Seats at the Denny Trial Are the Toughest in Town : Court: The line forms at 5 a.m. Long wait is followed by a mad dash for a few prized passes.

At 5 a.m. in front of the Criminal Courts building downtown, writer Charles Willard is huddled in the chilly black of morning to claim his precious place at the front of the line.

It’s not much of a line by Los Angeles standards--no more than a dozen or so people by the time the courthouse doors open at 7 a.m.

But for some of those wanting to watch the Reginald O. Denny beating trial firsthand, it could just as well be 100 or 1,000 people in that line.

Despite the enormous interest in the trial, the court has allocated just five seats for the public, creating an often-tense wait outside the building and a scramble inside to snare a prized courtroom pass.

“It’s a mad dash,” said Willard, a friend of defendant Damian Williams’ mother. “You have to get here earlier and earlier.”

More than half the 80 spots in the courtroom are taken by attorneys, jurors and court personnel. The press takes up a whopping 26 seats. The families of the defendants get eight, leaving just the handful of seats for everyone else.

“Five seats! That’s ridiculous,” said Nidu Day, a member of the Malcolm X Grassroots Movement, who showed up at 6:30 a.m. to claim the number-two spot in line. “It’s just a veiled attempt to keep the public out. They’re just trying to tell everyone: ‘Stay at home, don’t get involved.’ ”

Court spokeswoman Jerrianne Hayslett said the tiny number of public seats is a result of fire marshal restrictions on how many people can be inside at one time.

There normally would be no problem, but in this case, the intense media interest and the larger security contingent inside the courtroom have squeezed the public to the fringes of the fray.

Not all the reporters show up every day to claim their spots and some prefer to watch the proceedings on a television monitor in a media room two floors above. The court then gives those open seats to the public after a courtroom head count at 9:30 a.m.

But the press seats are a particular point of irritation to the hardy bunch of courtroom watchers who have had to wait outside.

“The press takes up most of the space,” Day said. “Don’t block the public from a public process.”

On a few occasions, such as the day Denny testified, even those five seats were reduced when a few people managed to slip around the line outside and reach the courtroom early.

Among the group of five waiting in line one morning this week, all of whom managed to secure seats, the suspicion was that some court employees have allowed friends to enter the building through the back entrance.

“We’re always the first ones through the door and then someone else gets the passes,” said Paul Parker, head of a support group for the defendants and fifth in line.

During the Rodney G. King beating trial in federal court earlier this year, about 15 seats were available to the public--which drew complaints that the public was being excluded.

Parker, who has attended every day of the Denny beating trial since opening arguments began two weeks ago, said he has been kept out of the courtroom only once, despite the few seats.

But the point, he said, is that many more people would attend the trial if it wasn’t such a crapshoot to get in. “It’s not that many people waiting, but it’s a big hassle to get in,” he said.

Once inside, the obstacle course remains. After a rush to the elevator, the line re-forms on the 9th floor in front of a metal detector, and those wanting a courtroom pass must hand over some form of photo identification to deputies, creating more anger over the whole process.

“It’s a violation of a person’s right to privacy. They’re running checks on us,” Day said. “If you don’t have your driver’s license, you’re barred. It’s another way to exclude the public.”

Deputies staffing the metal detector say they use the identification as a way of ensuring the return of the courtroom pass and have no interest in running background checks.

The deputies’ earlier explanation is little consolation to the group of five, who are now feeling even more surly on this day after having to wait 10 more minutes at the metal detector for a deputy to arrive.

“Harass, harass, harass,” Willard mumbles.

At last, the group settles in for the last indignity of the day--an hour-and-a-half wait on hard hallway benches for the trial to start.