Youngsters at Law

School Devises Own Court System

If it had not been for the french fries, young Kevin Levitas would never have found himself facing charges of "bribery."

the 12-year-old student at Atlanta's Paideia School can also blame the fact that he is a member of a class taught by Bernie and Martha Schein, a man-and-wife teaching team, who conceived the idea of a classroom court system five years ago.

It started when a youngster in the class of 1972 pulled the plug on the tropical fish tank oxygen supply. The Scheins used the incident to organize a mock trial as a graphic way of giving their pupils a civic lesson. It worked so well the Scheins decided to it for real

It has evolved into something far more elaborate than anyone back then imagined. There may be nothing quite like it anywhere else.

The 29 kids under "Bernie" and "Martha" take it seriously. A pint-sized judge once ordered Bernie Schein thrown out for making a joke during trial proceedings and the teacher recalls that his student spectators weren't laughing.

After all, if convicted of an offense they can receive from one to 40 days of school clean up duties for crimes ranging from disturbing someone's peace, to assault and battery, to stealing.

The students run the show themselves, passing the laws, processing formal charges, and conducting trials by jury. The teachers provide only rare and usually marginal assistance. They stay out of it even on occasions when the student judges and jurors unintentionally make a bad ruling, as may have happened in the "french fry" case.

Here's how the youthful system works:

A five-member "Congress" is elected twice each school year to pass or repeal the classroom laws, which are encompassed in a 14-page constitution. A hot issue at the moment is whether a law should be passed prohibiting "social harassment." This would cover persistent teasing, such as "Quint loves Renee"-type of badgering which is commonplace in that age group. So far, the Congress has sidestepped pressure to pass the measure on the grounds it would be too difficult to enforce.

Judges, and other court officials, also are elected. They must rule on objections, keep the court quiet and in order, and interpret the classroom laws — all on the spur of the moment and with intensely-interested classmates looking on.

Campaign promises are posted on the bulletin board, and officeholders failing to live up to them can be impeached. It happens. They can also be turned out of office by not being reelected. The Scheins say the pre-teen candidates are capable of making involved alliances and deals in campaigns that often resemble those of adults.

"They make Richard Nixon look docile," Bernie Schein observes. They are zealous, at times, in their desire to win and in their ambition for positions of prestige and influence, he says.

He calls the middle school age "a crucial age morally ... they do not have their values formed by a long shot."

One thing the courtroom system helps teach is that respect is more important than populariy, the Scheins explain. The kids learn that fair treatment, as opposed to favoritism, is an important goal, the teachers say. In short, they believe it teaches the youngsters how to get along with one another socially.

Student lawyers take a special law course covering both the class constitution and the U.S. Constitution. They must pass a "Bar exam" administered by the teachers before they can be selected as attorneys.

The students involved in a case choose their own lawyers.

The attorneys prepare their cases in advance, perhaps without realizing it amounts to extra homework. In a recent "battery" case, for example, Chris Little, 13, was accused of hitting Renee Kempler, 11, with a football. Prosecutor Julie Caudle, 14, told the court in an opening statement, "My witness will testify that Chris actually laughed after the football he threw hit Renee. The witness did not feel, however, it was an embarrassed laugh, but rather sadistic."

Defense attorney Scott Tennis, 13, quickly countered that battery is not a crime unless the act is intentional. He produced a witness who said Chris was aiming the football away from Renee and misfired. The verdict was not guilty.

When court is convened on Fridays, the students rearrange desks so the classroom resembles a courtroom. The judge, court officers, opposing attorneys and the defendant take their places, and the court clerk intones: "All rise ... Hear ye, Hear ye, court is now open and in session. Judge Jay Brown presiding. All persons having business before this court, please come to order."

Those pupils not involved in the case are free to leave and play outside. Only four or five chose not to stay for the Levitas trial.

Levitas, who knows something of the law as the son of DeKalb County attorney and incumbent U.S. Rep. Elliott Levitas has caught two of his classmates taking uninvited bites out of the hamburger he brought for lunch.

It was a special treat to be able to bring a hamburger, he said. That point was important to his defense.

Young Levitas filed charges of theft against the two girls who helped themselves to his lunch. As usual, it wasn't regarded as squeeling. The class accepts this as a part of his right as a member of Bernie and Martha's class.

This is where it gets a little complicated. One of the hamburger "thieves" sent Kevin a note offering to settle out of court, and thus avoid the after-school clean-up chores that would result from a conviction.

The settlement was to bring Kevin another hamburger one day in the immediate future to replace the one that was molested. But Kevin thought this wasn't enough.

He wrote back that he was willing to settle, but he felt he should also be compensated with a package of fries in addition to the hamburger. He later testified in court that the fries were to cover the "mental anguish" he experienced for losing a special lunch.

Everything was hanging on his "mental" suffering defense. His note with the counter-offer was introduced as evidence, and it said, "Give me a hamburger and french fries. I'll drop the charges. This is not a bribe, it is only an out-of-court settlement." This reveals that Kevin was aware of the thin line between proper arbitration and bribery.

Prosecuting attorney Frank Smethurst, 13, opened by saying "I'll prove Kevin wrote the note and passed it along to Debbie. The hamburger was enough to repay Kevin for the two bites out of the hamburger he brought for lunch.... When he asked for french fries to drop charges, that was a bribe."

Defense attorney David Einsberg, 13, retaliated, "I'm here to prove that Kevin Levitas is innocent of bribery.... This was an out-of-court settlement. He was only carrying on a conversation Debbie started. Debbie is the only criminal involved in this case."

Witnesses were called and the lawyers fired hard, demanding questions at them. All the young participants had to mentally stay on their toes.

When Kevin testified in his own behalf, he stressed that he wasn't allowed to bring a hamburger except on rare occasions, and the later replacement of the hamburger alone didn't cover his disappointment.

The prosecutor's tone was sarcastic. "Explain your mental anguish, Kevin. I'd like to know."

"I get mad when someone takes a bite out of my hamburger," Kevin replied.

The prosecution rested his case. "A new hamburger for two bites out of your hamburger was enough. That would be compensation. French fries were a bribe, Kevin, a bribe. That's all."

The jury agreed. They found him guilty after deliberating in private for about 30 minutes. Kevin shook his head in dismay after he was promptly sentenced to three days of labor cleaning the class playroom. But he didn't complain.

Under analysis, it would seem that the class constitution allows for out-of-court negotiations. There are no limits set for what each side may think is a just settlement. But the jury, selected by the opposing attorneys, arbitrarily felt the french fries request was going too far.

"The kids respect authority," Bernie Schein said. He explained there is virtually no resentment when one of their classmates rules against them. It's a part of the system, he said.

And it works.

—Selby McCash, Telegraph-News Bureau