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Story of Rehabilitation Is Tale of Deceit

Crime: Raymond Mendez's bosses in public defender's office tell of disappointment in learning his criminal life wasn't just in past after all.

July 27, 1997|GEOFF BOUCHER | TIMES STAFF WRITER

SANTA ANA — For 18 months, Raymond Ronald Mendez was a model employee for the Orange County public defender's office, an affable co-worker and crisp translator who interviewed Spanish-speaking defendants after their arrests.

But the Santa Ana native has now been exposed as a man leading a second life--that of "Champ" Mendez, a player in the sprawling La Eme prison gang. He was convicted in May as a conspirator to murder and drug trafficking.

Mendez, a 46-year-old Santa Ana native, is now sitting in a cell awaiting a sentencing hearing Sept. 5 that might put him in prison for life. His former co-workers, meanwhile, spoke out for the first time about the secret life of a once-trusted employee.

"We had absolutely no indication that a life different than one we saw was being led by him,' said Chief Deputy Public Defender Carl C. Holmes. "It was a complete and total shock to us when we read about [the indictment] in the newspaper."

The burly Mendez came to the public defender's office in November 1993 as a Rancho Santiago Community College student seeking class credit and work experience. The new intern's past was no secret: Everyone knew he had served four years in prison after a 1989 conviction on robbery, burglary and weapons charges.

Still, the former boxer who grew up on 17th Street appeared reformed. A prominent local judge had vouched for him and, as one former colleague put it, "If the public defender's office can't give someone a second chance, who can?"

The intern's work quickly earned his superiors' trust and a part-time paid job as a translator. He interviewed hundreds of Spanish-speaking defendants so overworked public defenders could quickly verse themselves in the facts of the case.

"He did fine work, and he seemed to have a lot of compassion for people accused of a crime," said Tom Mooney, an office manager. "He appeared to be a guy pulling his life together."

Mendez seemed careful to never speak in street slang. His pressed shirt sleeves always covered his tattoos. Fellow employees thought he was distancing himself from his past. Now, they wonder if he ever escaped it.

"If he was leading these two lives, as you would have to believe from the evidence presented, it must have been a nightmare for him," Holmes said. "A nightmare."

Mendez was among a dozen men convicted in May of plotting murder and drug dealing for La Eme (the Spanish letter "M," and the common street name of the Mexican Mafia), a criminal enterprise founded in the 1950s that now has tendrils of influence spread throughout the state prison system.

The verdicts capped an 18-month federal investigation that marked the first time federal racketeering laws were brought against the gang, which reportedly has about 400 members.

Prosecutors used video tapes showing Mendez meeting with his co-defendants to convict him of conspiring to murder a former gang member, distribute drugs and violate the federal Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations (RICO) Act.

At one point, the tapes show Mendez talking about the fate of gang members who turn to Christianity to escape the street life. An associate says death is the penalty for that perceived betrayal, and Mendez is heard to say, "It's that simple."

Prosecutors successfully argued that the tapes showed Mendez was a active participant in gang business. But Mendez's supporters say they only show a man who changed his ways but was unwilling to turn his back on lifelong friends.

"It's just guilt by association," said Donald Aguilar, Mendez's godson. "He was a role model for the young people around him, proof that your dreams are not dead just because you carry some baggage from your past."

*

The revelation that this organized crime figure was toiling by day in the public defender's office has been embarrassing for his superiors and a cause of concern for investigators.

Mendez's attorney, Yolanda Barrera, said investigators suspected her client of funneling sensitive information from the workplace to La Eme--an assertion one key investigator in the case has confirmed, although he spoke only on condition of anonymity.

That suspicion, however, was never aired by prosecutors during the six-month federal trial, and was refuted by Barrera.

"There is no reliable or credible evidence that Mr. Mendez had access to sensitive information and we will present information at the sentencing to that effect," Barrera said. "The government has tried to turn everything on its head . . . to make [his job] all very sinister."

Holmes and Mooney also said Mendez had no access to documents beyond police reports of misdemeanor crimes, which he relied upon during his interviews with defendants. Locked doors and secure filing cabinets denied him access to the rest, they said.

Still, a confidential Department of Justice memorandum dated June 1995 suggests that investigators were worried that someone in the Orange County public defender's office was gathering information for La Eme.

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