An 11-year-old girl is found dead, wrapped inside a trash bag and dumped into a cement storm drain in the city of Pasadena. Accused of the murder is an ice cream truck driver from Pomona. It is August 1984 when the case is assigned to James Piatt '55, who has been on the Superior Court bench for only two months after 13 years in the Municipal Division.

The district attorney's office is asking for the death penalty. It is a high-profile case, with media attention and an interested public. Evidence shows the girl had been raped and stored in the truck's freezer unit before she was dumped. Furthermore, the coroner testifies the girl was still alive when she was dropped into the storm drain.

On top of everything else, the driver, whose name is Robert Edward Stansbury, wants to represent himself in court, a request Judge Piatt grants, with the provision that an attorney adviser be assigned to assist.

"He was a particularly contentious litigant, doing everything he could to create error in the record," Jim remembers. "He tried to goad me every step of the way--he made comments at the bench, but I never bit. I always kept an even disposition in the matter."

While an even disposition might be expected of a judge, especially in a highly charged case, the trick is in applying the ideal. Due process, as this country's history has shown, does not automatically result from the design of the system. It must be cultivated.

In July 1985, the jury convicted Stansbury of murder with special circumstances; Judge Piatt imposed the death penalty. "It was an emotional experience for me personally when I read the death warrant, because I was fully aware of what the implications were. There wasn't much question in anybody's mind, including my own, that he was the guy who did it."

True to form, Stansbury filed a flurry of appeals. One made its way to the U.S. Supreme Court; it concerned a ruling on whether Stansbury was technically in police custody when he was first interviewed. Jim's decision was ultimately affirmed. Today, Stansbury sits on death row at San Quentin.

"It was a real serious learning experience," Jim remarks. "I'm proud it withstood every level of appeal. I won't say I was concerned about it, because every judge gets appealed, but I did try to do a good job."

In 1987, while handling the civil calendar for the Superior Court, Judge Theodore Piatt '59, Jim's brother, is assigned to hear a lawsuit related to a rollover accident in El Monte. The driver was badly burned. The damage claim alone is $500,000.

"The case came to me to try to settle before trial," Ted relates. "It was the first really major, complex case I had in Superior Court."

A supervising judge suggests Ted assign two seasoned lawyers to sit down and work on an agreement to avoid a protracted court battle. He follows this advice and finds that through their nuance and experience they are able to settle the case in a short period of time. "It would have been a long, expensive, complicated trial," Ted says. "I learned a lot about the law from that case--how to deal with lawyers, to consider their respective interests, and how to cull all those interests in one lawsuit and get the parties to talk to each other... That is what being a judge is all about."

"As a lawyer you are an advocate, arguing for one side," Jim says. "As a judge, you have to not only be fair; you have to give a perception that you are fair."

Adds Ted, "When we practiced law we were advocates, but when the robe settles down on your shoulders, you have to slide into the middle of the bench."

This supportive back-and-forth between the two brothers has the sound of an ongoing conversation--something they are quick to acknowledge.

"Even when Jim was first appointed to the bench, we used to talk a lot about what the roles are of the lawyers and the role of the judge," says Ted. "He would have some thorny problems and he would talk to me; and I would talk to him about some of my cases. We were a sounding board for each other."

In fact, as they continue to talk, it is clear that they are not just brothers and fellow judges--they're each other's strongest supporters and closest collaborators.

"Jim has a way of communicating that is noncombative. It is crisp and to the point," says Ted. "When we have disagreements, they are always explored and examined in detail."

"Ted is very highly respected by the bar," Jim comments. "He has great judicial temperament; he is bright and scholarly."

"We have never been in competition with each other, in any respect," explains Ted. "We have been each other's biggest fan base." The Piatts grew up in the cities of Claremont and Pomona. "It was nothing but orange groves and little enclaves," Ted says. "When you got to the edge of the city, you knew it."

There were troubles at home with their father's continuing illness. The brothers credit their mother, Audrey Johnson Piatt, with being the linchpin that held the family together.

"There was talk of splitting the family up," Ted reveals. "She said no. She was tenacious. She is the crucible for who we are now."

Jim remembers her as a "taskmaster. A loving, tough taskmaster."

Now 98, Audrey lives in Claremont. Jim and Ted live one town over, in Upland.

The elder by three and a half years, Jim was the first to enroll at Pomona College. He studied economics, but took a three-year break after his junior year to serve in the U.S. Army. Youthful indecision was partly to blame, he admits, adding, "My first three years were unfocused."

After receiving his discharge, he returned to Pomona and graduated. The following year he enrolled in law school at UCLA. It was a decision he has never regretted.

"Each one of those trials is like a little play," he remarks. "I saw people at the ragged edge of their emotions. I enjoyed being part of that process. You see a lot of what happens in human nature. It is different than any other kind of job you could have."

Ted's college career went more smoothly. After graduation, he joined the Navy, and at about the time Jim was setting up his law practice with fellow Pomona grad William Shannon '58, Ted was floating across the Pacific onboard the USS Hornet. He was also thinking about the future. "I thought it would really be nice to practice the same profession in the same area as Jim," Ted explains. So in 1963, he enrolled in the University of California Hastings School of Law in San Francisco. He passed the bar three years later and took his first job with the public defender's office.

In 1971, then-Governor Ronald Reagan appointed Jim to a judgeship in the Municipal Court in Los Angeles County. In 1984, after Jim had moved on to the Superior Court, it was Ted's turn to be appointed Municipal Court judge, taking the very seat Jim had recently vacated. At the time, the brothers were the only siblings sharing the bench in the state of California. Two years later, Ted joined his brother on the Superior Court as well. They served together in the Pomona division for seven years, until Jim retired.

After a combined 41 years on the bench, the Piatt brothers offer themselves in measures. When they speak, their words are carefully crafted, as if they are trying to set a tone. It is a professional duty that appears to have become a character trait.

"There is a saying in our profession: at best, reasonable minds will differ," Ted explains. "Everyone has a different point of view. Each side at the counsel table is urging a completely different point of view. My job is to pay attention, listen and make a decision. One hundred percent of the time 50 percent of the people think I am wrong."

Above all, reality dictates "that someone is going to lose a case and be disappointed and someone is going to win," Ted concludes.

"I tell every jury, 'I'm going to introduce the parties to you. This is the defendant, defense attorney, and prosecutor. I don't care who gets your verdict; it is of no moment to me. I want you to be an impartial trier of fact, and I will be impartial, too. In that respect, you and I have the same job.' It sets a tone."

Within this context, the judge must learn to withhold his own opinions and politics, Ted says, refraining not only from expressing them verbally but also from applying them to his decision-making.

"Charles Vogel ('55), now a justice on the court of appeals, gave me a piece of advice, and I never forgot: keep your mouth shut," Jim explains. "No one cares what you think, they only care how you rule. I didn't always follow it, but I never forgot."

Ted learned a similar lesson.

"About 14 years ago, I had a dispute in my courtroom," Ted remembers. "I thought about it a long time. I put a note on my bench, which is still there. It says, 'Lawyers aren't interested in your personal views.' You listen, then make the best decision you can."

He adds, "We are lucky to have these jobs. You don't want to screw it up by being arrogant or being abusive."

Ted has a second note on his bench that reads simply: "Shut up, be quiet, be

courteous."As they speak, a loose theme seems to tie their stories together--one based in family, civil service and a sense of history. A book sits on the desk between them, a thick tome about World War II.

"I read a lot of history," Jim says. "You begin to appreciate what the generation did before us, the sacrifices."

According to Jim, the real difference between this country and any other is the right to vote and the jury system. Of the latter, he says, "The right of the people to decide if someone should be punished for what the government says is a crime" is unique. "Here, you have a body of citizens intervening between the accused and the government."

"Due process," Ted interjects. "The one phrase that sets us apart. We paid for it in the Ardennes Forest and at Iwo Jima."

Both attribute their strong sense of history, at least in part, to the late Professor Vincent Learnihan. Both men attended classes with him while at Pomona, although they believe they may have learned even more in the breakfast conversations they had with him toward the end of his life.

"For the last 12 years of his life, from 1986 to 1998, we had breakfast with him every Saturday morning--without exception," Ted relates. "He was a real Renaissance man. He loved learning from us about cases and law, and we loved having our English corrected by him."

"It was the most significant and warm relationship with the College I ever had," Jim says.

Now, the Piatt brothers meet the first Thursday of each month for lunch with the "friends of Vincent Learnihan."

"Jim and I treasure that group," says Ted. "He really was a teacher."

But the loss of their old friend and mentor was only one of many hardships the two brothers would suffer in the late 1990s. In 1998, Ted's first wife, Lynn Piatt, died from an aggressive form of cancer. Doubling the misfortune, Jim's wife, Alice, was diagnosed with cancer at about the same time as Lynn.

Both women were treated by a well-respected oncologist, Linda Bosserman, whom Ted would marry some years later. Alice would make a full recovery, and today is cancer-free.

There is another lesson: hold on to what works, move on from what does not--a hard-earned bit of wisdom for life and the courtroom.

"Agonizing doesn't bring you a better decision," says Jim. He's referring specifically to his rulings as a judge, but he might be speaking about life in general. "Use the time to do research, to read other cases, to do productive work. I don't think agonizing does anything for you."

What both brothers do believe in, however, is the continued power of learning--especially learning from mistakes.

"The system is constructed in such a way that you can't get a perfect trial, but you can get a fair trial," says Ted. "You are going to make mistakes, and if you can look back on them and say, 'I didn't have to react that way, I didn't have to make that ruling,' and profit from that, it makes the job wonderful."

--Gary Scott is a reporter for The Claremont Courier.