The image remains locked in our mind’s eye:

The outspoken, sometimes red-faced prosecutor, flashing his Brooklyn accent, gesturing with his hands and displaying his colorful use of the English tongue, as he hammers his intended target, whether it’s a public official, a murder suspect or another attorney.

There’s never been anything subtle about Frank J. Clark, who may be the region’s most recognizable public official.

Now, at age 66, the man who’s seldom been under the radar in his 33-year career as a prosecutor is leaving public life after his 12-year stint as Erie County district attorney.

Clark hasn’t lost anything off his fastball. He still can deliver the perfectly concise sound bite, whether it’s a quick and colorful zinger or a metaphor (or simile) that captures his thoughts.

How does Clark, who left office Wednesday, feel about his impending retirement?

“It’s like the boat going into the mist,” he replied. “You don’t know what’s going to be on the other side.”

Clark spent his last few years in office as a lightning rod for public criticism, after carving out a reputation as the Teflon man in local politics for a decade.

Consider: In a job that almost invites criticism from police, other attorneys, defendants and sometimes victims’ families, Clark ran unopposed for district attorney in both 2000 and 2004, as a Democrat cross-endorsed by the Republican Party.

That wasn’t going to happen this year, when former assistant district attorney Kenneth F. Case announced he would run against his old boss.

Critics claimed that Clark, in the twilight of his 12-year run, had a somewhat frayed relationship with the police community; that his exacting standards pushed many assistants out the door; that he was too slow to reopen the cases that freed Anthony J. Capozzi and Lynn M. DeJac from unjust imprisonment; and that he didn’t pursue embezzlement and political corruption cases with enough zeal.

Supporters, though, have called Clark a man of principle and moral conviction who never shied away from any issue; who based his decisions on what he thought was right, rather than what would play well politically; who was open-minded in meeting with defense attorneys to consider plea deals; who was a tireless advocate for his office; and who wrestled with his conscience in death-penalty cases.

The day before he left office, Clark sat down for a 90-minute interview in his almost- bare office. He didn’t pull any punches about why he’s leaving.

Clark said he decided not to seek reelection, knowing that he faced a tough race, requiring 14-to 16-hour days between his job and the campaign. Knowing that stress can trigger his lupus symptoms, Clark announced in May that he wouldn’t run again.

“Was there a concern I might not win?” he asked in his familiar rhetorical style. “Certainly, there’s always that concern, and I went through a period of negative publicity.”

While still confident he would have been re-elected, he said that that uncertainty, adding to the stress he already faced, convinced him it was time to leave.

“My decision was not a completely voluntary one,” he admitted. “I think that hurts to a certain extent. I feel I have basically left on my own terms, but not completely.”

This isn’t a time for tears, he insisted, saying, “I’ve already cried those tears.”

Really?

“I certainly did,” he replied. “It was a very emotional thing for me. My tears are gone now. I’ve said my good-byes. Now I’m anxious to get on with whatever lies ahead.”

High-profile personality

That’s part of the legacy he leaves — Frank Clark, unabridged.

Clark heads into retirement with his wife, Cathy, his “sounding board” throughout all the tough decisions. While he hasn’t finalized what he’ll be doing, he hopes to combine some teaching at UB Law School with a role “of counsel” to a local law firm.

As he looks back at his 12-year stewardship of the district attorney’s office, Clark said he has no real regrets.

“Could I have been a low-profile person? Then the highs wouldn’t have been as high and the lows not as low. But that’s not me. I’m condemned to live my life the way I live it. If I ever violated my conscience, I couldn’t live with that.”

Sometimes, when he felt compelled to stand up and make a point, Clark admitted, he said some things that might have seemed insensitive. That seems to be the only regret he has.

Clark knew that his ready accessibility and his colorful use of the well-crafted sound bite helped him in some of his political battles, especially when fighting for more resources from county government.

Sometimes, Clark’s clever turns-of-phrase bought him trouble, as in the 2004-05 budget crisis. Clark, who thought hundreds of thousands of dollars had been frittered away, became frustrated when county legislators focused on minor points, such as free gas for top public officials’ county cars.

“When people are taking Cadillacs out the back door, it doesn’t bother me much when somebody takes pencils home from work,” Clark recalled saying during that budget crisis.

“I had a point to make: penny wise and pound foolish.”

Asked about his legacy, Clark pointed to what he called his office’s “marvelous sustained record of success,” winning cases, week in and week out, month in and month out. He pointed to consistently high conviction rates, especially in the newer fields of domestic violence and sexual assault.

“I think we’ve had a marvelous run of really talented lawyers,” he said. “I think that was a major factor in the success we’ve achieved, and I’m very proud of it.”

Praised for approach

To Clark’s credit, defense attorneys have praised him for his honest, direct approach and his willingness to listen to their side of any case.

Thomas H. Burton, who represents police officers involved in shootings, has dealt with Clark and his office in more than 100 such cases. These are among the most sensitive cases, especially when an officer has maimed or killed a civilian.

“On occasion, there would be some ranting and raving [from Clark], but I can say without reservation that there was never a deadly force situation where a cop did not have a level playing field in the grand jury,” Burton said.

Clark always listened to Burton, although he was “never short of an opinion afterwards,” the defense attorney said.

“If a cop’s heart was pure, that always counted for something with Frank,” he added.

Clark has little doubt that the increasing criticism he received the last few years was directly related to his roles in the Capozzi and DeJac cases, when he insisted on strong physical evidence before dropping charges. He felt that unless there was compelling evidence to the contrary, he was upholding the integrity of the criminal justice system that put those people behind bars.

The criticism over the DeJac case bothers him more.

“People didn’t know the process we had to go through,” he said. “They humanized it, instead of looking at the facts and the legalities. Coming on the heels of Capozzi, there was a feeling somehow that the system wasn’t working, and I became the face of that.”

But why didn’t Clark move earlier in the case of Capozzi, the mentally disabled man who had been convicted for rapes that turned out to be committed by the bike-path rapist and killer?

Detectives who talked with Capozzi in prison, before he was exonerated, felt he was incapable of committing a rape.

“What am I, all of a sudden, the king?” Clark asked. “I go on Death Row and say, ‘You’re innocent . . . You’re innocent.’? They have to give sufficient legal evidence to overturn that verdict. I can’t do that on my gut instinct.”

Clark doesn’t seem fazed that his stance in these cases chipped away at his popularity.

“I knew the bricks and stones were going to come,” he said. “There was nothing I could do to stop it. I had to do the right thing.”

Clark often talks about doing the right thing.

Perhaps that dates back to his childhood, when he grew up in what he called a very classic Irish household, with a strict father and very high standards.

Born in Brooklyn, he came to Buffalo at age 7, when his father got a job at the old Maxson Cadillac dealership. Clark attended St. Benedict’s School and later graduated from Christ the King School, Canisius High School, Niagara University and University

at Buffalo Law School, before becoming a Marine combat platoon leader in Vietnam.

Strict upbringing

This is a man whose ideas and values were molded under a strict father, in the Catholic schools and in the Marine Corps, before he launched his 38-year legal career.

Few people, other than veteran attorneys, know about Frank Clark the courtroom lawyer.

He counts among his successful prosecutions two of the most celebrated cases ever in Erie County, the Richard Y. Long beating death in 1977 and the priest murders in 1987.

But his favorite trial occurred in 1976, following the contract killing of a federal witness. Clark relied on the testimony of a federal informant, two convicted murderers and a transsexual who appeared before the grand jury as a man and then in the courtroom as a woman.

“He was an ugly woman,” Clark

quipped.

Clark didn’t get the same shot of adrenaline and excitement over any trials in his tenure as district attorney.

“If you catch the winning touchdown, that’s the memory that stays with you the longest, not if you coached the kid who caught the touchdown,” he said.

Top local police brass were reluctant to say anything negative about Clark for this article, but they did acknowledge that the relationship between police and prosecutors wasn’t as strong near the end of the district attorney’s career.

“The relationships were very strained with the Buffalo police and the Sheriff’s Office the last couple of years,” one law enforcement official said. “For years and years, Frank had a great relationship with the police community, but maybe at the end he wasn’t listening [as closely] to people inside law enforcement.”

Another law enforcement official suggested a simpler reason: the shelf life of Clark’s 12 years at the helm.

Clark scoffed at suggestions that he didn’t keep up his strong relationship with local police leaders.

“Cops always want indictments on every arrest. Prosecutors want the facts to guarantee a prosecution,” he said. “That tension, back and forth, always exists.”

Clark suggested that some of that perception about the frayed relationship was fed by criticism aimed at him by some local police unions.

Anyone who retires — from any job — spends a lot of time thinking about the job he or she did, and the legacy left behind.

Clark is no different.

He was buoyed by the parade of young prosecutors who filed into his office last week, to tell him they plan to follow the same ideals Clark set forth in his role as district attorney.

Still, doubts always remain.

Clark recalled a recent conversation with longtime friend, defense attorney James P. Harrington.

“Don’t we feel that doing the right thing for the right reason — isn’t that validation enough?” Clark asked Harrington.

“It should be,” the attorney replied.