Summer 2015

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Jeanne Bishop is a Cook County assistant public defender at the Second Municipal District Courthouse in Skokie, Ill. Photo by Michael Goss.

Forgiven

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Barbara Mahany ’82 MS is a freelance journalist and the author of Slowing Time: Seeing the Sacred Outside Your Kitchen Door (Abingdon Press, 2014).

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Public defender Jeanne Bishop believe that criminals can be redeemed, rehabilitated and forgiven — even her sister’s murderer.

by Barbara Mahany

Jeanne Bishop in early-morning mode moves with the speed and the purpose most of us could only wish for. And only if fueled on a tank or two of high-octane. Doesn’t take long — nor too many double-time strides — to realize this is Bishop’s default setting.

It’s minutes past 9 in Room 245 of the Second Municipal District Courthouse, the northern outpost of the Cook County Circuit Court, in the Chicago suburb of Skokie, where for the last 14 years Bishop ’81, ’84 JD has worked as a Cook County assistant public defender. (In the 11 years before that she was posted at several of the county’s branch courts in Chicago, including the criminal courts at 26th and California and the Juvenile Court Building at 1100 S. Hamilton.)

She’s among the first to trickle in among the rows of government-issue desks, where all day long the accused, the paroled and assorted hangers-on will line up, take a number, hope for a break — or maybe just someone who’ll look up and listen.

The truth is, Bishop doesn’t so much trickle in; she darts. Down one aisle, she pauses long enough at a waist-high filing cabinet to pull a baguette and a stick of unsalted butter from her faux crocodile satchel. She lays it unceremoniously on a brown paper bag. “Might be all the lunch we get today,” she says, minus any hint of “poor me.”

Then, she’s down another aisle, around a corner and ducking into the three-desk office — no bigger than a coatroom, really — she shares with two colleagues and an intern. On the wall beside her desk hangs a glossy poster with the word “Innocent” spelled out in white-on-black text, and perched atop her bookshelf, a charcoal etching, the face of a young and beautiful woman.

Nancy Bishop Langert
Nancy Bishop Langert in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1990, shortly before she died.

“That’s Nancy,” she says of her kid sister, Nancy Bishop Langert, who was murdered, along with Langert’s husband, Richard, and their unborn child, on April 7, 1990, in the basement of their Winnetka, Ill., townhouse after a 16-year-old junior at New Trier High School, a teenager with a thing for trouble and guns — specifically, a stolen .357 Magnum — broke in on the eve of Palm Sunday.

The teen, dressed all in black, wearing gloves, toting handcuffs and the loaded revolver, used a glass cutter to make his way quietly in through a back sliding door. He’d picked the townhouse, he would later let on, only because it had an unlocked back gate, and that would make for unhindered escape. He waited in the shadows for the couple’s return, then ordered them down the stairs, where he shot Richard in the back of the head and pregnant Nancy in the side and the belly, and left all three to die. In her own blood, Nancy would draw a heart and a “U” on the cold cement floor, next to her husband’s slumped-over body, as she lay dying.

From the moment that blood-scrawled final message was discovered, Bishop believed it was her sister’s undying plea: Live a life of love.

Nancy and Richard Langert

And it is Nancy, who was 25 when she died, to whom Bishop, five years her elder and now 56, has dedicated her life’s work. That dedication plays out in Bishop’s day-to-day dealings with defendants and, far beyond any courtroom, as one of the clearest and most compelling voices in the national conversation calling for juvenile justice reform, abolition of the death penalty and a rare strand of forgiveness and mercy that demands not merely words but action — in her case, face-to-face encounters with her sister’s killer.

Now she’s published her story — a plotline of reconciliation, remorse and redemption that led her through years of refusing to even say aloud her sister’s killer’s name, to visiting him in prison every couple months — in a book titled Change of Heart: Justice, Mercy and Making Peace with My Sister’s Killer (Westminster John Knox Press, 2015), and it’s a story that is riveting readers.