Ed Kemmick
It’s called Municipal Court, but I think a more apt name might be Improvisational Court.
So many defendants are rushed through Municipal Court on a typical morning, attended by so many clerks, probation officers, public defenders and private lawyers, that despite an abundance of rules and procedures, the proceedings have a hectic, makeshift air about them.
The defendants start lining up outside the courtroom on the second floor of City Hall a little before 8 a.m. every Tuesday and Thursday, and open court gets underway about 8:30.
Many of the defendants look like they’re unused to getting up quite so early. The lack of sleep, and the fact that many are newcomers to the court system, leads to a considerable amount of confusion.
The main source of confusion seems to be the notion that they’ll have a chance to explain themselves to the judge. Judge Sheila Kolar does not project impatience, but rather a sense of brisk efficiency.
I’m sure she’d love to hear why Defendant X was forced, against his better judgment, to be driving without a valid license, or why Defendant Y needs to have her ankle bracelet removed immediately, but there simply isn’t time for it.
On this particular Thursday morning, by my rough count, 72 defendants appeared before Kolar in a little under three hours. And several of them came back twice, three times or even, in one case, four times, after conferring with prosecutors and a public defender about the best way to deal with her multiple charges.
That’s the improvisational part. Most people are there for simple moving violations — most commonly driving with a revoked or suspended driver’s license — and a quick guilty plea, followed by a recitation of the fine, takes care of the matter. But some people need to resolve more complicated cases right away because they live out of town or out of state, they need to travel for work, or they just want to stop coming to court.
In many of those cases, Kolar will counsel them not to take the quickest way out, by pleading guilty. She tells them they might end up saving time and money, might even get their licenses back more quickly, if they just have a little more patience.
In this large gathering of perplexed strangers, the judge is often a master of ceremonies or, given the circuslike atmosphere, a ringmaster. At one point a woman who has similar traffic charges pending here and in Great Falls asks whether she couldn’t just have both cases transferred there.
“The justice system doesn’t work that way,” Kolar says. “I would transfer all my cases to Great Falls.” This touches off a ripple of laughter across the courtroom.
A bit later Kolar tells a man accused of driving with no insurance that “another department can’t find your ticket.” He asks if he has to come back another time.
“No,” the judge says. “I’m going to dismiss it.” This announcement induces a round of cheering.
Mostly, though, the defendants observe the parade of cases with expressions of complete boredom. A sign in the back says “No texting,” but the rule is neither observed nor enforced, and even half the lawyers present are constantly fiddling with their phones.
At one point there were at least 10 prosecutors, public defenders and private lawyers in the courtroom, all of them dressed in black, gray or dark-blue jackets. Among the defendants, the most popular article of clothing was far and away the hooded sweatshirt, followed by jeans with embroidery or spangles on the rear pockets.
There are also five or six clerks passing out and processing paperwork. The judge tells everyone present early in the proceedings that they had to do their paperwork.
“Paperwork is not just to kill trees,” she intones. “In life’s business, you always look at your paperwork.”
If I had a chance to offer defendants any advice, it would be this: no matter how carefully you have cultivated a tough-guy or tough-gal swagger, and no matter where else you may put it to use, it will do you no good in a courtroom, and may even put you at a disadvantage.
But aside from a few cases of assault or drunken driving, the crimes normally seen in Municipal Court are fairly small potatoes: traffic violations, misdemeanor parole violations, minor in possession of alcohol, failure to remain at an accident scene.
There were some shoplifting charges, three or four of them involving Wal-Mart, and the theft of a PlayStation from Sam’s Club. The judge asked that defendant if he had a job. Well, he said, he used to work at Sam’s Club.
Two juveniles were picked up for similar “crimes”: one had a paintball gun and the other had a slingshot, both of which are banned in the city. Another juvenile got drunk and wandered into a milk plant downtown, and a slightly older fellow admitted being quite drunk and trying to break into cars.
If you’re looking for something to feel optimistic about, at least two defendants were granted early termination of their cases, having paid their fines, attended their classes and followed all the rules.
These cases are rare enough, so you can forgive the judge for beaming at one of the defendants and telling him, “You did really well, so that’s really amazing.”
Editor’s note: In future installments of Prairie Lights, we will visit Justice Court, District Court and even the august confines of U.S. District Court.
