked out. “I can't be on TV! My grandmother doesn't know I did this!” he said.
Instead of facing the press, the thief quickly waived his preliminary hearing.
But the TV reporter wasn't so easily dissuaded. He waited outside for the defendant, escorted by a burly deputy. “It was great camera work, with the dome of the courthouse in the background,” remembered Swingle.
The funny moment came when the thief looked right into the camera's eye.
“Don't mess with OnStar,” he said, guaranteeing himself the lead on the evening news.
“The Case of a Dog on Death Row” was Swingle's first attempt to make the crowd laugh.
The case involved a man who was given probation for a DWI. But the terms of the release involved eight hours of community service.
Normally offenders are assigned to sweep floors or pick up trash. But this guy was assigned to the Humane Society, said Swingle.
“He probably thought, ‘No big deal. I like dogs,'” said Swingle.
Instead he was assigned to eight hours of helping the veterinarian euthanize them. (Swingle said the rules do bar that sort of thing, but a mistake was made.)
“He came home after this awful, awful day,” related Swingle. “He thought: ‘One cold beer. Whose gonna know?'”
But the alcohol impaired his ability to make good decisions. He decided to rescue the animals.
“He scaled the wall (of the shelter) and set free all of the dogs,” recalled Swingle.
After that incident, local police were mad. They wanted Swingle to crack down on the misbehavior with burglary and felony stealing charges. And they had the evidence, too.
“Someone who is highly inebriated leaves a few clues at the scene of the crime,” said Swingle dryly.
Swingle said he chose not to over-react. “Where's the beef?” he asked himself.
In the end the judge kept him on probation and assigned 40 hours more of community service. “This time not at the humane shelter,” he added.
Swingle said “Scoundrels” was a “really fun book to write.”
“I knew I wanted to be a writer before I knew I wanted to be a lawyer,” he said. “I actually wanted to be the James Michener of Missouri.”
That is, he wanted to tell the state's history through compelling fictional stories.
His first effort, started in 1981, was “The Gold of Cape Girardeau County.” A book that was massive in scope, it originally started with the Mound Builders, a native culture inhabiting the Mississippi River plain thousands of years ago.
For years he wouldn't listen when people would tell him: “Unless your name really is Michener, nobody is going to publish it.”
Finally, Swingle relented, shortened the tale and a publisher came forward in 2002.
But that wasn't the end of Swingle's struggle.
For months, he agonized, waiting for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch to pen a review. None was forthcoming.
Finally, he called the editor.
“Well. It's here,” she said. “It's in a stack. But I get 200 books a week. Statistically, it's unlikely.”
But apparently Swingle made a good impression, because the editor liked the book so much she wanted to run a story prominently in the paper's Everyday section.
The waiting began again.
Finally an article was printed and Swingle stopped by a convenience store to pick up extra copies for his family.
The clerk recognized him.
“I could feel my head swelling!” remembered Swingle.
During the ensuing conversation - in which he flashed the article - Swingle could tell it wasn't because of his writing prowess.
“You're the one who gave me my felony conviction,” the clerk growled. “Don't you remember me? I beat up my girlfriend. I wrote threatening letters ...”
“What do you say to that?” asked Swingle.
After that incident, Swingle held out hope friends would mention the article. They never did.
“I finally realized that convicted felon was the only one to see the story,” he lamented.
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