About 40 people waited in the first-session room of the Third District Court of Eastern Middlesex, which is "holden at Cambridge" six mornings a week "for the transaction of Criminal Business." Most of them had come in response to the small white traffic slips they held, each of which warns "Hereof fail not at your peril." Five men who had never received a formal summons sat locked in the jury pen at one side of the bench. And three blue-jacketed ushers stood ready to boost people to that part of the courtroom demanded by procedure.

The summonses had commanded all offenders to appear at 9 a.m. At 9:30, to the chant of "Stand up! Stand up!" repeated by boosters in various corners of the room, wizened Judge Arthur P. Stone '93 entered the court through a curtain behind the bench. The bailiff bellowed in 17th century English that it was March 8th and that Court was in session.

Judge Stone pulled the receiver of his hearing aid outside his coat and started on the drunks. A ragged little skid row resident leaped to his feet when the bailiff called out his name. He heard that he was charged with being drunk and jerked his head up and down on the first part of the question "Guilty or not guilty?"

"What do you know about this man!" Judge Stone asked an assistant standing at one corner of the bench.

"He's been doing pretty well, your honor," a ruddy-faced cop said loudly for the prisoner's benefit. The cop, judge, and assistant conversed privately" on the man's record of dereliction. Something leaked out about ". . . three months in a correctional institution . . ." followed by chuckles from the officials. The criminal stood with his head high, attentively watching the deliberation on his fate.

They told him to return in two weeks. Then they told him it would take $300 bail to go free until then. He saluted nervously and sat down.

The next man, a short tough guy who could well have been on a movie set, had been holding onto a fence when the police arrested him. (". . . and if he had let go he would have fallen down.") They wanted him to return Saturday. The judge was afraid the accused would lose a day's work.

"No, your honor, I don't work on Saturday," he said with unconvincing emphasis.

Another offender was put through the five-minute process. Then two youths heard the charge against them of drunkenness and damaging property belonging to the city of Cambridge, "valued less than $100." The truck window they had kicked out cost $10.85. They did it because one of the them was to report to the Navy for induction the morning after. Unlike the previous scoundrels, they had no previous offenses.

Judge Stone fined them the cost of the damage plus $2 apiece. Then he revised the fine when the assistant told him that between the two of them they had only $12.

"This is a trial, your honor," the bailiff said as the next case came up. Judge Stone lifted himself from his small chair and moved to the large one at the center of the Bench. A young blonde court secretary went into the back room and brought out the 30 year old female defendant. A policeman said he had gone out on a complaint from a taxi driver who was having trouble with his fare. When the policeman arrived he found this lady "so drunk that she was staggering all over."

"What do you have to say about this?"

"Well, your honor, I did have a few drinks. But . . ."

About 10:15 they got to the traffic cases. Two Harvard students wanted to leave. One of them said, "I see now it's not the dollar but the day's work you--" A peremptory shush from the usher silenced him.

The first parking violator pleaded guilty, after which Judge Stone told him he could plead "nolo" and the disposition of the case would be exactly the same. The Judge neglected to explain the advantages of this procedure. The defendant pleaded guilty.

"Nolo," the bailiff relayed to the Judge, but it looked as if the Judge's hearing aid receiver was again behind his coat. The next five people all pleaded guilty but quickly had their minds changed. About three cases per minute now passed through the Third District Court of Eastern Middlesex.

"Lotsa dollars!" said the man next to me.

"I'll say." I paid mine and left.