The Minnesota Supreme Court went to high school, and everyone got an education

On Thursday morning, the seven justices of the Minnesota Supreme Court strode behind red velvet drapes and got personal in the best way they know how: They took their robes off.

The justices then walked to the front of the auditorium at Highland Park Senior High School in St. Paul for a lengthy Q&A about what makes their profession fascinating and what makes the courts, even at the highest level, humane.

It was a just reward for the 800 students who listened attentively for an hour to oral arguments about who bears financial responsibility for certain legal expenses of mentally ill and dangerous inmates being held in county jails.

The event was also a refreshing reminder that today’s youth can find interest in legal statute 253B.07, subdivision 2c of Minnesota’s law on judicial commitment.

Chief Justice Natalie E. Hudson looked out at the crowd after the arguments were complete and said, “This is very different, but you saw two outstanding appellate attorneys today and that is one reason we brought this here.”

Twice a year, the Supreme Court hears oral arguments in front of high school students, alternating between schools in the metro area and greater Minnesota. As they introduced themselves after the case, each justice said this event represented a highlight of their year.

The students asked a rash of questions that elicited honest responses.

Judge Sarah Hennesy said she thinks sexism has lessened in the legal community as women are given more support to reach the highest levels of the judiciary and “that helps all of us make greater strides as lawyers,” but there was still work to be done.

When asked what it‘s like being a judge, Justice Anne McKeig said, “We’re fallible. We’re people. We don’t always get it right ... but we try really hard to do the right thing. It‘s a huge responsibility.”

A student from the school newspaper asked Justice Paul Thissen how he doesn’t just make up his mind right on the spot during arguments. “Sometimes I do!” Thissen said to laughter. He added that the court chooses the cases it wants to hear, and “usually there’s not a clear answer.” He said the delicate study of both sides of the case is the most important part of his job.

The justices provided biographical detail that showed their unique paths to the highest court in the state. McKeig received rapturous applause when she talked about growing up on the Leech Lake Reservation in Federal Dam, Minn. (pop. 106) before becoming the first Native American woman in America to become a state Supreme Court justice.

When Justice Theodora Gaïtas was asked if she always wanted to practice law, she said not at all. When she was in high school she wanted to be an actress. Her parents discouraged her. She said it is one of her great disappointments in herself that she didn’t pursue it.

“If you have something you’re passionate about,” she told the students, “the time to explore it is now.”

Justice Gordon Moore said the biggest downside to the job was the elimination of work-life balance: “The reality of the work is it‘s like an iceberg under the water, always looming.” He said the upside was court‘s impact and bringing the court to the people.

Before the event, each justice walked with student representatives. Hudson, whose son Kobie graduated from Highland Park and is now an attorney with the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, said it was a chance to show students that even people in positions of societal prominence are just people. They make mistakes. “Even the chief justice,” she said.

She told the crowd there was another lesson they could take forward. The attorneys who argued the case were adversaries with polar opposite points of view, but they didn’t let that get in the way of civility and respect. “There is a way to conduct yourself as professionals,” Hudson said. “That is so important, no matter what field you go into.”

Toward the end of the Q&A, the bell rang announcing the next period. “If the bell rings and you gotta go, you gotta go!” Hudson said. Dozens of students rushed the stage. The justices walked into the crowd and went about talking to every student who remained.

The oral arguments centered on a decision by Scott County to not pay an invoice from Jaspers, Moriarty & Wetherille, a law firm that is contracted with the county to provide legal services. The firm was appointed by the district court to handle casework for Anthony Swope, an inmate at the Scott County jail. The county had deemed him mentally ill and dangerous and ordered him civilly committed to a treatment facility.

That transfer was supposed to happen within 48 hours. He was held in jail for 63 days.

During that time, Swope’s attorneys filed what‘s known as a writ of mandamus seeking a court order to force the jail to get him into treatment. After he was transferred, the law firm sent an invoice for handling the case, including the writ of mandamus. The county refused to pay it, arguing that the legal filings for the court order were outside the scope of Minnesota’s judicial commitment law that grants defendants a right to legal counsel in civil commitment proceedings.

In Scott County District Court, it was ruled that all casework done by the law firm was part of the initial civil commitment proceedings, so the county had to pay the bill. A state Court of Appeals panel partly disagreed, ruling that the county had to pay for the legal fees related to Swope’s civil commitment but not the legal fees related to the court order forcing his move to treatment.

Mallory Stoll represented the law firm during oral arguments. Elisabeth Johnson represented Scott County.

The attorneys and justices debated back and forth about a myriad of topics that intersected with the case. They discussed constitutional separation of powers, civil commitments, what to do when a county commissioner ignores legal statutes and the lack of available treatment beds for the mentally ill and dangerous in Minnesota.

“This has been a problem for the state of Minnesota,” said Thissen, a former speaker of the Minnesota House. “These are vulnerable people, but they are hidden people. They don’t have a constituency at the Legislature.”

Johnson said if the court rules that the county is responsible to pay legal fees for separate trials around court orders for civil commitments, it could open a rash of legal questions about what else a county is required to pay for legal services.

McKeig said that broader issue had to be considered because while Scott County is well funded, Cass County, where she grew up, is one of the poorest in the state. That led to questions if this case was more about pushing the Legislature to create more state funding for civil commitments to support a growing issue creating numerous legal challenges across the state.

Stoll said that for her clients, this case was narrow. It was about the legal assistance needed to enforce 48-hour holds if mentally ill defendants are being held in county jail illegally. She said that assistance should be paid for by the county that hired the law firm.

“The rule of law my clients are asking the court to adopt, specifically, pertains to people like Mr. Swope who have the same issues and challenges as Mr. Swope,” she said. “They’re sitting in jail following a finding of incompetency.”

The Supreme Court will now determine what responsibility the county has in this case while also trying to keep the boundaries between the judicial and legislative branch in Minnesota clearly drawn.

It was just another day of heavy legal philosophy for the justices, and a healthy glimpse at the highest levels of state government for the students at Highland Park Senior High.