Lessons in Traffic Court

Joyce Peachey Lind

I spent an hour and a half at traffic court this morning, accompanying my son, Jake, who had received a speeding ticket the month before. We decided to have him go to court and perhaps get his fine reduced. It is his first ticket, and he is 18, so to drive the point home, we mandated that he sign up to take a driver improvement course.

We tried to get him in before the court date, but he was only able to sign up for the Saturday following his court date. We told him to wear his nicest clothes and be respectful and polite. We instructed him to say "Sir" or "Ma’am," though he thought "Your Honor" would be best. "Be proactive and play the game, and you might get a break," was the implication. He wore the purple button-down shirt and the nice pants he had worn to the Jr./Sr. Banquet. He opted out of the yellow tie.

The court room was pretty full, so we walked up to the front row, excused ourselves past a young Latino woman, and sat down. I had been there myself for a ticket once before, but this time I wasn’t nervous or worrying about what I was going to say. We had stopped at the bank and Jake had $130 in his pocket. I didn’t need to worry about the cost. It wasn’t my ticket, after all.

His appointment was at 10:00, but we were there by 9:40. There was lots of time to watch and listen to the other cases. At first I was hoping to get information about how much the ticket would cost. My son had had a broken collarbone most of the summer and hadn’t been able to work much. So I figured the fine and court costs were going to use up most of his meager savings (again, education needing to happen here). 

But soon I became interested in listening to the circumstances of each individual case. We were close enough to the front that I could hear most of what the judge was saying and usually could tell what each defendant said. I could at least follow the gist of each case.
It struck me early on that the front of the room looked a bit like a formal church service—men in suits, women dressed in pantsuits and heels, people going in and out, lots of whispering. And up front the judge presided over the congregation (all of us in the pews), with the worship leaders and acolytes making sure things ran smoothly.

Individual names were called, and there was a procession as one by one, each defendant went forward. After each case the guilty stepped to the side to receive their "bill" for their fees, then went out a door on the left where the money was collected.

My husband and I have often wondered where all of the doctors, lawyers, and businesspeople go when they get traffic tickets. None of them appeared to be in the court room waiting to have their names called, only to have everyone watch them walk down the center aisle to ultimately stand before the judge. The group of defendants and their supporters were a mix of society—white, Latino, and African-American, and a variety of mostly blue-collar or no-collar folks. But no suited-up white-collar guys. They were all up in the front of the room. A couple of young men were wearing button-down shirts. But there were a lot of tattoos and nose rings, a lot of T-shirts, and even a man with shorts and suspenders. Most people didn’t look like they had dressed up to come to court.

The judge was a pleasant man and very kind to the people who appeared before him. I’m sure he said, "How are you today, sir (or ma’am)?" to every person who came forward. He reduced charges, especially if the officer said a defendant had been cooperative, and dismissed some cases which involved fixing broken parts of vehicles (at least two speedometers had been "repaired"). 

One guy got a ticket for having tinted windows, something wrong with a mirror, and a "loud exhaust." He had sold his car in the meantime, and since there wasn’t any way to know if the car had been fixed, his case was dismissed. A woman from Charlottesville was told she could make arrangements to pay her fines over time and didn’t need to come to another court date, since she lived farther away.

A woman who was a nurse, based on the clothes she was wearing, had her charges reduced from 14 to nine miles over the speed limit and was told she could gain her "good points" back for her driving record by taking a driver improvement course. The man in the suspenders had just moved to town when he got his ticket for not having some kind of sticker. He showed his receipt and was told he was "free to go." People thanked the judge a lot, as well as the police officers.

One of the more lengthy cases was that of a Latino woman who had been ticketed for driving without a driver’s license. In addition, she was driving a car with an expired license plate and expired registration. A Spanish translator had been called for her, so there were always two people talking—the one speaking in English, followed by the Spanish version (or vice versa), all on top of each other.

The judge asked the woman to tell what happened. She explained that the person who normally gives her a ride to work on the day she got her ticket didn’t come to get her. She had to get to work, so she drove herself there. The judge asked if she was aware that she was driving without a license (which I thought was a dumb question).

Yes, she was, she said, but her supervisor at work is very strict and she would lose her job if she wasn’t there. I don’t remember all the details, but in the end she owed a $200 fine in addition to court fees. It was the highest fine I had heard all morning, and I figured she was probably one of several people in the room whose hardships in life had just been compounded two- or three-fold that morning.

As for Jake, his name was finally called at about 10:50. He walked to the front in his purple shirt and one arm in a sling. He was greeted by the judge, who thanked him for appearing in court despite his injury. Jake politely pleaded guilty to driving 14 miles over the speed limit. The judge said he would need to take a driver improvement course.
"I’ve already signed up to take it this Saturday, sir," he said.

The judge looked up, a bit surprised. The next thing I knew he was handing Jake a card with another date scribbled on it. Jake strode down the aisle, without stopping at the billing station, and I followed him out of the court room.

"What happened?" I asked. The judge said that since Jake had signed up for the course voluntarily, all he needed to do was return in a month, show that he had taken the driver improvement course, and his case would be dismissed. 

The judge had told him, "You get the best of both worlds—you’ll get five ‘good’ points on your driving record, and you won’t have to pay the fine." Jake was as pleased as I was bewildered.

Well, Jake learned his lesson all right. I’m just not entirely sure it was the lesson we were trying to teach him.

—Joyce Peachey Lind lives with her husband and two children in Harrisonburg, Virginia. She enjoys hearing about the world from the perspective of her first grade students.