From practicing law to changing it
Michael Sweig's work as a public policy liaison for the Safer Foundation helps give ex-offenders a chance to get back on their feet. (Phil Velasquez, Chicago Tribune / July 25, 2010)
Former attorney and convicted felon works to give ex-offenders a second chance
Dawn Turner Trice5:14 p.m. CDT, August 1, 2010
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In 1991, Michael Sweig had been practicing law for nearly five years when he decided to leave his Chicago law firm and six-figure salary to hang out his own shingle."In hindsight, I was an entitled, greedy bastard," said Sweig, now 51. "I was making over $100,000 a year, and I thought that was a pittance. I was just out of control. My moral compass and judgment skills were pointing completely south."
What happened next explains why Sweig has become an impassioned advocate for the rights of people with criminal records. It explains why instead of working as an attorney, he teaches legal studies and works as the public policy liaison for the Safer Foundation, which helps ex-offenders find jobs.
It also explains why he was the best person at Safer to help shepherd legislation last year that expanded the pool of offenses eligible for the court-granted certificate of good conduct that gives ex-offenders an opportunity to apply for jobs previously off-limits.Sweig has a personal stake because Sweig himself is a convicted felon.
"Here I was, this guy who grew up in Highland Park, got the great education (a law degree) from DePaul University and had a great family," Sweig said. "I started my own law firm and got into a huge mess with my biggest client. I started doing stuff you just can't do if you're a lawyer."
When the big client refused to pay a substantial legal fee, Sweig started using trust account money to run the firm. Though his former law partner bailed out the firm, they couldn't recover from the loss of revenue — especially with Sweig paying himself way too exorbitantly from the firm's coffers.
"Things got tense, and with the advice of counsel, I came to the conclusion that the only choice I had was to turn in my law license, voluntarily," he said.
Sweig was never arrested. His lawyer went to the state's attorney and struck a deal that resulted in Sweig pleading guilty to one count of theft. The firm closed in 1997.
Sweig said it was the combination of following his attorney's advice and his former partner making everything right with their clients that kept him from going to prison. But his life took a dramatic turn.
Sweig was sentenced to a year of home confinement, four years of probation and 500 hours of community service. His family — his two daughters and his then-wife — went from living in a spacious home in Glencoe to an apartment over a nearby deli.
Back when he was the cocky young litigator, Sweig never thought he would know firsthand how difficult it was for a felon to find a job or for a white-collar criminal to get support services sometimes more readily available to ex-cons who are poor and not well-educated.
In 1998, Sweig was fortunate enough to work long distance as a paralegal for his father, who had a law firm in Colorado, back when disbarred attorneys could do such work. After that, he found jobs in Chicago — teaching, arranging real estate investments and working briefly as a rental agent on a temporary license.
But Sweig couldn't get the permanent license, though he said he passed the test, because of his background.
"There are roadblocks everywhere," Sweig said. "But you must be the one who outs yourself. The worst thing you can do is try to hide it. Once you're rehabilitated, the issue should be what have you done since you got in trouble, not what did you do to get in trouble."
Sweig stresses that studies show employment reduces criminal recidivism. He traveled to Springfield 13 times to advocate for the changes to the law that allows for the certificate of good conduct. He believes the program promotes rehabilitation by forcing the ex-offender to talk about his or her life changes before a circuit judge. The person has to prove a second chance has been earned.
Because Sweig voluntarily gave up his law license, the mandatory timeout was for three years. He's been able to petition for reinstatement since summer 2001. But right now he prefers teaching. He's taught part time at Kendall College, DePaul University and Roosevelt University. And he recently discovered advocacy.
"Lobbying and public policy advocacy is a godsend for me because there are no barriers for felons, and I can draw on all my training and my education," Sweig said.
"I'd rather spend my time succeeding at something I'm good at instead of chasing something that was so toxic for me. … I gave up trying to be the richest guy in the graveyard."
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Copyright © 2010, Chicago Tribune
Friday, August 6, 2010
Convicted felon has become an impassioned advocate for the rights of people with criminal records
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