No Exit
A few years ago I was summoned for jury duty. Like most people, my immediate reaction was to wonder how I might be excused, but my wife, an attorney, convinced me this was highly unlikely. “What if I told the court I consider anyone charged with a crime to be guilty a priori?” I asked her. She just looked at me with disdain. “Ever hear of perjury?” she countered. “Well, won't they let me go when I explain I am a sole proprietor, the CEO and janitor of my company?” I pleaded. "They could care less," she assured me. I knew when I was licked so I returned the required form and awaited what I considered to be my own sentence.
Several weeks later I called the number listed on the summons to learn if my presence was still required. It was. I arrived at the courthouse on the appointed day still contemplating my escape. I was not alone. Nearly everyone with whom I spoke still hoped for a last minute reprieve. Not long after filling out a juror's questionnaire and settling in to what promised to be a long day spent largely avoiding a seat near any television set or incessant chatterers, I was part of a large group called for voir dire, the process of preliminary examination of prospective jurors. As we queued up at the elevator to go to the courtroom on the fifth floor, each of us was assigned a number corresponding to the number on our questionnaire.
When we arrived at the courtroom we were seated in the gallery at the rear according to our assigned numbers. It was a very large room at the end of which we could see the judge seated at the bench, presumably working on various court matters. Nearer to the gallery were the two sets of attorneys, defense and prosecution, seated at their respective tables along with the defendant, who was obviously at the defense table.
As the attorneys swiveled in their seats and eyed the potential jurors among the panelists, they referred often to the questionnaires corresponding to our seat numbers and scrutinized their authors for some telling signs of suitability, at least as they understood that term. Meanwhile, some mumbling was heard among my fellow citizens regarding excuses and exemptions. Even at this last stage some still held out hope.
At the beginning of the review, the group was asked if any among us had relatives who were members of the court, police department or other institutions related to the proceedings. A few people responded positively. They were asked a few more questions and upon further review one or two of them were excused. Despite the small number of our brethren who were freed, those of us remaining brightened at the prospect for dismissal, however dim.
Next, we were asked if anyone among us had been the victim of a violent crime. To my surprise, a much larger number than I would have anticipated replied they had. When queried further about the details, however, most who responded positively had in fact not been victims of "violent" crimes as it turned out, but of lesser ones. Neverthless, once again, one or two people clearly met the conditions and were excused. At that juncture the entire process took a sudden turn.
The judge, who up to this point had remained silent and seemingly uninterested in the proceedings, indicated he wished to address the panelists. He began by thanking us for reporting for jury duty. Continuing, he noted that some of us no doubt regarded our civic duty as a hardship and wished to be excused from further service. While he might be sympathetic under certain circumstances, he allowed, these would have to be very extenuating indeed.
And with that he raised his arm, which heretofore had been covered by his ample robes. It was a prosthesis, plain and simple for all to see, a somewhat pale plastic hand, rigid and lifeless, protruding from his sleeve. The judge continued. As a youth he had been involved in an accident and lost his arm. From that day on he was determined to lead a normal life and did. He never shied away from joining his friends to play ball, regarding his loss as an inconvenience, not a hardship. Now, he merely wanted to offer this illustration to the group assembled before him so that they might know how he understood the distinction.
The room fell silent. No one stirred. Many of the potential jurors simply looked down at their feet, which they shifted nervously. From that point on, no further exemptions were sought nor granted.
As it turned out I wasn’t chosen for that jury or any succeeding ones that day. As I left the courthouse I was satisfied to have served one day or one trial. And I departed certain of one thing: the next time a summons arrived I wasn’t going to hesitate a single moment before sending it back.
Several weeks later I called the number listed on the summons to learn if my presence was still required. It was. I arrived at the courthouse on the appointed day still contemplating my escape. I was not alone. Nearly everyone with whom I spoke still hoped for a last minute reprieve. Not long after filling out a juror's questionnaire and settling in to what promised to be a long day spent largely avoiding a seat near any television set or incessant chatterers, I was part of a large group called for voir dire, the process of preliminary examination of prospective jurors. As we queued up at the elevator to go to the courtroom on the fifth floor, each of us was assigned a number corresponding to the number on our questionnaire.
When we arrived at the courtroom we were seated in the gallery at the rear according to our assigned numbers. It was a very large room at the end of which we could see the judge seated at the bench, presumably working on various court matters. Nearer to the gallery were the two sets of attorneys, defense and prosecution, seated at their respective tables along with the defendant, who was obviously at the defense table.
As the attorneys swiveled in their seats and eyed the potential jurors among the panelists, they referred often to the questionnaires corresponding to our seat numbers and scrutinized their authors for some telling signs of suitability, at least as they understood that term. Meanwhile, some mumbling was heard among my fellow citizens regarding excuses and exemptions. Even at this last stage some still held out hope.
At the beginning of the review, the group was asked if any among us had relatives who were members of the court, police department or other institutions related to the proceedings. A few people responded positively. They were asked a few more questions and upon further review one or two of them were excused. Despite the small number of our brethren who were freed, those of us remaining brightened at the prospect for dismissal, however dim.
Next, we were asked if anyone among us had been the victim of a violent crime. To my surprise, a much larger number than I would have anticipated replied they had. When queried further about the details, however, most who responded positively had in fact not been victims of "violent" crimes as it turned out, but of lesser ones. Neverthless, once again, one or two people clearly met the conditions and were excused. At that juncture the entire process took a sudden turn.
The judge, who up to this point had remained silent and seemingly uninterested in the proceedings, indicated he wished to address the panelists. He began by thanking us for reporting for jury duty. Continuing, he noted that some of us no doubt regarded our civic duty as a hardship and wished to be excused from further service. While he might be sympathetic under certain circumstances, he allowed, these would have to be very extenuating indeed.
And with that he raised his arm, which heretofore had been covered by his ample robes. It was a prosthesis, plain and simple for all to see, a somewhat pale plastic hand, rigid and lifeless, protruding from his sleeve. The judge continued. As a youth he had been involved in an accident and lost his arm. From that day on he was determined to lead a normal life and did. He never shied away from joining his friends to play ball, regarding his loss as an inconvenience, not a hardship. Now, he merely wanted to offer this illustration to the group assembled before him so that they might know how he understood the distinction.
The room fell silent. No one stirred. Many of the potential jurors simply looked down at their feet, which they shifted nervously. From that point on, no further exemptions were sought nor granted.
As it turned out I wasn’t chosen for that jury or any succeeding ones that day. As I left the courthouse I was satisfied to have served one day or one trial. And I departed certain of one thing: the next time a summons arrived I wasn’t going to hesitate a single moment before sending it back.
posted by Tom Goodman at 2:36 PM
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