Joe Smith was out of the office, but I poked my head into his chambers anyway. The judge's work space in the Polk County Courthouse was a broom closet with windows.

No exaggeration; at least not much. When the place was built more than 100 years ago, rooms like this were designed with dustpans and mop buckets in mind.

The space was neat and well-appointed. Artwork, books and plants filled the room, but Smith's desk wasn't much bigger than an airline tray waiting to shift into the locked and upright position.

Then I bumped into another judge, Scott Rosenberg, who invited me into his window-free cave. Thank goodness for electricity.

The intent here isn't to make anyone feel sorry for our poor, over-worked jurists. The intent is to tell you the truth about the courthouse: As a place of business, it's a pit - cramped, impractical, even hazardous.

Sooner or later, something must be done.

John Gray, the Altoona police chief, alluded to the paradox last spring before the big referendum fell through: "How could anyone criticize such a stately and ornate building, so filled with history and distinction and true craftsmanship?"

He's right. The faces of the hand-carved grotesques look down upon you from the walls. You are in the company of cherubs, lions and eagles.

"Yet," Gray continued, "how can we go on using this edifice in a manner for which it was never intended, overloaded beyond safe capacity for both people and archives?"

One of my friends thinks a courthouse should be a dump. The hardened criminals there don't deserve nice amenities. If they have to wait in a long line at traffic court, maybe they'll think twice before dealing meth.

Then again, my friend thinks the detention center in Guantanamo has too many creature comforts.

According to an essay by Judge Robert Blink, "A courthouse, like a polling booth, is a place where the citizen is intimately involved in the function of their government."

A bit too intimately, in this case. Two thousand people pass through every working day. Lawyers huddle in the hallways with clients. Inmates march through, nearly colliding with witnesses, judges and jurors spilling out of the overflowing jury room.

Not to mention the safety concerns. Without sprinklers and fire escapes, the building violates fire code. If there was a security camera in the courtroom during the five-day Rodney Heemstra civil trial, I missed it.

There's mold in the cooling system. There have been cockroach, rat, bird and mite sightings.

KCCI-TV set up outside the courtroom for the Heemstra trial. But locating an electrical outlet for the cameras, monitors and computers was almost as difficult as finding a neutral observer.

This isn't the time for another $127 million referendum. Last spring, the voters screamed no, almost in unison, to a new courthouse.

They'd scream even louder today. During an economic downturn, housing, food, clothing and jobs take precedence over square footage.

But as the county continues to grow, so do the space problems and the cost of correcting them. Des Moines is at least three times larger than it was when the courthouse was built.

The building held four courtrooms. Now it holds 27 for at least 30 judges.

Night court would be one way to alleviate the crowding, but that involves the expense of doubling staff and security.

So here's what's likely to happen. Eventually, the county will either move some of the courtrooms to the Polk County Convention Complex or, more likely, rent vacant office space.

Over the next five years, finding vacant office space in downtown Des Moines will be easier than finding a one-way street.

Citigroup, Nationwide-Allied and Aviva are leaving the Hub Tower. Wellmark Blue Cross and Blue Shield will be moving into new headquarters and out of 550,000 square feet in the Equitable Building and the former J.C. Penney store.

The new Davis Brown Tower represents another 133,000 square feet looking for occupants.

Bill Knapp II, chairman and CEO of Knapp Properties, says he'd love to help out. In fact, he's already been in touch with the county and has a building in mind.

It's the property at 611 Fifth Ave., the one that looks like a courthouse. One idea would be to transfer all the civil cases or nonjury trials to the leased space.

Knapp said his company "would be willing to make a very attractive offer."

I'm sure it would. And I'm sure it isn't alone.