My Lawyer Fell Asleep During Trial—And the Justice System Let It Happen

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 By Chaddrick Thomas


In the fall of 2003, I sat in a federal courtroom in Tampa, Florida, on trial for bank robbery.

It was United States v. Chaddrick Thomas, Bobby Lamar Albritton, and James Range.

Three of us on trial.

Four former co-defendants turned government witnesses: Scotty Carpenter, David Vicker, Ava Jackson, and Nene Burns.


The odds were already stacked.

But nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for what happened next.


My court-appointed attorney, Thomas Ostrander, fell asleep during trial.

Repeatedly.

Not Just a Quick Nap—He Was Snoring


He didn’t doze off for a second.

He wasn’t just tired.


He slept. Hard.

He snored in open court.


He missed witness testimony.

He missed cross-examinations.

He missed pieces of my life being carved away one statement at a time.


At one point, I nudged him awake and he jumped up shouting,


“No questions for the witness, Your Honor!”
But there was no one on the stand.


The U.S. Marshal, Lisa Alphonso, saw it.

The Court Security Officer saw it.

And the judge allowed it.

This Is What They Call Justice


I didn’t get a mistrial.

I didn’t get a new lawyer.

I didn’t even get an apology.


What I got was the Strickland standard.


For those who don’t know, Strickland v. Washington is a legal test courts use to determine whether someone had ineffective assistance of counsel.

But under this test, it’s not enough to prove that your lawyer was asleep at the wheel—

You have to prove that the outcome of your trial would have been different had he stayed awake.


So let’s break that down.

My lawyer sleeps through key portions of my trial.

I’m on federal trial for my life.

And the courts tell me:


“Well, maybe he didn’t need to be awake for you to be found guilty.”

But There’s a Precedent for This—They Just Ignored It


In Burdine v. Johnson, the Texas courts ruled that if a lawyer is asleep during trial, it’s not just a mistake—it’s a constitutional violation.

That court applied what’s called a presumed prejudice standard—meaning if your lawyer is literally unconscious, you don’t have to prove the outcome would have been different. You just have to prove he was asleep.


But in my case?

The judge chose the Strickland standard—the stricter one.

The one that leaves no room for nuance, no room for humanity, no room for outrage.

So What Happens When the Court Fails You?


I appealed.

I fought.

I begged legal organizations for help.


And every single one of them told me the same thing:


“We only take cases where the person is actually innocent.”


So I ask:

What about when someone is actually violated?


What about when someone is denied due process?

When a basic constitutional right—the right to competent legal defense—is treated like a formality?


What do we do when the system is allowed to fail this boldly… and then double down?

This Is Bigger Than Me


This isn’t just about me.

It’s about every person who’s ever sat in court hoping that someone—anyone—would take their life seriously.


It’s about every poor defendant who gets a court-appointed lawyer who doesn’t care, doesn’t prepare, and in my case, doesn’t even stay conscious.


And it’s about a justice system that can admit something went wrong… but still tell you,


“That doesn’t mean you get a second chance.”

I Was Sentenced Anyway


My trial continued.

I was found guilty.

And I was sentenced to 40 years—plus another 51 years in federal custody.


That’s 91 years.

Handed to a man whose lawyer slept through trial.

Rubber-stamped by a system that doesn’t need justice—just closure.

Final Thought: This Shouldn’t Be Normal


I’ve been incarcerated since 2002.

I’m not writing this to play the victim.

I’m writing this because I believe someone out there will care enough to say:


“This isn’t justice. This is disgrace.”


Our system should not allow this.

Our courts should not reward it.

Our communities should not tolerate it.


Because if a man can be sentenced to life while his lawyer is snoring through trial—

then none of us are safe from the silence of injustice.

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