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Juror Number 11
Frederick, Md 2/6/08 9:05am -
Some time back, I got a summons in the mail. I was a "prospective" juror, and this week is my week to do my civic duty. Every night I was to call in; and, if my juror group was called, I had to report the following day. This had happened to me once before in another county, but my group number was never called that time. I am in group 26, a fairly high number, and since the groups called for Monday were 1 through 5, I never dreamed I'd even have to come to the courthouse. Monday night I called, and my group was one of the ones asked to serve.
Now, most people feign disinterest in jury duty, particularly at work. They act like it's some sort of grand inconvenience, and they'd rather be at the dentist. I did the same thing Monday, telling my boss, my friend, that I hoped I wasn't called. "I have too much work to do," I said.
My buddy nodded in an odd way and joked about it, but he probably knew me better than I knew myself at the time.
When I heard that I had go, I immediately did a dance. I suddenly realized that I wanted to see what this was all about. I wanted to see the inside of a courthouse, and our system of justice at work. After all, 250 days a week, I see the same walls, pass the same offices in the hallway, pour coffee at the same time, and do whatever else it is that goes into my routine. Why the hell wouldn't I want a break? A chance to witness something interesting?
I don't even know enough about our system to know what kinds of trials require juries, but some of them were obvious. The violent crime trials came to mind first. Understand something, I am a card carrying member of the National Republican Party, I don't have many clothes in my closet that don't scream "conviction": pin stripe suits; blue, gray, and black slacks, tightly pressed; white and blue shirts that require cufflinks. I wasn't about to walk into the courtroom in jeans, that just seems too disrespectful to what I consider a process worthy of my utmost respect. But I couldn't show up in my regular garb, or I'd never get selected. One glance from the defense attorney, and I'd be gone. So I dug into the back of my closet to pull out these mustard slacks my wife bought me, back when she was still buying me clothes, and a yellow shirt. A look I figured a defense attorney would like.
Tuesday morning, I left the gold watch at home, mussed up my hair slightly, and went to the courthouse. The Frederick County Courthouse is made up of a lot of red brick. Brick sidewalks, a large brick courtyard in the front, brick floors and walls inside the main foyer. Lots of red oak too. Oak railings paneling and doors. It's only when you get into the back rooms that you see drywall.
I was directed to go to the prospective juror's room, lots of those cheesy chrome chairs with the gray burlap seat and crescent back. A couple of oak tables in the back and a TV at the head of the room. I signed in and they gave me $20 for my troubles, lunch money. I was one of the last people to show up, I guess nobody else had problems following the idiotic directions as to where to park -- yeah, the directions that reference a sign that's no longer there -- removed two years ago, according to the overly friendly..."juror greeter?" Whatever they called her.
There were about a hundred of us in the room, and around 9am the greeter stood in front of us and explained how things worked. Pretty simple. The juror groups were made up of ten people, judges would call for "several" groups for the attorneys to choose from, and we'd parade our way up to the courtroom where we'd be "voir dired", a term that means "to seek the truth". Think Joe Pesci in My Cousin Vinny, "Now, if the prosecution wishes to voir dire the witness, I'm sure he'd be more than.."
Miss Cheerful told us that, apparently, there's a lot more crime going on in Frederick that I had imagined, and that we should expect to be called. I got very excited and watched the door, expecting the court fetcher (don't know the person's actual title, but they don't use a bailiff at this point, this person just fetches jurors). Two hours later, my ass was killing me from the shitty seats, and I was pretty disgruntled with the whole system.
Finally, around eleven o'clock, they came and got us, full of apologies for the waste of our time up to that point. The apologies didn't settle the score, but it's hard to stay pissed off when Miss Cheerful smears on the "we're sooo sorry."
When we got to the courtroom there were already a hundred jurors in there. I couldn't help but wonder why the hell it takes two hundred prospective jurors to come up with twelve. The room was lined in white oak paneling and had church pews on either side of an aisle that led to the "arena." To the right, there was woman in a dark blue skirt and vest, thick thighs, dark hair, something like a five foot ten Rachel Ray might look if she put on a forty pound mix of muscle and fat. To the left with their backs to us, looking over their shoulders, were a tiny man with a thick head of hair and beak of a nose in a custom tailored suit I imagine cost more than a grand; and next to him was a black man in Dockers and a golf shirt.
The defendant looked to be in his mid-twenties, his legs were trembling, and he didn't know what to do with his hands. There were no scars on his face, there was no arrogance in his big brown eyes, and he licked his thin mustache, apparently trying to look friendly and harmless, looking as many of us in the eye as he could. Our eyes didn't meet.
The judge looked like Harry Anderson from People's Court; I mean, this guy was a spitting image, graying, thin, wire rim glasses, even down to his manerisms. He greeted us and thanked us for coming.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the defendant, Roosevelt "Red" Smith (not his real last name) has been charged with possession and possession with intent to distribute, nine counts all together," he said. Then they started in with the voir dire, and I saw why they needed two hundred of us.
A couple people knew the defendant or the arresting officer, maybe ten others had been convicted of drug possession or trafficking, twenty had some relative who'd been arrested on drug charges, and another ten were related to police officers. Each time someone spoke up, I could see the attorneys jotting down the juror number. You can bet your ass, the defense wasn't about to allow a juror who was a cop's relative, and the prosecution wasn't about to allow a juror who'd been busted.
As they were standing up, one-by-one, I realized that, out of the two hundred of us, there were three blacks, two Hispanics, and the rest of us were snow white. Now, Frederick is predominantly white, but the ratio isn't that dramatic. I believe the population is 25% black. But, Frederick still selects prospective jurors from registered voters. Only 20% of the blacks who are eligible to vote in Frederick, register. I wondered if they realized how their apathy toward the political system was shaping juries.
The judge began to call jurors in alphabetical order up to the jury box twelve at a time. The jurors stood up and said their name, if either of the attorneys had an issue with the prospective juror, they were dismissed. Since my last name begins with P, I figured there was no way this would get all the way around to me. Wrong. Every white male in conservative attire was excused by the defense attourney. Every young guy or girl who was shabbily dressed was excused by the prosecution. By the time I got up there, ten jurors had been selected: a little fireplug of a lady in a jean jacket, an obese young guy with an Amish beard (no mustache), a thin old man who could have been a Marlboro Man in his youth, a thin black lady that looked very much like a mother, and six women ranging from early twenties to their late thirties.
I stood and gave my name. The defense attorney had sized me up on my walk up to the juror box, but this was the first time the defendant had looked at me. They conferred, and they kept conferring. They huddled over me ten times longer than they had over anyone else. It looked to me like the defendant didn't like the looks of me.
Finally, the defense attorney looked up and said, "We have no objections to Mr. Pasek."
I am juror number eleven.
We were dismissed and asked to return today. Here I sit, waiting for my chance to impact someone's life. My ass is killing me from these damn seats. The attorneys are apparently getting some "routine" matters out of the way before we go up and the trial starts.
Written by ravenjuiced Blog about this entry |
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Maybe P. Diddy's slogan "Vote or Die" wasn't so dumb after all. Glad to see you're back, Fred.
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Sounds like the average day at the court house. I too wonder if you will muss your hair daily,or best yet, bring your own sack lunch and eat if it gets long. Perhaps a cushion from home is allowed for the seats? You may be there days... or longer depending on the defence. It is common practice for the defence to schedule things at the last minute hoping the police who witnessed or caught the individual in so that they can avoid using thier testamony... a very common practice in DUIs. When they do show they postpone to hope they cant make the next one. Its why it takes almost a year or longer for DUIs to be persecuted in some places.
Good Luck to you.
Sera -
I was amazed at the waste of our tax payers money on the trial I had to go through. A fight between a couple. They had long since made up and continued on being mean and petty to each other but since someone had called the police they had to have a trial. I was there 12 hours on those terrible chairs. An exciting trial might have been worth it though.
Julie -
When i was in my early twenties i was summoned to jury duty at the Federal Courthouse in downtown St Louis. Three days in a row i went. Three days in a row i sat in the jury box. Three days in a row i looked at 3 separate defendants that seemed to be looking right at me with thier weapon of choice sitting on the table as evidence. Three days in a row i told the judge it would conflict with my work schedule. Three days in a row i got out of jury duty.
Last week i got another summons for Federal jury duty. I'm 45 years old now. It will still conflict with my work schedule but im not sure i should try to get out of it this time. Its my civic duty right? Still it kinda scares me to serve. I think i watch to much TV.
Good luck with your jury duty!
I look forward to hearing more about your experience!
~Terry Ü
2/9/08 3:58 PM
Only 20% of black people are registered to vote in Frederick? That's shockingly low. However, it's much more complex than just simple apathy. It's difficult to buy into a political system that for generations supported legalized oppression (Jim Crow laws) and a judicial system that historically has been less than just in its application of "justice." Getting people registered to vote is a major issue in many areas, but it sounds as if it's at a crisis level in Frederick.--Sheria
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