QUACKIN DUCK  HUMOROUS POLITICAL & SOCIAL COMMENTARY BLOG

So there it was. The dreaded summons to be on Jury Duty was now in my hands and addressed to me. So I reported, as instructed, properly clad, as instructed, and joined the other perspective jurers, as instructed. I was prospective jurer number 102 of 267 citizens who received the same notification as I. But, it turned out, I was one of fewer than 100 people who were actually present on that given day. I can only assume that the 167 plus no-shows were excused or presumed to be excused from participating for good reasons. The importance of their not showing up became clear as the day progressed.

Shortly after 9 a.m., the Clerk of the Court called the room to order and proceeded to instruct us on the process that would take place throughout the day. First a Judge would call the Clerk and request a panel of prospective jurers. Twenty names would then be selected at random, and each member of this new panel would be given a number from 1 to 20. The panel would then be sent to the courtroom and seated in number order. Then the selection process would begin. And so we waited to be called. There were plenty of magazines, decks of cards, puzzles, a TV in the corner, vending machines stocked with lots of junk, and a pot filled with never-ending coffee. But the people in the room mostly conversed with each other, and time started ticking away. The first call came in about 10 a.m., and the panel was formed and sent to the courtroom. Then about 11:15 my name was called to be on a panel. I was now known as Number 9.

We followed behind the Deputy and filed into the courtroom and were seated according to our numbers. The courtroom looked just like a set made for Law and Order or Perry Mason. The Judge looked just like you would imagine a judge to look. He was tall, white haired, bespeckled, black-robed, and soft-spoken. The Judge introduced himself, the Defense Team, the Prosecution and the accused with great emphasis on the fact that the defendant, although in orange prison garb, was innocent until proven otherwise. In the first five minutes that the Judge spoke, he must have stressed this point no less than five times. He explicitly explained the importance, function and responsibility of the jury. He deliberately went through all  types bias—racial and otherwise—to make sure we understood that no one was qualified to serve who demonstrated even the slightest hint of bias in any way, shape, or form.  He then asked general questions regarding our understanding of the subjects he covered, to which we gave collective responses. Then we adjourned for lunch.

After lunch the questioning began in earnest. The Judge asked each one of us in turn to tell the court a little about our backgrounds.  Because of the additional questions he asked pertaining to our backgrounds, it became obvious that he was looking for a certain profile.  The Judge re-questioned certain people to obtain further clarification of personal issues in their past and, when finally satisfied, turned us over to the District Attorney.  

The District Attorney, a man probably in his early forties, looked well fit and had a very pleasant smile. But I could not keep my eyes off his hair. A small pompadour topped his crown where he had deliberately combed his hair back in an effort to cover a growing bald spot. It looked like a small balloon was hidden there and I kept my eyes glued to make sure I didn’t miss it when it popped out. At the Prosecution table sat the other member of this team—the Assistant DA—a young women in her early thirties, dressed in black, with black hair and bright red lipstick. She reminded me of Morticia Addams. She never spoke. She never blinked that I noticed either. She just sat there.

The District Attorney summarized what he expected of the jury. Then he proffered an analogy of what the case was about. His analogy involved a candy bar in a red wrapper in the defendant’s possession. We were to discount any facts presented that related to whether or not the candy bar contained raisins. I listened to his questions and from them drew my own conclusions. The case actually involved a carjacking. I had no problems with the possession part, the wrapper part, the red part. Sure I could and would be objective and vote according to the evidence presented. But it was the raisins that bothered me.   The DA then asked some of us by name what we thought of, did, would do about, or if we were involved in or part of a specific incident involving a police officer or any member of the justice system.  Then he questioned me.

This case involved a young black man arrested by two non-black cops with raisins to ignore. Could it be a racially charged situation that mushroomed into alleged police brutality? I thought. But I was under oath and so I answered honestly. I related how I felt and remembered instances when our home was broken into and the DA and I even joked about the predicaments that I experienced as a Hotel Manager that involved Police intervention.  Then finally it was the Prosecution’s chance to ask questions.

The Prosecutor was a portly woman in her mid thirties who had facial mannerism that drew one’s attention. She would purse her lips almost in a one sided pucker that looked quite cartoonish. She was ingratiating and patronizing, and I took an immediate dislike to her. She didn’t seem to have any direction to her questioning. The only reassurance she was after was that each member would not give in to any other member of the jury just to bring the proceeding to a conclusion. Once assured she turn us back over to the Judge who gave us a few final instructions and we left the courtroom to wait for the final determination as who would be chosen.

We waited for over an hour before we knew who was picked to serve on the jury. By now it was after 4:30pm and we all were quite weary and ready to go home. But we were not released. Another jury still needed to be chosen. They needed us to stay so that a random panel could still be chosen so we were ordered to return to the waiting room to learn our fate. If even some of the 167 plus no-shows had shown up we would have been released and on our way home. The last panel was finally chosen and we were released and profusely thanked for our patience and service.

It was a day I shall remember for a very long time and I reflected on it while driving home. I am sure somehow my opinions on police intervention were perceived as bias and that is probably why I was eliminated.  The radio announcer caught my attention when he said that this day was the opening day of the Supreme Court and the first day for Justice Sotomayor. I chuckled to myself thinking how funny. Her comments about Latina females and white males didn’t interfere with her being appointed a Supreme Court Judge but today, in the courtroom I was in, she wouldn’t have been chosen to sit on the jury either.