It's been 13 years since that dumb mistake, and Smith's still haunted by it. These days, he's unemployed and looking at some serious financial trouble. The trucking company he had just started working for completed its background check on him, and the burglary offense turned up. The company told him not to bother coming back to work.
"My friends and I were basically bored and stupid," Smith says of his burglary conviction. "I'm now 28. I own a home. I'm responsible, no trouble. Why should [that record] even be there? Why would it keep popping up?" An attorney he just hired is confident that he can get it sealed, but it's going to cost him.
Smith had no idea that a private employer would find his record. Like countless others, he's held onto an unfounded notion regarding the criminal justice system: Once you cross over that invisible line into adulthood--set at one's 18th birthday--you get to start over. Your juvenile criminal record just magically disappears. Wrong.
The latest law regarding the sealing and public disclosure of juvenile criminal records has been in effect since 1997, but many people with juvenile records still aren't aware of its implications: Some mistakes never get erased.
According to one attorney, the courts are to blame. Judges are required by law to advise juvenile defendants of their right to get their records sealed at the time they're sentenced, says Judith Dubester, an attorney who's made a specialty out of getting juvenile records sealed. Yet that's not happening. "The result is that people just have totally strange expectations about what's going to happen," she says.
Dubester gets two to five phone calls a day from adults who are still plagued by their juvenile criminal records. The phone calls are sad but typical. Callers were either rejected from enrollment in the military, denied a gun permit, denied access to housing, or fired from or never hired for a job they really wanted. Most of the time, the callers are still in a state of shock over their predicament.
Basically, the law reads like this: If you are convicted of a Class A felony (e.g., murder or a sex offense), you will never be able to wipe the offense from your record. If you were guilty of a Class B felony (e.g., the second-degree burglary charge Smith received), you must wait 10 years and have no new offenses before you can get that record sealed. If you were guilty of a Class C felony (e.g., taking a motor vehicle without permission), it's five years. The law is silent on misdemeanors, deferred dispositions, and dismissals, which creates uncertainty in the courts.
If you can pay for legal help, it better be good. Evidence of a juvenile record can be found in as many as five criminal justice agencies, including the Washington State Patrol, which centralizes statewide criminal data. If each agency isn't given a court order to seal a person's record, then the record remains public for anybody who cares to look at it.
Tough-on-crime conservatives believe the law is important because some juveniles need to be tracked. "When you find out there were indications that someone was on their way to becoming a serious offender, the people ask, 'Well, how come we didn't know?' Because [the records] were sealed," says State Representative Ida Ballasiotes (R-Mercer Island).
Steven Smith didn't understand just how public his records were, though he's been punished plenty of times as an adult for his youthful indiscretion. His application for the U.S. Air Force was rejected. This upset him, but he assumed that only the government had access to his juvenile records. Then King County sent him a notice that his gun permits were being revoked. Smith reluctantly but dutifully sold his guns.
Recently, Smith was pulled over by the police for having busted taillights. They ran his record through their computer and came back with that pesky burglary charge. Smith was thoroughly frisked and his car was searched. Angered, Smith still didn't really think he could do anything about it. "Now, every time I see a cop, I wonder if I'm going to get pulled over," he says.
It wasn't until Smith applied for a job at a trucking company that he realized the full implications of his juvenile record. He was put to work pending a background check. Smith was beginning to dream about making $17 an hour as a trucker when he was abruptly fired. Smith's immediate boss is eager to get him back, but his corporate bosses may say no regardless of whether Smith clears his record.
Advocates for sealed juvenile records say the issue goes beyond simple self-interest. For many, it's about closure. Some regard an old juvenile record as a black mark on their soul. Unfortunately, Washington's criminal justice system doesn't think it has room for such lofty notions as spiritual healing and second chances.
