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Ever mind the moniker. Murray Richman (“Don’t-Worry-Murray”) was plenty worried that terrible day he drove his fresh-out-of-law-school daughter to the airport for the flight to Los Angeles. Stacey Richman was not merely flying off to her first law firm job. She was in flight from the long shadow of her noted father, Runyonesque dean of the Bronx criminal defense bar. “He kept saying to me, ‘You don’t have to do this!’ ” recollected Ms. Richman in an interview. “ I kept saying to him, ‘What choice do I have? I have to be my own person.’ “I was already Murray’s daughter. That’s not a skill,” she added. “What’s a legend anyway? A lot of work and a little bit of luck. Besides, I’ve seen my dad in his underwear.” But blood will tell. Stacey Richman has been back home for six years now, as a solo criminal defense lawyer working out of her old man’s offices in the Bronx. Three years ago in Brooklyn, she made him proud by winning her first murder case, an experience that put her “beyond elation.” Indeed, Stacey Richman has adjusted to the fit of her genes. “I am very, very happy,” said Ms. Richman, 36, a graduate of the Benjamin N. Cardozo School of Law. “It’s a rare thing when a child has the opportunity to really appreciate what a parent does.” A continental divide provided such perspective, along with the certain knowledge that corporate law was not for her, although she found the writing aspect valuable. “The best thing I learned in L.A. was how to write,” said Ms. Richman, who did business and entertainment litigation in the City of Angels, plus a regrettable stint in medical malpractice. “You have to be able to speak on the page as well as on the floor. “But the animus between civil counselors! I didn’t like what I saw,” she said. “It’s petty to get all hot and bothered about money issues. “Money comes and goes. I want to deal with people. People have families, people have backgrounds.” On behalf of people accused of robbery, assault, drug-dealing, murder and other felonies, Ms. Richman zips around town between court appearances in a silver Porsche Boxster with black leather interior. The car is one of three luxuries in her life, the others being a pet cat and exotic overseas travel — the latter of which has caused her father untold angst, never mind that he inspired wanderlust in the first place by reading aloud from history books when Ms. Richman and her younger sister Nicole were tykes. “I just lease the Boxster,” Ms. Richman explained, this being one of the differences between she and her father, who prefers to own things, such as the unassuming building on Williamsbridge Road that houses what is now the family trade. “The Boxster could go tomorrow, I wouldn’t care.” Besides the hip car, Ms. Richman is known among colleagues on both sides of the aisle as an attorney quite apart from her father, but every bit as effective and zealous. “I caught her on her first murder trial,” said Rob Reuland, a former prosecutor in the homicide bureau of the Brooklyn District Attorney’s Office. That trial involved an East Flatbush youth killed by a rival gang member. “Stacey beat me fair and square. “She’s not one of those lawyers content to just look at paperwork the D.A. sends to her, or to hire an investigator to go out to the scene,” said Reuland, a successful novelist these days. “She went out herself. She met with the kids at the McDonald’s and got their stories. She did her leg work. It paid off.” According to Ms. Richman, leg work revealed that in order to identify her young black defendant, a main witness for the prosecution would have to have seen him over the length of three football fields — at night. “I believed him guilty, and I believed I had the evidence to show that, so it was a hard-fought battle,” said Reuland. “But it never became personal. She hit the evidence where it was weak, she smacked me where I deserved to get smacked.” Joseph Tacopina, a Manhattan criminal defense attorney acquainted with the styles of both father and daughter, characterized Ms. Richman’s courtroom personality as “sweet, not confrontational, not aggressive.” “Don’t let that fool you,” said Reuland. “Doing felony work is still a man’s world to a large extent. But Stacey’s quite comfortable being a woman. She doesn’t feel she has to put pants on and glue hair to her chest to operate in a man’s world. “And doing trial work is a lonely, lonely business,” he added. “I don’t care who your father is. When you’re standing up in front of that jury, it’s just you. Nobody can help you.” Before giving in to the elation of winning her first murder case, an important rite of professional passage, Ms. Richman approached the D.A.’s table. She told the mother who had lost her son, “I’m sorry for your trouble. My kid didn’t do it. But I’m sorry.” Days later, when her own ailing mother failed to answer the phone, Ms. Richman drove from her office in the Bronx to Rockland County to check her parents’ home. The door was locked, Ms. Richman had no key. After consulting with her father by cell phone, she broke through a window to find Andrea Shasun Richman dead at the age of 59. “If you’re lucky, your parents are your friends,” Ms. Richman said. “My mother was so supportive of us all — me, my sister and my father. My mother was from a generation where they sent her brother to college, but not her. My father wasn’t going to have that for his daughters. He took us everywhere. “My mother would have us all sit around on a Sunday morning talking about my dad’s cases, and issues in the newspaper,” she said. “My sister Nickie and I would always be asked our opinion. I’ll never forget this [neighborhood] kid telling me, ‘Your dad was the only adult who ever asked me my opinion.’ He wanted us to think.” Sometimes that meant thinking fast. “I spent my [teenage] life being cross-examined by my father,” said Ms. Richman. “Like when I came home late.” An interrogation by Don’t-Worry-Murray provided a girl who knew she wanted to be a lawyer a practical lesson, just as surely as her father’s love of telling Bible parables at closing arguments. Ms. Richman tells jurors her own favorite tale from the Apocrypha — that of Susannah and the Elders, in which the comely Susannah faces the death penalty for adultery, but is saved from false claims thanks to her lone defender confronting accusers with caustic questions. “My dad is a well-seasoned man attorney in practice 40 years. We share some schtick, but I cannot pull off the same crap he can,” said Ms. Richman. On the other hand, “I am a medium-sized girl with big blonde hair. He can’t get away with some of the things I can.”

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