By all appearances, Josephine County Legal Counsel Wally Hicks is a seasoned, educated, and battle-tested public servant. A former Marine captain who served in Iraq, a graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, and an attorney with prosecutorial and legislative experience, Hicks brings an impressive résumé to his current role as the elected legal counsel for Josephine County. But as lawsuits stack up against county officials, public trust frays, and government transparency continues to draw fire, a growing number of residents are asking one simple but powerful question: Who does Wally Hicks really work for?
Hicks’ position is unique—not just in Josephine County, but in the entire country. He is one of the only, if not the only, elected county legal counsels in the United States. In most jurisdictions, county attorneys are appointed by boards or hired through standard human resource channels. But in Josephine County, the role is determined by the voters. That distinction, some argue, should suggest a deeper accountability to the people.
Yet despite this theoretical alignment with public interest, Hicks’ actions—or, in some cases, inactions—have recently drawn increasing criticism from residents who feel left out of the legal loop while watching county government spiral into dysfunction. Between allegations of public meeting law violations, lawsuits involving top officials, and accusations of cronyism and corruption, Hicks’ position is no longer just one of quiet counsel; it’s a lightning rod.
According to the official mission statement on the Josephine County website, the Legal Counsel’s role is “to provide representation and legal guidance to Josephine County regarding matters that pertain to the community as a whole.” Importantly, it also states that the office “does not represent individual clients.” That begs an interpretive question: does “Josephine County” mean the people who live in it, or the administrative government body—the Board of County Commissioners and its employees?
For many residents, recent events have raised doubts about which side of that line Hicks truly operates on. Public records complaints have been filed alleging that county meetings—often involving Hicks—have been held without proper notice, in possible violation of Oregon’s public meeting laws. Critics argue that Hicks, as legal counsel, has a duty to ensure the Board operates within the law. When they don’t, and he does not intervene, some see that as a breach of public trust.
An editorial published earlier this year by The Grants Pass Tribune posed a pointed question: “Is Wally Hicks protecting the people or the power?” The piece criticized Hicks for failing to take a more active role in upholding transparency and legality during a period of escalating governmental instability. “He may not be their personal attorney,” the editorial noted in reference to the commissioners, “but he certainly acts like it.”
That kind of criticism has been snowballing. With multiple lawsuits now circling around the County—ranging from financial discrimination to allegations of retaliation against whistleblowers—many citizens believe that Hicks’ silence or perceived complicity could put him in the legal crosshairs. And even if he avoids legal jeopardy, public scrutiny may become a more permanent fixture of his professional life.
Supporters of Hicks might argue that his hands are tied by the nature of the role. As legal counsel to the government itself, it may not be his job to act as a whistleblower or override the decisions of elected commissioners. But to voters, especially those who placed him in office expecting a watchdog for ethical governance, that explanation might ring hollow.
And therein lies the dilemma: in Josephine County, where the legal counsel is elected by the people, the expectations of the job differ dramatically from other places where the role is more bureaucratic. Hicks’ unique placement gives him both the authority and the responsibility to act with greater independence. But in a political climate that increasingly pits citizens against their own government, neutrality is no longer seen as virtuous—it’s viewed as complicity.
As the county navigates through what many describe as its most turbulent era in decades, Wally Hicks finds himself squarely in the middle. No longer a quiet advisor behind closed doors, he is now a focal point in a community conversation about transparency, accountability, and who truly holds power in Josephine County.
Whether Hicks will rise to meet this moment or retreat further into the bureaucratic shadows remains to be seen. But one thing is certain: as the legal storms continue to brew around the county, the question of who Wally Hicks works for will remain front and center—and his answer, whether explicit or implied through action or inaction, will not go unnoticed.