At 74, a Bill for Back Child Support

At the age of 74, retired, living in a humble one-bedroom Gardena apartment and barely making ends meet on a monthly Social Security check, Taylor Burns could hardly believe he was wanted for back child support.

But there it was in the mail: a formal notice from the district attorney’s office saying he owed more than $10,000.

The notice said he had to reimburse the county for welfare checks that went to his daughter long ago. A daughter who is now 26, and whom he hasn’t seen in years.

In court recently, prosecutors demanded that Burns pay up. Burns protested. But a family law commissioner ordered him to pay--$10 per month, every month, for the rest of his life.

“It ain’t fair,” Burns says, shaking his head.

Prosecutors demur. A debt, they say, is a debt.

But should a debt dog a man until he dies? Isn’t there equity in letting a 74-year-old man off the hook--particularly a man who gets by many days by eating rice and beans?

On the other hand, with the issue of deadbeat dads rising steadily in the nation’s consciousness, isn’t it wrong to let anyone off the hook, no matter how extenuating the circumstances?

In court Sept. 16, Burns protested that the $10 per month was tantamount to “a robbery without a gun.”

In an interview last week, he was even more deeply frustrated and disillusioned.

“When do you ever get out from under that hammer?” he said, pausing before he answered. “Never.”

In retrospect, Burns said, perhaps retaining an attorney before he went to court might have been of some help. “I went to see a lawyer,” he said. “But he wanted $165 upfront.”

Burns says he is a victim of class: “If I was rich, they wouldn’t be doing me like this.”

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It is just as likely, however, that he was simply swept up in the district attorney’s increasingly aggressive pursuit of child support cases.

Wayne Doss, who heads the district attorney’s Bureau of Family Support, said federal, state and local authorities have undertaken a deliberate and sophisticated campaign to track down parents who haven’t paid their child support bills. “A tightening of the net,” Doss called it.

In recent years, Doss said, new laws have given authorities the power to garnish wages, intercept tax refund checks and even grab lottery winnings.

Computers have also given officials the ability to match records at the Department of Motor Vehicles, for instance, with the district attorney’s list of delinquent parents--defined as those who owe one month or more of child support.

The push behind the campaign, Doss said, is to make it “difficult if not impossible” for people to “lead their lives normally and ignore a child support obligation.”

Even, he said, at the age of 74.

Burns--who owed $10,297 in unpaid support and interest as of Sept. 1 “should not be excused because he has outlived what some people may think is his obligation to pay,” Doss said. “That undercuts the very strong social policy we have with respect to children.

“If we’re prepared to say that at some point, if you live long enough, you don’t have an obligation to pay your debts, particularly debts to your children, then I think we are encouraging people to run and hide.”

Burns said he was not on the run. Nor was he hiding.

With the passage of time, it appears his case had simply fallen into bureaucratic oblivion.

According to court records so old they exist only on microfilm (the paper files have long since been destroyed) Burns’ wife, Patricia, filed for divorce in 1975.

She could not be located for comment.

Beginning in October 1975, Burns--who said he worked for most of his life as a tool and die man--was ordered to pay $150 per month in support for the couple’s daughter, Shena, then 4.

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Because, according to court records, the mother and daughter were on welfare, Burns was technically ordered to pay the $150 to a court trustee. In turn, the trustee was to pay that sum over each month to the county, as welfare reimbursement.

Records show that Burns paid the trustee sporadically, if at all. Some months the trustee received $19 or $39. Most months the trustee got nothing.

Burns said last week that he long ago lost contact with Shena. She also could not be located for comment. “I don’t even get a Father’s Day card from her,” Burns said.

In 1980, Burns sold what had been the family home in Compton. The title company turned over a $7,500 check to authorities.

Although he was still under court order to pay support, Burns contends that the check paid off his debt in full--and that when he spoke at the time to district attorney’s officials, that’s what they told him.

In fact, the check did pay off all the interest that had accrued on the unpaid child support, according to documents filed recently in court by the district attorney’s office.

But it still left $2,737 in principal, records show.

The next month, Burns owed $150 more in principal. And $150 more the month after that. And so on, until October 1982, when his monthly obligation to pay was ended by a judge because of other government benefits his daughter was receiving.

In 1986, a workers’ compensation settlement produced an additional $2,350. That again took care of all the interest that had accrued but still left $4,882 in unpaid principal, according to court records.

From 1986 through September, 1997, there were no further payments.

The balance, still hovering at $4,882, generated $5,415 in interest--simple interest, 10% a year--for a total of $10,297.

A 1993 state law makes it plain that a judgment for child support, “including all lawful interest,” is “enforceable until paid in full.” It’s the job of the district attorney’s office to be the enforcer.

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This summer, Burns went to the DMV to apply for a driver’s license for the first time in years. Unfortunately for him, a new law allowing the DMV to share more driver’s license information with county prosecutors had taken effect in January. The new computer system did the rest, and soon the notice from the district attorney’s office arrived in the mail.

In Superior Court on Sept. 16, Burns told Commissioner Roberta Winograde Lee that he lived on an $889 Social Security check. Of that, $500 went for rent. Almost all the rest went toward utilities and food, he said, leaving him $15, maybe $30 a month to spend as he wished.

“I think this is an injustice,” he said.

Under the law, Lee responded, she had no authority to erase the $10,297 debt.

“I have to follow the law,” she said. “Sometimes it’s not a pleasure. In this case it’s not a pleasure.”

She added moments later: “I’m going to have to order you to repay it. However, we’re going to try to make it as easy for you as possible.”

She ordered that he pay $10 a month. When he complained, she acknowledged that his was a “difficult situation” and she was “trying to come up with a very fair order that won’t burden you.”

Ten dollars doesn’t even cover the monthly interest on the unpaid principal, which is accruing at $40 monthly.

Reached by phone last week, Lee declined to comment on the case.

Even filing for bankruptcy doesn’t allow Burns to escape the debt. Federal regulations allow the district attorney’s office to stop collecting only if the amount he owes drops below $500.

As long as Burns owes more than that, Doss said, “we’re going to be with him as long as he lives.”

Burns’ first $10 check is due Wednesday. He said he’s going to pay.

“I feel awful. I feel terrible. But I’ve got to do it because they’ve got the power,” he said. “If you don’t give them the money, they’ll take it from you.”