Judge Spells Out Sentence: S-C-H-O-O-L

Considering the current “hang-’em-high” attitude toward criminals, the young thief’s punishment was a judicial gift: Attend school, maintain a “C” average and check in with the court in two months.

So Judge Roosevelt F. Dorn struggled visibly to curb his frustration when the 17-year-old was brought before him again--in handcuffs. The youth had violated some of the terms of his probation, including school requirement.

“The only excuse for absence from school is a valid medical problem,” Dorn rumbled. “I gave you a break before . . .”

This time, the sentence would be at least several months in a camp for young offenders. And, by the way, the school-attendance clause would remain in effect.

“In my court, you go to school or you go to jail,” Dorn, 59, said later. “And if you go to jail, you still go to school.”

With a seen-it-before countenance and a bass-clef voice that is part Louie Armstrong, part Darth Vader, the veteran Inglewood Superior Court juvenile judge can be an intimidating figure, swathed in black and peering down from his oak bench. But while he is widely regarded as one of the strictest juvenile judges in Los Angeles--and has stirred public controversy with his hard-line approach--Dorn, who handles cases from communities including Santa Monica, Beverly Hills and Venice, prefers an educational carrot to a punitive stick. Thus, he finds himself sentencing more first-time offenders to the classroom than to jail.

“Education is their only chance,” and their only chance for an education is when they are young, he says.

On a recent day, nearly 50 minors were brought before Dorn, some escorted by nervous parents or relatives, others by a stone-faced bailiff. Some are here to pay for transgressions such as skipping school or drag racing, others for violent crimes.

With the exception of the hard-core cases, nearly every youth gets a fiery sermon. And the lesson comes in that thunderous voice that one fellow judge said is “meant to intimidate the kids, but sometimes intimidates the lawyers.” (His vocal effectiveness is not surprising, given that Dorn moonlights as a lay minister at the First AME Church in Los Angeles.)

“If you have no education, you sentence yourself to a life of poverty,” Dorn preaches to one girl.

“Education is the No. 1 priority in this court. You will go to school,” he growls at a boy.

“See the people inside this railing?” he says to another. “All of them have an education--except you.”

Many public defenders and prosecutors who have spent time in Dorn’s courtroom can recite the judge’s favorite admonishments almost verbatim. And although some from the public defense side roll their eyes at the mention of a Dorn lecture and say the judge can be too harsh in his desire to educate (holding a minor at a youth facility overnight for missing a single class or for being late for court, for example), virtually everyone agrees he rules out of genuine concern.

“He will work with minors when everyone else has given up on them,” said Deputy Public Defender Robin Berkovitz.

Dorn was born in the Midwest. His parents had little schooling and less money. What they did have was foresight, Dorn recalls, and taught their nine children of the life-saving possibilities of knowledge.

After a stint in the Air Force, Dorn, who is married and has a daughter in graduate school and another in law school, came West, graduating from Whittier College Law School in 1969 and joining the Los Angeles County district attorney’s office.

First appointed to the Inglewood adult court in 1980 by then-Gov. Jerry Brown, Dorn thought he could pass on some of the wisdom of his parents. He quickly discovered, however, that the vast majority of 20-, 30- and 40-year-old criminals parading before him had no interest in high school diplomas. He decided that the place to make changes, to offer hope to the still-hopeful, was in the juvenile system. And in 1982, after a brief stint in Compton Superior Court, Dorn transferred back to Inglewood, this time in the juvenile section.

During the next seven years, he honed his graduation-or-incarceration style and acquired a reputation for helping turn would-be thugs into college students and professionals.

The county public defender’s office eventually began requesting their cases be tried elsewhere, with some of its lawyers describing Dorn’s manner as caustic.

By 1989, the controversy surrounding Dorn reached such a pitch that he was transferred to a Superior Court post Downtown. The new post carried considerably more prestige. But in 1993, after being voted Most Valuable Judge among his Downtown colleagues, he asked to be returned to Inglewood and juvenile court.

Among the dozens of framed certificates, the crucifix and the etched image of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. that line the walls of Dorn’s chambers is a small plaque from a girl Dorn once removed from her home. He takes it down and reads.

“To my friend Judge Dorn. Thank you for putting up with me and ‘keeping the faith’ for the past five years. You have been a lot of help.”

Dorn carefully replaces the plaque and allows himself a faint smile.

“This is the best job on the bench,” he says.