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Steve Rice, Attorney

Full service criminal defense attorney

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To contact me, call or text (717) 339-0011. Email Or use the form below.

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I’m Steve Rice. I’m what you call a specialist, a board certified criminal trial attorney.

Now, there are other lawyers who take criminal cases and say they’re specialists. That’s nothing new.

But out of the 50,000 lawyers in this state, only 20—20—can say they’re board certified, as required by our Supreme Court. I know because I’m one of them.

This qualification matters. It means I’ve paid my dues. been checked out by the National Board of Trial Advocacy, an agency that has credibility with the courts. It’s a rating that counts, a review worth reading.

So when I say I’m a specialist, I can back it up with something priceless: a credential you can trust.

Look, I don’t care what they say you did.

And frankly, I don’t care if you are innocent or guilty.

No matter what the charge is, and whether you did it or not, here, you get your day in court.

In this country, everybody deserves a fair shake.


It’s called America…the Constitution.

It’s what people have fought and died for.

And it’s why what I do counts. Why you count.

Everyone once in a while I get the question: How can I do it? How can I defend those people?

Like I’m some sort of accomplice. Me.

I used to tell people about the presumption of innocence. How the system works. The stock answers.

But people don’t get it. So I try and bring it home.

I tell’em, Ask me that when it’s your kid.

Ask me that when he says he didn’t do it.

No, ask me that when he says he did do it, but it’s not so black and white, when he says he’s scared of going to prison.

When you’re scared. Ask me then.

The Good and The Bad

I’m good at what I do. But it’s not all roses.

I am...


“When I see injustice, I get scared—and angry. When one of is in danger of being railroaded, we all are. You, me, everybody. First it’s a stranger. Then an acquaintance. Then a friend. Then it’s me or my family. Somebody must…if no one will…I, I can’t stand by and let that happen. I won’t.”


“I get up at 5:30. Work until 5 or so. Then Sunday, I work a half day, maybe more. And that’s on a dull day, when I’m not getting ready for trial. Did I mention at night, after the kids are in bed? How about vacations? Or the cracks of time in my personal life? I love my job, but she haunts me.”

But I am also sometimes...


“I’ll fight for you, but I’ll fight with you, too. Whatever you say happened, I need to make sense of it. If it doesn’t make sense, I will call you on it. I will come at you, again and again, until it does make sense. Push back. Do what you must. But understand, that’s my way. It has to be part of the deal.”


“I work at an office. To me, a post. Near a battlefield. In the middle of a war. About rights, these diamonds of freedom. It’s a never-ending war that I am trying—desperately—to win. The conflict, it does things to you. When I’m in the thick of it, I can be short with people. But I care.”


I like arguing, family movie night, shooting pool, Jeeps—and watching my kids eat ice cream.


But I don’t like bridges. Most certainly not. The long, metal, see-through kind. That stretch way…up…high.