Judge Keeps Cool in Trial Charged With Emotion

He gazes quizzically over his wire-rims, makes small jokes to lighten a tense courtroom and instructs witnesses to swear in with “my very nice clerk.”

Balding and ruddy, Superior Court Judge Donald D. Coleman above all conveys a sense of calm--a decided plus in the frequently strained atmosphere of Courtroom 46, where one of Ventura County’s most widely observed murder trials has been underway for weeks.

Since Aug. 22, Coleman has peered down daily as prosecutors laid out their case against Socorro Caro, a physician’s wife accused of killing three of her young sons as they slept in the family’s lavish Santa Rosa Valley home.

The trial lacks the aura of celebrity but blends other ingredients of a tasty tabloid stew: wealth, infidelity, betrayal and, most provocative of all, the contention of defense attorneys that their client was framed by her husband, Dr. Xavier Caro.

Complex and highly emotional, it is the biggest case Coleman has heard since his election to the bench in 1996. Socorro Caro, who is charged with three counts of first-degree murder, has pleaded not guilty and not guilty by reason of insanity. If convicted, she could spend the rest of her life in prison or receive the death penalty.

As a prosecutor for 17 years, Coleman at times helped decide which murder defendants would face the possibility of capital punishment. But this is the first case in which he may feel compelled to impose the ultimate penalty himself.

Because convictions in capital cases are routinely appealed, judges find them especially grueling.

“With the stakes being higher, everything is put under a microscope,” said Superior Court Judge Vincent O’Neill Jr., a former prosecutor who has heard three capital cases in the last four years.

O’Neill said Coleman is up to the task.

“He’s a very capable, very level-headed, very patient person--well-suited to a lengthy, high-level trial such as this one,” O’Neill said.

Coleman, who denied a request by “Court TV” to plant a camera gavel-to-gavel in his courtroom, declined to be interviewed by The Times, saying it would breach judicial ethics. That is a standard response from jurists during a trial--especially after Judge Lance Ito’s widely criticized interviews during the O.J. Simpson case. For Coleman, it also underscores a reason that he became a judge.

Three years ago, he told a Los Angeles legal publication that the circus surrounding the Simpson trial helped inspire his decision to leave a comfortable berth as a county prosecutor.

“I was concerned about the public’s perception of our system, which was negatively impacted--but hopefully not irreparably--by the trial,” he said. “I thought that as a judge, I could go out and talk to people and try to establish a different perception.”

A big bear of a man, he speaks in soft tones, as if to modulate the effect of his size. At the start of court sessions, he often hops up the single step to his podium, a conductor eager to get back on his slow-moving judicial train.

In the Caro case, Coleman has made clear his belief in the fine points of legal procedure.

“I’m one who believes that if the court overlooks small inadvertent mishaps, it might well be they’ll continue to occur,” he has told the attorneys, who frequently argue over proper disclosure of evidence.

On the other hand, he breaks up the day with an occasional quip--a folksy tidbit that can punctuate courtroom tedium and bring a chuckle to flagging jurors.

When Socorro Caro’s mother testified that, on the night of the killings, she ate dinner alone in her room to watch Mexican soap operas, a defense attorney objected, contending that the woman’s choice of TV shows was irrelevant.

“You’ve got something against Mexican soap operas?” Coleman asked in mock dismay. “My mother-in-law loves ‘em!”

The objection was overruled.

When the courtroom microphones were plagued by feedback problems, Caro’s lead attorney, Assistant Public Defender Jean Farley, observed: “Your honor is echoing.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said all day,” Coleman deadpanned.

During testimony about a demonstration in which prosecutor Jim Ellison served as a mannequin, Coleman couldn’t help interjecting, to the evident delight of jurors:

“The record should reflect that the witness referred to Mr. Ellison as a mannequin--not as a dummy.”

While there are no belly laughs in Courtroom 46, Coleman’s grace notes offer some respite from the grim matter at hand. For days, investigators’ photos of the Caros’ dead boys and their blood-soaked bedding were projected on a wall.

Coleman was known as an aggressive prosecutor, but some members of the defense bar say he has been evenhanded in his rulings from the bench.

“He’s a competent judge,” said James M. Farley, one of Ventura County’s most established criminal defense attorneys. “He’ll do a good job on any case before him.”

Like many other private attorneys, Farley, who is not related to Socorro Caro’s lawyer, has long contended that too many judges are former prosecutors who tailor their rulings for the district attorney. That hasn’t been the case with Coleman, he said.

Kevin DeNoce, a defense lawyer and a former prosecutor, agrees.

“Most attorneys appreciate that Coleman is a hands-off judge,” DeNoce said. “He allows litigants to present their cases without judicial intervention. They come away feeling they were allowed to put forth their defense in a nonrestricted manner.”

Coleman went to high school in the San Fernando Valley and, after an Army tour in Vietnam, graduated from UCLA in 1976. Speeding through Southwestern University School of Law in two years instead of three, he signed on with the Ventura County district attorney’s office in 1979.

On his way up, he prosecuted more than 200 cases, from traffic violations to homicides. As a top assistant to Dist. Atty. Michael D. Bradbury, Coleman came into the public eye advising the county grand jury and investigating alleged political corruption.

Along the way, he married a former deputy sheriff, a woman he met when she served as a bailiff in a local courtroom. They have three children.