For more than 45 years, Gary Pitchlynn (Choctaw Nation) has fought for tribal nations across Oklahoma — from courtroom benches to tribal government halls. Today he serves as Attorney General for the Absentee Shawnee Tribe and Associate Judge for the Quapaw Nation Tribal Court, but decades ago, a single case changed the course of his career.
Fresh out of law school, Pitchlynn found himself at the center of the 1977 Girl Scout murders at Camp Scott, one of Oklahoma’s most infamous criminal cases.
Tasked with defending Gene Leroy Hart, a Cherokee man accused of the horrific crimes, Pitchlynn and fellow attorney Garvin Isaacs confronted not only a system stacked against Indigenous people, but also a rush to judgment that exposed deep cracks in Oklahoma’s criminal justice system.
In his book, The Usual Suspect, Pitchlynn recounts a trial marked by missing evidence, prosecutorial misconduct, and cultural bias, errors that continue today.
Speaking with the Black Wall Street Times, Pitchlynn reflected on that trial, the enduring failures of the system, and why justice for Indigenous people, and all marginalized Oklahomans, remains a battle still being fought.
A Conversation with Gary Pitchlynn
BWST: When you took on the defense of Gene Leroy Hart, you were a young attorney fresh out of law school. What was going through your mind?
Gary Pitchlynn: I was less than a year out of law school. Honestly, at first, I thought I’d just be carrying water for some high-octane criminal lawyer from out of state. But when Gene asked Garvin and me to take charge ourselves, we had already built a relationship, and I couldn’t say no.
From the beginning, I believed the sheriff was trigger-happy. Within 45 minutes of arriving at the campgrounds, Sheriff Pete Weaver was already targeting Hart — before any real investigation. So, it sort of confirmed both my and Garvin’s initial impressions of the case from afar as to how those cultural things played out.
BWST: Your book highlights failures in the state’s case — missing evidence, misconduct, and tunnel vision. What’s one moment from the trial that still sticks with you?
Gary Pitchlynn: During the preliminary hearing, one officer testified about the search of the house where Gene was captured. His story didn’t sit right with me. We got permission to search the house ourselves — and found nothing. Weeks later, law enforcement “found” a corn cob pipe, a mirror, and cutouts of young girls. They tried to introduce it at trial. But we knew — because we had already searched — that they planted that evidence. So, we knew at that point they were planting evidence and they were lying from the witness stand.
BWST: You and Garvin Isaacs weren’t the defense team the public expected. How did your Choctaw identity shape your approach to the case?
Gary Pitchlynn: Being Native made me deeply suspicious of the system. That hasn’t changed. It’s a system that has to be driven — you have to fight for it to work.
In my early years, outside of the Hart case, I was threatened with contempt multiple times just for challenging prosecutors and police officers. Judges protected them. But I understood — because of my background — that blind trust in the system would get my clients nowhere. It also helped me gain Gene’s trust quickly.
BWST: You describe visits with Cherokee Medicine Men and other cultural experiences. What did those moments teach you about law and responsibility?
Gary Pitchlynn: It showed me that regardless of race or culture, most people share a common understanding of right and wrong. Whether you pray to God, Allah, or the sun, the basic principles of justice are the same. The problem is whether those principles are applied equally. They weren’t back then, and they often still aren’t today. My responsibility as an advocate was to try and balance those scales, even when the system fought back.
BWST: Even with DNA evidence decades later coming back inconclusive, local law enforcement still insists Gene Leroy Hart was guilty. Why do you think that narrative persists?
Gary Pitchlynn:
Well, I think the reason that that persists, at least in my estimation, is that that case was so big and there were so many people that I think hoped their part in the prosecution was going to advance their careers significantly. The loss of that case tore all that down.
In sports and other activities we all lose from time to time, and the ability to admit your defeat and lick your wounds and walk away and go on to the next one and hold your head up is something that law enforcement doesn’t seem to have. It’s something that prosecutors don’t seem to have.
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