Dear Willy

Judge Simmons, 0 Judge Simmons,

Why can't you be nice?

Mindin' your manners, it ain't such a

price.

Really, dear Willy, we won't hold a

grudge.

We know there's no justice for a traffic

court judge.

An Oliver Wendell Holmes he is not. Nor even a Judge Roy Bean. Yet, to the gay habitues of Seattle's uptown coffeehouses, and to throngs of traffic violators unaccustomed to jaunty juridical generosity, the name of Traffic Court Judge William Simmons last week rang out in such folk song and story, hell-bent for legend.

The judge's claim to fame: he has turned his court into a circus, cut a gaping hole in the city treasury by freeing 108 defendants, and otherwise has so conducted himself as to make the Three Stooges seem as sedate and tame as a trio of Trappist monks.

A Cornish hen of a man. William H. Simmons, 32, has had a bouncy career. He once threatened the city with a loss of $250,000 by cutting fines, unless he got new curtains for his chambers. There were tales of drunken visits to the police station, of the time he got involved in a tavern ruckus, tossed the crowd an obscene gesture, and drove off--smack into a fire hydrant. Married, father of three, he shared a few apartments around town with his pretty clerk, Susan Seregow, once registering as "Mr. and Mrs. William Campbell" (occupation: "Portland Fish Co."). On such occasions, said Simmons, he and his clerk worked closely together on court papers. Her assistance, he said, was "invaluable."

The Rats. The judge interrupted his advances in jurisprudence last summer to make another kind of advance--toward a young housewife, Betty Adams, who went to see him about a speeding ticket. The advance, for which the legalese is "assault with intent to rape," was brought to court, and despite Simmons' charge of a frame-up, he was found guilty and given a ten-year suspended jail term, provided that he resign his office. But Simmons had other ideas.

Ignoring the mayor's appointment of a new judge. Simmons went right on holding court last week and delivering lectures about the "rats at city hall." When city officials ordered confiscation of the court records, the judge said, "Blank 'em and let 'em eat eggshells." whereupon he locked himself in his chambers for the night. For three days running, he successfully fought off every attempt to keep him out of the courtroom, while he happily tossed eggshells into the city machinery. He looked down benignly at his defendants and said: "Step up to the bar and say, 'I move for dismissal because of the lack of prosecution.' " Each offender mumbled the magic words, and the court cried, "Case dismissed!"

The Trusty. Then, at long last, Superior Court Judge Lloyd Shorett signed a temporary injunction pending a hearing on Simmons' right to keep his bench. Still that did not stop the judge, who scooted over to his own court to dismiss just one more case. A few hours later, the sheriff, armed with a warrant for contempt of court, took Simmons to the jug, where he turned in his necktie, watch, billfold and chewing gum. posed cheerfully for pictures, and stepped behind the bars, where he was immediately made a trusty. By week's end he was freed on a $1.000 bond --and raring to go.

Simmons rationalized his antics on the ground that his pending appeal on the attempted-rape conviction would be weakened if he resigned from the bench. "Everybody thinks I'm just kicking up a storm for the sake of anarchy." He mused for a moment. "Anarchy. Anarchy. Nice word, anarchy."

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