For many years, I have written in a journal each Saturday morning.  Recently, I have taken to reading back over the last ten years’ worth of entries to see what was going on in my life at approximately the same date.  It is a good discipline.


This morning I read my entry from February 24, 2019, and it brought me up short.  Here’s what I said in part:


This morning I opened my phone only to discover that Jeff Adachi, the 59-year-old charismatic elected San Francisco Public Defender had died.  He died of a heart attack.  Jeff was thin, energetic, intense, passionate, the last person you would think would die young.  I was stunned.  After the word got out, the defender community nationwide responded with sadness, surprise, memories.  He was the leader everyone aspired to be—fist in the air at a demonstration, sharing his  plan of the “Six Stratagems,” revealing police misconduct at a press conference, walking with his client out the door after a dramatic acquittal.  His death has deeply affected all of us.  Now today it is sinking in.  We are left behind.  It’s just us, to do what needs to be done in the time we have remaining.”


Jeff, you are missed.