An interview with Judge Frank Caprio, America’s nicest judge—just ask his 20M followers
Judge Frank Caprio smiles as he concludes his morning session inside the municipal court at the Providence Police Station in Providence, Rhode Island, on Oct. 30, 2017. (Photo by Jessica Rinaldi/The Boston Globe via Getty Images)
Jenna Bettez, an elementary school teacher, stood before Judge Frank Caprio in Municipal Court in Providence, Rhode Island. She was there for two unpaid traffic tickets issued to a car registered in her name. Her children were in her arms: a young son, Luke, and a baby named Bella.
The tickets had been received by the father of her children. He wasn’t present in court because he was in jail. Caprio was impressed that, despite not being the cause for the tickets, Bettez came to court prepared to take responsibility for them.
The judge dismissed the charges. In his just-published memoir—Compassion in the Court: Life- Changing Stories from America’s Nicest Judge—Caprio explains the reasons for his decision:
“The letter of the law would have had me collect fines for those tickets. The car was registered in her name, and that was that. But I knew those tickets were not her doing and paying them would have caused her greater financial and personal hardship. She was not only a good mother but also a teacher who would have an important impact on the lives of many children. … That money needed to be spent on Luke and Bella.”
Countless of Caprio’s traffic court cases—with many outcomes similarly affected by the defendants’ personal circumstances—are posted on online. He has collected over 20 million social media followers, and his videos have amassed billions of views.
During a Zoom interview, the recently retired jurist explains his judicial philosophy: “I subscribe to the theory of ‘compassionate justice,’” Caprio, 88, says. “I think everybody’s situation is different, so I take people’s personal life story into consideration in the disposition.”
“Under my robe, I have a heart, not a badge,” he likes to say.
I ask Caprio if the Providence Code of Ordinances gives him this much discretion in making his rulings. “Well, I think I have the inherent discretion,” he says. “I operate under the theory that it’s my courtroom, and I’ll make the decisions. That’s what I call ‘judicial discretion.’”
He adds, “People come in, and they can’t afford a lawyer. I don’t hold that against them. Many times, they’re right, but they don’t realize that the law is on their side. I will bring that fact out. I find myself being defense counsel as well as the judge in the case only because I think it’s fair. The balance of power between the individual and the sovereign is something that I take into consideration.”
Jeffrey Turner appeared before Caprio for unpaid tickets. The 36-year-old had spent almost half his life in prison. Believing that Turner was making an effort to turn his life around—and the tickets would prevent that—the judged dismissed the charges.
This Caprio does often in such situations. He explains his rationale in his book: “Too often, tickets and fines mount while people are in jail. When they get out, they are saddled with fines they cannot pay. Often their licenses have been suspended because of their unpaid tickets, making it next to impossible for them to seek employment and get their lives back on track. We need to remove these hurdles as much as possible for the good of all of us.”
The road to 20 million social media followers
Caprio’s massive social media presence grew out of his trials appearing on public access television in Providence. Caprio’s brother, Joe Caprio, had a strong interest in videography. When cable television systems were required to offer community access programing, Joe signed up and was given two one-hour daily time slots.
In need of more content than just the traffic around Providence or Little League games, the judge’s wife, Joyce, offered Joe a suggestion: “Why don’t you film your brother’s courtroom? There’s plenty going on there.”
In 1998, those judicial goings on became a program called Caught in Providence, which ran on public access television through Caprio’s retirement in 2023. Defendants had to agree to have their cases filmed for the show. It was later picked up by the ABC affiliate in the city—the first show in America to go from a public access channel to a network affiliate—and then syndicated nationally on 200 stations.
All the while, social media outlets were developing. Caprio’s style of justice was swept up. The show has been nominated four times for a Daytime Emmy Award.
The Providence treasury was not always shortchanged by Caprio’s generosity. One day Caprio received a letter from a regular viewer in Indiana. She was a single mother working in a supermarket for minimum wage. Despite that, she included a check for $20 and asked that it be used for someone in need.
Caprio read the letter from the bench, and it was later seen on TV and social media. Donations—unsolicited—poured in from all over the world, including three $1 bills from China. Caprio deposited the money into the court’s registry and called it the “Filomena Fund,” named for his mother. Sometimes, after finding a defendant guilty, he would have the fine paid from the fund.
The birth of a judicial philosophy
Where Caprio’s “compassionate justice” comes from is answered early in his book. Part one is titled: “My Family Made Me the Person I Am Today.”
In the early 1900s, Caprio’s grandparents emigrated from Italy and settled in Providence. The two of them, and their 10 children, shared a tenement apartment on Federal Hill, the city’s Italian section.
Caprio’s father sold fruit from a pushcart and then worked as a milkman. As a youngster, Caprio awoke at 4 a.m. to help him with his deliveries.
Growing up in poverty and in a neighborhood full of immigrants, Caprio says he could identify with the many immigrants who appeared before him. Just as his grandparents, these were hardworking people and devoted parents who came to America in search of a better life for their children.
One family incident was particularly influential. Caprio’s grandfather had been arrested after becoming rowdy while drinking with friends. His grandmother was terrified of having her husband in jail and no way to support their 10 children.
She went to court and begged the judge, in broken English, not to send her husband to jail. The judge said he was a good man who worked hard to support his family and sent him home. He also instructed her to cook him a good meal.
Almost 70 years later, Caprio would be sworn in as a judge in that same court. “When I was on the bench,” Caprio writes, “and I looked at a defendant, particularly an immigrant who stood before me with fear and uncertainty in their eyes, what I saw was my grandfather and my grandmother.”
Caprio made his way to Providence College and then the night program at Suffolk University Law School in Boston. He supported himself by teaching high school during the day. His legal career included private practice and service on the Providence City Council. He took the bench in 1985 and remained for nearly four decades.
Television has long been filled with “courtroom shows.” But that’s not what Caprio calls his. “We are not a courtroom show. We are actually a courtroom proceeding,” he explains. “We’re not a ‘studio job,’ where litigants are screened, paid to appear and it’s already determined what’s going to happen. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know who’s coming before me. You know, it’s real life.”
Randy Maniloff is an attorney at White and Williams in Philadelphia and an adjunct professor at the Temple University Beasley School of Law. He runs the website CoverageOpinions.info.
This column reflects the opinions of the author and not necessarily the views of the ABA Journal—or the American Bar Association.
