(The following appeared in Tampa Bay Life in 1990.)

Attending Tampa's Night
  Traffic Court

By Bob Andelman

You'd be astonished at how many twins there are in Tampa, how many people in trouble use the names of friends and relatives, and how many stolen driver's licenses are in circulation.

Mistaken identity is the pothole in the road to night traffic court.

Consider the Tampa police officer who, between sessions one night, complains to the presiding magistrate about the number of people who plead not guilty to charges on the grounds their brother, sister, cousin or twin is the guilty party.

When court resumes, the officer is called to testify in the very next case.

"It wasn't me," says the distinctly rotund female defendant in the pink jumpsuit, who stands accused of speeding. "It was my twin sister."

"I don't believe this," grumbles the cop, who shoots the hearing officer an I-told-you-so look.

Just then an equally Rubenesque woman in the visitors' gallery - this one wearing a blue jumpsuit - stands up and says, "It's true, your honor - I'm her sister!"

Case dismissed.
* * * *

The role of Bull, the bald bailiff, is played by Bob, the candy man. A hearing officer with no interest in card tricks has taken the place of the judge. The infractions are from traffic - not criminal - incidents. But in every other way, Tampa's experiment in night court is as much a hit as network television's.

Certainly the supporting cast of characters is sitcom familiar.

Women in mini mini-skirts who conveniently forget bumps and grinds in their driving records, construction workers in torn-up dungarees who offer intellectual discourse on why they were exceeding posted speed limits, air force pilots explaining that radar is ineffective, lawyers in three-piece suits arguing their wives' traffic tickets as if before the Supreme Court, obese identical twins covering for one another, pro basketball tall Florida Highway Patrol troopers with jockey-length partners, men and women alike trailed by herds of ankle-biters in hopes of winning sympathy. Since January, they have all been coming to the Hillsborough County Courthouse on Tuesday and Wednesday nights to explain why they could not possibly have been speeding, running red lights, driving without a valid license or illegally towing another vehicle.

"You hear some interesting ones," says hearing officer John Bothwell. "You also hear the same ones over and over. Every time I go into court, there are some interesting issues. It's a constant education - even for someone who just sits and watches."

Every person who is cited for a traffic infraction in Hillsborough County is entitled to contest their ticket in court. Those who do want someone to know they didn't break the law intentionally, or if they did, they had a darn good reason. They're worried about insurance rates, points or losing their license. The daytime courts have become bottlenecked with such petty cases. In an effort to speed justice on its merry way, the state has engaged Tampa and Miami to establish pilot night traffic court programs. The courts are underwritten by a $2 fee on every traffic ticket issued in the county. The "judges" are local attorneys who receive $20 an hour to sit in judgement of accused traffic offenders.

Citizens seem to appreciate the court because it allows them to plead their case at a time when it doesn't interfere with work. (This, in turn, may be encouraging more ticket challenges.) The hearing officers are learning what it's like to be the boss. The only fly in the ointment is the police. Many hate night court, have little respect for the hearing officers and are annoyed at losing more time off to sit in court.
* * * *

Some very strange cases of mistaken identity come to light in night court. Gary Gray pleads not guilty to a ticket dating back to 1987 in a case blighted by continuous postponements. The Tampa signmaker says he didn't have a driver's license at the time of the ticket and it wasn't him driving the car, anyway.

Wolfe asks him to sign his name for comparison with the signature on the ticket. "You realize you're under oath?" asks Wolfe.

"Yes."

"The signatures do not match at all."

Gray says someone has been using his name. In this case, the officer never saw the imposter's license and never investigated further. Wolfe dismisses this charge, but what aggravates Gray is that he recently paid $700 in fines to get his license reinstated after two years of suspension for a charge of which he was guilty. Gray claims his name has been used by someone in trouble for traffic and criminal incidents so many times that he is hesitant to buy or even travel by car.

"I'm afraid to drive," says Gray, who gets around the city by bus. "I don't want to drive a car because I'm afraid I'll go to jail."
* * * *

One sure way to irk both judge and police officer is for a defendant to believe he or she knows more about radar than the professionals. Cops must be certified on using radar and have their instruments re-calibrated and tested on a regular basis. They know what the machines can and can't do. They have to jump through a lot of hoops to enter radar evidence.

Judges have a series of rote questions they ask in speeding cases regarding the experience of the officer with radar and the last dates of radar calibration. They also inspect documents of service.

A man accused of doing 75 in a 45 mph zone brings a note to the court from his mechanic stating his car's throttle will stick in excess of 65 mph so he could not possibly have gunned it up to 75. The man begins a lecture on how radar works on hills and curves. He doesn't get far.

"Sir, I'm familiar with radar," interrupts Wolfe, who finds the man guilty of speeding.

Classically, a person accused of speeding says one of three things:

1. "My car can't possibly go that fast."

2. "I go there everyday and I can't believe I went that fast."

3. "I'd have to be stupid to go that fast - I saw the police officer."

All three result in findings of guilt. And as for the last, Bothwell responds, "Don't ask me to rule on that."
* * * *

Speaking of radar, the manpower, technology, time and cost of catching someone speeding through the use of radar-equipped airplanes is enough to make anyone skeptical about law enforcement. Plus, if an air radar ticket is challenged in court, it requires the pilot and the squad car driver to both appear in court. Hardly seems worth a $50-plus speeding ticket.
* * * *

A woman stands before John Bothwell for arraignment on a charge of doing 49 in a 35 mph zone. She pleads guilty but insists she was only doing 40. Bothwell gives her a break and charges only $58 court costs and not the $50 ticket fine plus $4 for every mile over the speed limit.

"But your honor," she pleads, "if I hadn't come to court and just paid the ticket, it would only cost $50."

"You would have gotten points, too," informs Bothwell.

"Oh. In that case - thanks, your honor!"
* * * *

More than 200 traffic arraignments take place every Tuesday night at the courthouse; hearings are on Wednesday nights. (An adjunct program handles similar cases in Plant City.) Hearing officers hear all civil traffic infractions except those involving property damage or personal injury. Parking ticket challenges are being added on the last Thursday evening of each month.

"It clears up the judge's docket for cases that have been backlogged in the past," according to Carol Priede, director of special court services in the Thirteenth Judicial Circuit.

Being able to utilize otherwise dark court facilities in the evening is a cost savings to the county, as is paying just $20 an hour to local attorneys who are trained in a 40-hour program and hired as independent contractors. But what is saved on judges may be lost on overtime for police officers who have one more court session in which they hurry up and wait, on-duty or off.

Priede says getting police to show up for day traffic court has been a persistent problem, but that attendance has improved "tremendously" at night among Florida Highway Patrol troopers and Hillsborough County Sheriff's deputies. "(The) Tampa Police Department is the only one where there has not been a significant improvement," she says.

During any given night court session, dozens of TPD officers, Sheriff's deputies and FHP troopers interrupt their work shifts or days off to appear. It isn't easy to find one who has anything nice to say about the pilot program.

"I don't think it's any more convenient," says FHP Trooper M.W. Padgett. "I'm on midnights. I've had three hours sleep. I think the whole night court is a farce. The (hearing officers) have no jurisdiction, no power to do anything. If they'd set a fine at $500 minimum instead of $58 court cost ... If we're going to have night court, we need JUDGES sitting in there."

"If it wasn't on my time off, it'd be okay," says Hillsborough Sheriff's Deputy G.L. Brainerd. "But it's consistently on my off-time. My shift ends at 2:30 in the afternoon. So it's all off-duty overtime. You have to be here at $20 an hour plus overtime. Think about it."

"It is faster," says TPD Officer Gerald Honeywell. "You get called upon faster. The daytime traffic court is crowded - you could be in there forever."

Statistics on the Tampa and Miami programs are being collected and sent to Tallahassee for review. At year's end, the state will review the success of night traffic court and make a decision on whether to proceed or perhaps expand the evening sessions.
* * * *

A young woman with strawberry blonde hair in a micro, black leather mini-skirt stands when called, tugs seductively at her skirt and wiggles her way to the podium on high heels.

"You're how old? 18?" asks Wolfe.

"Just barely," she whispers.

Before her case on charges of speeding can even get underway, the physically worldly woman collapses into a teen's uncontrollable tears. Unable to present a defense for herself as her mother and sister agonize in the gallery, Wolfe examines her driving record. Whatever sympathy he may have proffered quickly dissolves.

"You've been to driving school twice in the last 12 months?" he asks with alarm.

"Yes."

"Miss, I can't let you go to driving school a third a third time," says Wolfe. He cuts the woman a break on costs - $40 for the court and $40 for the infraction - but lets stand the points on her record. "I want you to pay this thing and I want you to slow down."

Exiting the courtroom, the distraught teen continues to cry and expands her hysterics by berating her mother and sister, who accept the yelling in silence.
* * * *

The four hearing officers helming night traffic court enjoy the opportunity to moonlight as judges. In general, they sought the job as a chance to see the legal system from a new perspective. The experience has given them new respect for jurists and the pressure to move cases quickly through the courts.

"It's like the difference between playing basketball and being a referee," according to Mark Wolfe, a 34-year-old attorney specializing in criminal defense and personal injury law. "I've got two people coming in, one saying he ran a stop sign, the other saying he didn't. There's an old adage that a judge is an umpire who makes a call without seeing the play."

John Bothwell, 33, a criminal defense attorney and former assistant state attorney, took the job in the hopes it could be a stepping stone. "I have aspirations of being a county judge," he admits. "In a lot of ways, this is like the minor leagues."

The job lends Mike Steinberg, 31, perspective from a judge's view without giving up his day-to-day law practice. "It teaches you that the decisions a judge makes are not as easy as when you're representing a party. When you're (on one side) it's all black and white," he says.

Steinberg says the other reason he applied for the job is "I need the extra income. It's a nice part-time job. There's no overhead and I understand they're going to raise the pay."

The hearing officers say they play no favorites, leaning neither toward defendants or police officers.

"I try to put myself in the position of the defendant's attorney," says Steinberg, "and ask the police officer questions about the way he used his radar, see whether there's any question."

"I have to weigh the credibility of anybody who testifies," says Bothwell. "You have to remember the burden of proof is reasonable doubt. If I find myself agonizing, that favor has to go to the person who is accused. When I've found against them, the driving record has usually supported that the person has seen this violation before."

Linda Renate Hughes, the only woman - and mother of three - among the four hearing officers, metes out punishment somewhat differently than her male counterparts. The former Hillsborough County litigator opts for 12-hour defensive driving school over the 4-hour program, for example, because it "moves more into the psychological arena." And there are certain violations she feels more strongly about that others.

"I don't know if it's my maternal instincts but I'm more of a lecturer than my male counterparts," she says. "There was a gentleman who was stopped for driving while holding his child. The officer ticketed him for not wearing a seatbelt himself and not having the child in a seat-restraint." Hughes read the defendant the entire Florida Statute on child restraints and spoke about how child injury and death is a major problem in Florida. "I was interested in why the driver would hold the child between his chest and the wheel. I asked the man, 'You pleaded innocent - on what grounds?' His response to me was, 'It's my child and I can do anything I want.' There was so much anger from the other folks waiting for speeding tickets! I think everyone in the courtroom went home and told that story." The man was fined $200 - although Hughes could have gone as high as $500. "The intent is not to be punitive so much as to get people to think safely about their actions on the road," says Hughes.

Some might look at the case-a-minute pace of night traffic court and assume the hearing officers wouldn't have the time nor interest in second-guessing themselves. Hughes can't help herself.

"When I pull into my garage, I start to have headaches," she says. "On the bench, I write down everything I've done on the docket, what the citizen pled, the disposition I've made, the amount of the fine. Then I sit down at my dining room table and - over a 16-ounce Diet Coke - I re-think what I've done. When the Diet Coke is gone, I put my docket down and I go to bed."
* * * *

In their first months on the bench, the hearing officers have reached a common conclusion: A lot of people come to traffic court not because they're not guilty but because they didn't like a cop's attitude and they want to get it off their chest.

Sometimes drivers and police officers rub each other the wrong way. A look, a word is exchanged in the dead of night on a lonesome highway. A traffic ticket becomes war.

After several minutes of exchanging accusations in one such case, Wolfe halts the combatants.

"I don't want to hear any more about the officer," he says, finding the defendant guilty of running a stop sign and having unlawful lights on his license plate. "Apparently the officer has more to do with you getting tickets than you do. I want you to stop blaming everybody else and pay more attention to your driving."

In another case, it is clear a team of deputies and two young white males can't stand the sight of each other. The defendants - ticketed for running a red light - say it was yellow and they were pulled over for no reason, their van illegally searched and the passenger detained in the backseat of the police cruiser.

"Why was the van searched?" Wolfe asks.

"The van was not searched," says the female deputy.

"The van was not searched?" repeats Wolfe, startled by the denial.

Then came surprise testimony from the same deputy. "They had been consuming alcohol," she alleges.

The driver of the van smacks his head. "She's lying!"

Wolfe sees the case getting out of control. The deputies have no proof of alcohol consumption and no cause for searching the van.

"Y'all don't like each other," he says. "This is not a case about searching the van or consumption of alcohol." He finds the man guilty of running the red light but gives the defendant the benefit of the doubt in terms of the deputies' behavior. Driving school is ordered, but no points, no fine and no court costs.
* * * *

Need a laugh?

A young man is accused of doing 52 in a 35 mph zone. He pleads guilty "with an explanation." At the time of the ticket, he was working for a car rental company, transporting one of their cars.

"The speedometer worked like a Geiger counter," he says, getting the attention of the gallery.

"Did someone do work on the speedometer?" asks the hearing officer.

"No."

"The company rents cars out with a broken speedometer?"

"Yes. But they're out of business now." Even the police in the audience are laughing out loud. "I didn't intentionally speed."

Turning to the deputy who gave the young man his ticket, the hearing officer asks if he wants to add anything.

"I was driving and he passed me," says the trooper.

The hearing officer finds the driver guilty but under the circumstances, withholds adjudication - no points - orders him to defensive driving school and to pay $58 court costs.

"From now on," he adds, "I don't want you passing police cars on the highway."
* * * *

Jay Howard, a 30-year-old Temple Terrace resident, is ready to appeal the ticket an FHP trooper gave him for driving his light blue BMW 633 at a speed of 65 in a 55 mph zone on Interstate 275. He doesn't dispute the speed, but says the ticket was given just past a point where the posted highway speed is reduced from 65 to 55. "If I was doing 70, then I was speeding in the other zone," he says while awaiting his hearing. "But I wasn't."

Another point he feels will work in his favor: the trooper allegedly admitted his radar had malfunctioned and he had guessed the driver to be moving at 65 mph. Howard is looking forward to the challenge.

For two hours Howard waits for his case to be called, as the 6 p.m. session drags into the start of the 7:30 session and beyond. He has seen the trooper come and go from the courtroom; when Howard's name is finally called, the trooper is not present. Howard's hopes rise; Wolfe is about to drop the charge when a second trooper says the missing officer is next door. Wolfe asks a dejected Howard to wait.
When the trooper arrives, Howard pleads not guilty. The trooper lays out his case and presents his radar certification to Wolfe. Wolfe gives it a more than casual perusal and discovers there is no certificate of calibration for the radar equipment for the six-month period prior to the ticket. He suppresses the radar evidence and finds Howard not guilty.

"It was worth two hours," says Howard on his way home. "It was worth going to court."

NIGHT COURT SIDEBAR:

A few observations on procedure, propriety and police:

o Defendants who bring attorneys get to go first - a courtesy among attorneys and done in deference to their hourly rates. And most cases handled by counsel magically result in lesser sentences, court costs and fines.

o Without an attorney, cases are called in the order in which police officers sign in.

o Innocent until proved guilty is the law, but judges place great faith in police officers. It takes logic, investigative work, photos and 95% luck to beat an officer's sworn testimony. A funny story amuses the court but rarely gains dismissal.

o Biased witnesses add little credibility to the accused's case.

o If a traffic infraction results in a substantial fine and/or points, it is almost always worthwhile to plead no contest and go to court. The number of officers who miss court dates is surprisingly high - 26%. Sometimes they show up, but are unable to recognize the defendant or recall details of the incident, which can be grounds for dismissal. The officer may not even be with the force any longer, resulting in the dropping of charges. And a plea can always be changed to guilty or no contest at the time of hearing.

o Night hearing officers show a marked preference for defense driving classes over high fines and points.

o Cases move very fast. Failure to appear for a hearing can result in the suspension of a driver's license.