It seems an investigation or indictment has become the accessory du jour for the current power elite. Whether CEO, CFO, investment banker, cardinal, politician, college president, or law-enforcement official, those at the pinnacle of their professional, social, or political careers all seem to be taking turns pleading the Fifth. At the very least, a special guest appearance in front of the local grand jury is now as ubiquitous among the upper echelons as a degree from an Ivy League school.

Why the uptick in such unpleasantness? Did reaching the pinnacle of one's career force one's head too far out of the foxhole, or is it that one had to step on too many people and break too many rules on one's way to that pinnacle? I'll leave such questions for others to answer.

What I will not leave for others is the issue of indictment etiquette. As I watch news reports of the latest bigwig being dragged out of a courthouse by smug-looking federal agents, I just want to scream, "Who dressed you? Gordon Gekko?" With all their wealth and training, you'd think that someone would have told them that under no circumstances should one wear a pinstriped suit to an arraignment. For the love of God, is there a better way to tell the world, "I'm so guilty"?

I suppose a "master of the universe" never entertains the possibility that he'll go down in flames one day, and his
cluelessness about indictment etiquette can be chalked up to poor planning. But some of it is just common sense. Take, for instance, the typical indictee's body language. Confidence is the finest suit. Even in prison orange, a man who walks with his head held high tells the world he believes in himself and his own innocence (or that he believes there's a lack of hard evidence). Hunching over dejectedly sends the oh-so-wrong message. The indictee thinks slouching says, "I'm a downtrodden victim of the system," but the TV-viewing public sees a troglodyte with bad posture who shuffled off with millions in pensioners' hard-earned retirement cash. You can practically hear the chants of "Hang 'em high!"

And please, if you are ever indicted and there are news crews pointing cameras in your face, do not try to pull your suit jacket up over your head. We already know who you are and what you look like, because your face has been
plastered all over the cover of the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times for the past six months. Besides, your hands will most likely be handcuffed behind your back, so trying to pull your coat over your head will inevitably lead to a shoulder injury. One thing you don't ever want to experience is prison chiropractic.

On the other hand, the newly indicted (or those appearing before special counsels, grand juries, or SEC investigators) should refrain from looking too polished. One should not lead "the law" to believe one has so much disposable cash that one can simply pop into the salon for a manicure and brow wax before the "big day." A slightly disheveled, tired look might be more appropriate, reflecting the stress of being under so much scrutiny -- but don't look too tired. One doesn't want investigators thinking one was up tossing and turning all night, wracked with guilt and fear that the Man knows about that little shredding incident. Most important, do not come in stinking of last night's gin.

Once one has been identified as the subject of some sort of official action, there are general rules one ought to follow regardless of the nature of the accusations. One should not part one's hair in the middle, and if one already does, one should stop doing so immediately. (No one trusts anyone who has the poor sense to part his hair in the middle.) Unless one had gray hair before the indictment, color any new gray hair that sprouts up. Graying hair is the first sign that one has been up to no good (a certain former president comes to mind). Don't grant interviews, but do issue a press statement. Keep it simple and to the point. "I am not guilty of the charges against me. I have faith in the criminal-justice system. I love my wife and children, and I thank them for their support during this ordeal. God bless America." The end. Don't grandstand, don't rant -- but a small tear welling up in the eye wouldn't be amiss.

Perhaps the most demanding etiquette challenge occurs when one invokes one's Fifth Amendment protection against self-incrimination. When skillfully handled, even this potential etiquette Waterloo can be used to showcase one's poise, charisma, and charm. One should make direct and lingering eye contact with one's interrogators, driving home the point that one is a person, not a criminal . . . and then go on to state slowly and clearly, "Although it offends my sense of fair play, honesty, and justice to do what I am about to do, the prejudiced nature of these proceedings, and the advice of my counsel, require that I invoke my . . . blah blah blah."

By turning the tables on one's accusers, while also legally covering one's derrière, one shows the spin savvy that got one to the professional pinnacle to which I referred earlier. One must make sure to present a strong, defiant image throughout one's ordeal, no matter how guilty one is. Then, when the next big scandal comes along, and one's current transgressions begin to look like a parking violation in comparison, one can lean back in one's big leather chair, smile smugly in the knowledge that one has emerged with both pride and bank account intact, and mutter, "God bless America."

And it was.

Kris Frieswick can be reached at k.frieswick@verizon.net.

Issue Date: January 31 - February 6, 2003