Presumed Guilty? Busfield Battles DA and Media in Child Contact Case

In chilly courtrooms and whispered conversations from sets to schoolyards, Busfield’s name now carries a new weight. Grand jurors have handed down four separate charges of criminal sexual contact with a child, a sequence of accusations stretching back to his stint directing the television program “The Cleaning Lady.” Two of the youngest members of that cast—twin boys, both just 11, who knew Busfield as “Uncle Tim”—came forward last year to say he crossed a line no child should ever need to draw. The boys allege inappropriate touching, claims echoed with some urgency by both their parents and medical staff. Their families, not mincing words, have spoken frankly about behaviors they believed to be the hallmarks of “grooming.”

Bernalillo County’s District Attorney, Sam Bregman, took a public stance that left little room for misinterpretation. “Protecting children is a top priority for his office,” Bregman insisted, standing before cameras and a wary community. Yet he also reminded those listening that the legal process moves with its own gravity: “Mr. Busfield is presumed innocent unless and until proven guilty in a court of law.” For many, the tension between these two convictions—protecting the vulnerable, but maintaining the presumption of innocence—sits uncomfortably at the center of the case.

Sharp rebuttal came from Busfield’s legal team, who, seeing what was to come, hardly seemed surprised by the formal charges. “An indictment is easy enough to get—some say even a ham sandwich could end up in this position,” quipped Larry Stein, the actor’s lead attorney, alluding to a well-worn legal cliché. Stein’s statement was blunt, casting the entire case as “fundamentally unsound” and riddled, in his words, with “fatal weaknesses” in evidence that allegedly cannot withstand the scrutiny of open court. “This isn’t theatre,” he concluded, “and the state knows that presenting a charge does not mean presenting proof.”

After authorities issued a warrant in January, Busfield turned himself in. Judge David Murphy, presiding over a bail hearing watched closely by both press and Hollywood insiders, imposed stringent restrictions: contact with minors strictly forbidden, no communications with witnesses, not so much as a text allowed between the accused and the alleged victims’ families. Substances and weapons are out of the question as well; Murphy’s rules make clear this case will be handled under the starkest of spotlights.

Public silence hasn’t been Busfield’s instinct. In a statement circulated widely by his representatives, the actor was resolute: “I did not do anything. They're all lies and I did not do anything to those little boys and I'm gonna fight it.” Emphasis fell on that last word—fight—suggesting a man unwilling to quietly fade from the public eye. “I’m gonna fight it with a great team, and I’m gonna be exonerated, I know I am, because this is all so wrong and all lies.”

Arguments have spilled beyond the courtroom, too. Defense attorneys have pointed to the damage already inflicted on Busfield’s once-vibrant career, painting a portrait of a man isolated overnight by rumor and suspicion. They note that more than seventy colleagues—friends from decades on set and in the director’s chair—have penned letters on his behalf. Notably, the actor reportedly passed a polygraph test, though the value of such measures remains fraught. To complicate matters, Busfield has his own theory on how all this began: a personal score, as he sees it, involving the children’s mother and an unresolved job dispute from her days in production work.

Just when it seemed the plot might settle, a parent from California stepped forward with a separate allegation: their daughter, involved years earlier with Sacramento’s B Street Theatre, also claims to have been harmed by Busfield. So far, officials in California have made no legal moves, but the specter of additional accusations hangs over the case.

Amber Fayerberg, another member of Busfield’s legal counsel, recently voiced a concern heard often in high-profile trials: “He is suffering public exile not because of his guilt, but as a consequence of the world we live in.” Fayerberg’s frustration seemed less about the particulars of the evidence and more a lament about trial by media. She pressed the uncomfortable question beneath all of this—how much does public perception shape the outcome, and at what cost to everyone involved?

As of now, there are far more questions than answers. The law—deliberate, sometimes painfully slow—insists that innocence is assumed until a verdict dictates otherwise. Still, the burden grows heavier each day, for every party pulled into the vortex. Court adjourns, but the real battle, for truth and understanding, is only beginning to play out. In the coming months, the eyes of legal experts and ordinary viewers alike will remain fixed on the proceedings in Bernalillo County, trying to parse fact from speculation in a climate where nearly everything is uncertain.