In January of 2009, John Roue drowned while vacationing in Panama. Roue had served as a judge here in the Ninth District for 26 years. John retired in 2006, but continued to work as a retired judge until his accident.
John was hard working and was well respected. He also had a sense of humor. What follows is a collection of some of his thoughts on being a judge in rural Minnesota.
THE JOYS AND TRIBULATIONS OF SERVING AS A RURAL TRIAL COURT JUDGE
By John Roue
You went to high school with some of the people you have to put in jail (or with their parents) and some of them are your relatives.
You can get away without wearing a robe when you don’t feel like it.
You know who all the cars (and pickups) in the parking lot belong to.
You know who can afford to pay a fine and who needs to do community service without even having to ask.
The coffee shop waitresses in seven counties know what your “usual” is.
You keep a stock of teddy bears and stuffed animals in your chambers to give away to the little kids waiting in the halls while their mother is filling out a domestic abuse protection order application or making a payment on their significant other’s fines.
You are on a first name basis with at least fifty percent of the criminal defendants who appear in front of you.
You drive a hundred miles to cover the calendar for a colleague who’s ill.
When you go for your evening walk, all the kids hanging out on the street corner greet you by name, and you’re likely to hear one of them whisper: “That’s my judge.”
Before you became a judge you either prosecuted or defended some of the people who appear in front of you (and sometimes did both).
Lawyers may be specialists, but you’re expected to handle everything from a traffic ticket to a murder case, and everything from a landlord-tenant dispute to a multi-million dollar products liability case —and not screw it up.
Some of the old timers who appear in your court like to remind you that they “knew your daddy” and remember when you were “only this high.”
You begin thinking seriously about retiring when you realize that you just put a third generation member of the same family in jail.
You receive letters recommending leniency from three ministers who all tell you that the defendant recently joined their church and has turned his life around.
The guy back in the kitchen at the local grill dishing up your noon lunch is the same guy you put in jail last month for not paying his child support.
You voir dire a jury panel and discover that two are related to the defendant, three belong to the same church sewing circle as the victim’s mother, one doesn’t understand why her sister’s kid got five years for his ninth burglary, another doesn’t understand why the neighbor’s kid only got a fine for throwing eggs at his house, two didn’t like your decision in the small claims court cases, etc., etc.
You drive 50 miles for a motion hearing and discover that you went to the wrong county.
Your jury panels not only know every detail of last year’s homicide that made the papers in three states, they also know the name and age of the juvenile who was caught shoplifting at the local grocery store last week and the brand of the candy bar he stole.
You’ve learned more about Native American and Hispanic culture than you have about your own.
You regularly receive invitations to judge the “Miss Clyde’s Bar and Grill” beauty contest, the kindergarten finger painting contest, and the hog wrestling at the county fair.
All 32 fourth graders selling dollar chances on a one-year pass to the local movie theatre know where your office is.
Well said, John. You are dearly missed.
As always, remember it is your court.
Rasmussen is a district court judge in the Ninth Judicial District. He is chambered in Clearwater County and works primarily in Clearwater and Hubbard counties. Email him at:
