Judge Spells Out Sentence: S-C-H-O-O-L : Courts: Roosevelt F. Dorn prefers an educational carrot to a punitive stick for young offenders. ‘Education is their only chance,’ he says.

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 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, 59, 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 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 while 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 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. At the same time, he earned a moniker among some of his charges as “the hanging judge.”

The county public defender’s office eventually began requesting their cases be tried elsewhere, with some of its lawyers describing Dorn’s manner as egotistical and caustic. They also claimed that he was overstepping his bounds by sending kids deemed incorrigible but who had committed no crimes to youth facilities.

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.

Many parents and community leaders were thrilled.

Renee Anderson brought her troubled 15-year-old from Santa Monica last year for one of the judge’s shape-up-or-else warnings. Dorn delivered the lecture and ruled the boy incorrigible, placing him on probation. He violated the probation and is now in a camp for young offenders--where he is going to school, learning about consequences and “doing much better,” said Anderson.

Said Dorn: “I didn’t consider going downtown a promotion. This is a promotion.”

It is also, he acknowledges, an emotionally exhausting place to work. During his first stint in Inglewood, seven juveniles he had dealt with were slain in the streets. In 1994, three more died.

But, says Dorn with obvious pride, the number who turn around, who take to heart his courtroom orations and the early-morning counseling sessions in his chambers, is far higher than the number who are lost to violence or the morass of the prison system.

And some of those who make it check in from time to time, just to let him know they received that master’s degree or married a police officer or have been drug-free for several years.

*

Among the dozens of framed certificates, the crucifix and the etched image of 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.