Wolfe's-Eye View -- As Attorney Struggles To Balance Job's Demands, His Philosophy Is: Separate Yourself From The Client And Focus On Solving Problem

His office is on the 61st floor of Columbia Center. It is built not so much of wood, metal and glass as of wealth and success. Its panoramic view looks down on Seattle: little buildings, little cars, little people barely visible.

John Wolfe is quick to say he resists the urge to make that view his reality, though it is seductive.

There's a lawyer joke Wolfe has come to appreciate.

Why do they bury lawyers 10 feet underground instead of 6 feet like everyone else?

Deep down, everyone is a decent person.

Deep down, Wolfe is a regular guy, a guy who worries about his kids, wonders what woman would be interested in a middle-aged guy whose hair is getting thin, wonders if he could be less isolated sometimes.

But first, the surface. Wolfe, at 43, is a success, a defense attorney whose cases come in two varieties, the kind that produce big bucks and the kind that produce big headlines.

He gets corporate officers out of hot water in environmental cases, fraud cases and the like.

He found his name in the newspapers again last month when he became attorney for Jason James Murphy, the 19-year-old charged with abducting an 8-year-old boy in Lynnwood. He defended George Gehrett, a Magnolia businessman convicted of killing his wife and dumping her body in Hood Canal two years ago.

Wolfe represented Seahawk Chris Warren in the aftermath of an automobile accident in which a teammate was seriously injured, and former Seahawk Gale Gilbert, accused of assaulting a woman he'd met in a bar.

He has worked for topless-dance-club entrepreneur Frank Colacurcio Sr., and he defended one of the men who subdued Antonio Jackson after Jackson stole a pack of cigarettes from a Safeway store in Twin Lakes. Jackson died while being held down. Wolfe's client was not prosecuted.

It could happen to anyone

"People don't come up and embrace my clients," says Wolfe, "but most of the clients I've met are rather decent people."

Wolfe says everyone has the potential to wind up in a tight spot, accused of something they didn't do, or accused of something they did do when they stepped across a behavioral line any of us might cross.

"I'm not the one responsible for the client's circumstances. The lawyer has to take responsibility from the time the client comes in. You have to separate yourself from the client and the client's life and focus on solving the client's problem."

It's not good, Wolfe says, to get too involved with clients. "If you socialize with a client and become the client's friend, you're not going to be the client's lawyer."

But sometimes a thank you would be nice, he says, a call or note. "It doesn't take anything to say thank you. It used to be troubling that clients wouldn't call me."

Once he called a former client.

"He said, `I never want to see you again in my life.' " The man acknowledged that Wolfe had saved his hide, and it wasn't anything personal, but, he said, "Whenever I think of Wolfe, I think of the worst time in my life."

This leads to Wolfe's interior, because on the surface it is not evident that he is mulling his relationships with others, and the difficult parts of his job.

`He gives his best effort'

Wolfe says he is shy, a loner. He's not part of a law firm. He has only one employee. He is also, he says, dull, especially since his divorce five years ago. He works long hours, sees his kids on weekends, seldom goes out.

Joan Guzzo, his ex, doesn't see the shy and quiet part, but agrees about his focus.

"I think he doesn't do anything halfway. He gives his best effort. He's a very dedicated father and attorney. Those are the most important things in his life. He attacks those two with gusto."

Feeling dull is familiar territory for Wolfe.

"I was a loner as a kid. I loved to read, and I found my escape in books." He remembers having only one date in high school.

Wolfe graduated from Roosevelt High School and headed for Western Washington College, wanting to be a doctor like his father. Soon he had to recognize that certain things, like understanding chemistry, stood in his way.

Wolfe spent part of his sophomore year in the other Washington working on Scoop Jackson's 1972 presidential campaign, and came to see public service as a way to do what he'd hoped to do in medicine.

"I watched my father help people. He made a difference."

He learned from mentors

Wolfe worked as a volunteer with VISTA (Volunteers in Service to America), then worked for various lawyers until he went to work in John Henry Browne's office. That's where Wolfe's real education began. Later he worked with David Allen, like Browne one of Seattle's pre-eminent defense lawyers.

From Browne, Wolfe says, he learned thorough preparation; from Allen, humility.

From his father, he learned hard work, long hours in the office, weekends skiing with the family. Like his father, Wolfe spends weekend with his three children, a stepdaughter, Shannah, 18; Noelle, 9; and John Paul, 6.

He eagerly shows off photographs of his children. Shannah says, "My dad is a great guy. He'll miss work to go to a volleyball game, and he comes home to care for my brother or sister if they're sick." She also says she's inspired by how much he loves his work. Most always at work

It is good that he loves it, for work is what he mostly does, from no later than 7:30 in the morning often until 8 at night.

Wolfe enjoys the intellectual exercise of building a defense and picking apart a prosecution case. He's known more for keeping his clients out of court than for trying cases, which is what white-collar clients prefer.

Attorney Kelly Corr says among Seattle lawyers Wolfe "would be on anyone's top 10 list, maybe even top five." Wolfe, he says, is both a very aggressive attorney and "a hell of a nice guy."

Law isn't all chess game or money-making. Practicing it has an emotional side, too. Lawyers, deep down, are still people.

His stomach churns at sentencings. Waiting for a verdict to be returned, he says, "Your heart begins to race and it feels like your legs aren't going to support you."

"Developing a plan of attack is fun, but carrying it out isn't always. It's not enjoyable picking apart someone who has accused your client of a sexual offense. Having to demean them as a person is not fun, even though they have disparaged your client."

And his practice has sometimes intruded on his personal life.

He recalls a man coming up to him at a restaurant where he was with his wife and young daughter. Wolfe had represented a client accused of abusing young boys. The man said, "I hope someone does to your daughter what he did to those young boys."

So how can a father represent someone who may have committed sex crimes against children?

"I compartmentalize," he says. The law is the law, the rest of life is something separate. Still, Wolfe says that though he generally takes any case that walks in the door, he now declines sex-abuse cases when there are other cases to work on.

David Allen, one of Wolfe's mentors, says there are some attitudes that comprise legal professionalism. "You have to keep your own feelings out of it. If they say they are innocent, you have to believe them. We have to deal with it in a different way than if we had just sat down in front of a TV, or read about a case in a newspaper."

But no one's ability to compartmentalize is total. Wolfe's work has affected his view of the world. "I'm super-cautious as a result of work. My daughter will tell you I keep my thumb on her. This is my reality."

There is a universal human potential for antisocial behavior, he believes, and that makes the world an unpredictable and dangerous place. He has come to avoid risks.

"I used to like dancing in Pioneer Square, but now I entertain at home." He's a gourmet cook, and preparing food is one of the ways he relaxes.

Work has exacted a toll, but it also provides rewards: the sense of accomplishment as well as the money.

Like other defense attorneys, Wolfe says he plays an essential constitutional role, testing the justice system, keeping it fair.

"I think I make a difference in almost every case," he says.

And the money? It buys him something besides the view from his office, the walls of glass opening onto blue-gray sky that matches his blue-gray eyes.

"I tell my clients they should let go of the problem and let me have it.

"I wake up at 3, 2 a.m. in the morning, worrying."