Ventura County Will Miss Its Catcher in the Rye

If some gutsy Broadway producer finally resolves to make a musical out of J.D. Salinger’s classic coming-of-age novel “The Catcher in the Rye,” I know the perfect person to croon the part of Holden Caulfield. Caulfield envisioned himself as a catcher in a field of rye who snatched children to safety just seconds before they were about to hurtle headlong over the edge of a cliff. That’s exactly what Judge Steven Z. Perren does in real life.

The response to the announcement of Perren’s appointment at the 2nd District Court of Appeals has been bittersweet. Attorneys, county leaders and fellow judges alike applaud Perren’s promotion as richly deserved but likewise mourn Ventura County’s loss of this intelligent, industrious justice.

One of Perren’s challenges as he makes the transition from the Superior Court bench--where he has presided over criminal, civil, family and juvenile court cases for 17 years--is learning to toil without the intense adrenaline rush inherent in rendering life-affecting decisions every day. What he will seriously miss, however, is that in-your-face interaction with the troubled youngsters who appeared before him, poised, albeit rather wobbly, at the precipice of the rest of their lives.

While Perren has always been rather fond of children, juvenile justice allowed him to plunge simultaneously into the roles of psychologist, social worker and teacher. It was the part this greasepaint-smitten jurist was born to play.

Working with kids is not for anyone into instant gratification. Take the 15-year-old alcoholic who had Perren pulling out his own salt and pepper hair for months. He finally offered the kid a choice: 90 days in jail or 90 days of daily Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. Not only did the adolescent opt for the more demanding trajectory but showed up in court unannounced with an irresistible request. He wanted the judge to be present when he received his 90-day chip. Perren and his ear-to-ear grin were both there.

Securing the funding for a new juvenile justice center currently has the buttons popping off Perren’s shirt. The judge was sick and tired of being forced to send Ventura County youth to detention facilities that ground away at any remaining decency and optimism. He warned (in vintage Perren-style): “If you want kids to feel that society is concerned and is making a legitimate effort, you don’t put them in a facility that’s over 50 years old, that looks like something out of a Raymond Chandler novel.”

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Supervisors Kathy Long and Judy Mikels swear it was Perren’s 180-second summation that sealed the $40.5-million deal for Ventura County. When asked to recount the words that swayed the committee, Perren could only recall his first two sentences: “This is the most important three minutes in my life. This is the most important three minutes in the life of my kids.”

Suzanne LaFollette had something similar in mind back in 1926 when she wrote “what its children become, that will the community become.” Has sprawling Ventura County gotten too puffed up to qualify as one of Hillary Clinton’s villages? Law enforcement officials seem to think Ventura County is merely five years away from becoming another Los Angeles. I suspect you find that as horrifying as I do.

Just what kind of credentials does one need to serve as a catcher in the rye? Perren looks back at the wisdom of coupling a study of the law with a broad liberal arts education. Secondly, he credits service in Vietnam for acquainting him with people of every stripe, color and creed. Lastly, he points to supportive parents. Perren is tickled to share thumbnail sketches of his recently deceased mother and father, two “incredibly solid people” who not only truly adored each other but who provided a spirited cheering section as well.

Perren inherited his more-than-modest ability to carry a tune from a father who could command downpours of pennies with his resonant tones. Perren’s legit musical career commenced in 1996 with a Cabrillo Music Theater production of “Guys and Dolls.” Perhaps it might appear a tad unseemly for a jurist, especially one freshly elevated to the 2nd District Court of Appeals, to warble affectionately about the “oldest established floating crap game in New York.”

But then again, what would have happened had Judge Perren not always been willing to gamble on just one more kid?