I was going to write about grand jury duty but just remembered that the proceedings are secret. I was able to write about the events of 30 years ago in the previous post because it was a public trial. Briefly, I will say that the experience was marked by a few luminous pearls connected by a string of intense tedium, making a token clerk's job look like intergalactic exploring. We listened, we deliberated, we voted.
Civil jury duty is one of the worst injuries ever suffered by the juror. I can speak from experience and from the many stories collected from fellow victims. A typical experience is:
Day 1: Wait most of the day in the Central Juror Room. Late in the afternoon, report to the court room for juror interviews.
Day 2: Get interviewed, be assigned to a jury.
Day 3: This may not be a consecutive day after Day 2 because the courts take more days off than Reagan. I once served in February and was stunned on Feb. 11 when the bailiff said he'd see us on the 13th. I don't think I'd had February 12* off since I was in grade school. When you report to Day 3, you are told that the case has been settled out of court, which is surprising the first time you hear it, but not after the tenth time. What's going on?
I sue you when I tripped on your stairs. You defend yourself and possibly file a countersuit. The court date approaches and a performance of chicken ballet begins. I start thinking I might not get as much as I asked for and you worry about losing your shirt. Your insurance company makes an offer. I don't like it and say let's go to trial. You say, see you in court! The jury is empaneled, we both blink, and a compromise is reached before the trial begins. Jurors time be damned and one considers that arbitration would be a better way to adjudicate most disputes.
THE SILK ROAD PROJECT at the AMNH
I've been spending most Sundays the last two months wishing it were football season. I've been enjoying playing Scrabble with my 91-year-old mother and cooking big Sunday dinners, but yesterday I went to the Museum of Natural History to see THE SILK ROAD PROJECT. An amazing serendipity was a performance at the exit of the exhibit by "percussion legend Glen Velez and rhythm-voice virtuoso Lori Cotler." He performed on frame drum and sang and she also did vocal improvisations. The audience was invited in one part to sing along, which most did with gusto. "Ta Ka Di Mi" was the title of the performance and the audience participation song.
Ms. Cotler was accompanied by Mr. Velez in a performance of the American Popular Standard "Imagination" by Van Heusen (music) and Burke (lyrics), possibly the first time the tune was given a Middle Eastern, Central Asian, Indian flavored musical twist.
The day was concluded with chili at the Old Town. My 2010 World Cup shirt elicited a comment from the bartender (who looks like Neil Flynn, Janitor from SCRUBS) and we had a discussion on US soccer. Business was way up more than usual this year for the World Cup and if we advanced one more round it would have been even better.
__________
* Lincoln's Birthday (actual)
Monday, July 26, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Jury Duty: Civil, Petit, Grand, and Beyond
I have served every kind of jury except Federal. It all began in 1977 when I was 20. Back then, most able-bodied men found a way to get out of jury duty, unlike 2010 where everyone from Giuliani to Obama to Mr. T is asked to report and serve.
Unless there is an existential threat and the enemy is marching up Flatbush Avenue (thanks to Chris Rock for establishing the standard of "when I would join the Army"), it is unlikely that 53-year-old men, even those of us who can knock off a 9-minute mile on a good day, will ever be asked by our government to help out in the future. So, when called to jury duty we serve gladly, if only in the knowledge that we're helping out someone else who can't spare the time.
In the summer of 1977, I served on a murder case with mostly young people like me, retirees, and a very few middle-aged people who were either civic minded or couldn't get out of it. The murder allegedly occurred within 10 blocks of my home. Normally one would think that the proximity of the crime to a juror was a disqualifier but the murder rate was very high in the late '70s, jurors in summer were desperately needed, and DQing us never came up. A second juror, a Spanish-speaking gentleman (more on that later), also came from our neighborhood.
The case was a drug deal gone bad in a kitchen with a half-dozen witnesses, all of whom but one (more on that later also) gave eyewitness testimony. One of the witnesses was a little boy, 10 years old. Another witness testified in Spanish. The judge, the colorful and late Justice Sybil Hart Cooper, a trailblazer for her gender in 1977, cautioned the Spanish-speaking juror to disregard the testimony that he heard in Spanish and only to deliberate on the testimony provided by the translator, a legal fiction at best.
All the witnesses had their say and and we were surprised that the ADA or the defense lawyer did not call the final witness to testify. As I paraphrase, the ADA said in his summation, "You're probably wondering why all the eyewitnesses to the crime except Mr. Jones [not his real name--1OTT, Summer Intern] were called to the stand. Well, you see, ahem, harrumph, brachk-brachk, this gentlemen is a transvestite, and I was concerned that he would show up in Your Honor's courtroom in full regalia and make a mockery of the proceedings." You have to recall that this was 1977. Phil Dohahue had only recently had gay folk on his talk show and the term LGBT had not yet been coined. We all nodded in agreement, imagining puppeteer Waylon Flowers and Madame sashaying across the courtroom with flair. Madame, by the way, has come out of retirement with a new partner.
I was the 13th juror and not called to deliberate. Two hours went by and I as the alternate waited in the courtroom in case a juror fell ill. No-nonsense Judge Cooper cracked out of earshot of the jury room, "I don't know what's taking them so long!" She eventually dismissed me and I'm pretty sure the accused was found guilty.
Next post: the grand jury.
Unless there is an existential threat and the enemy is marching up Flatbush Avenue (thanks to Chris Rock for establishing the standard of "when I would join the Army"), it is unlikely that 53-year-old men, even those of us who can knock off a 9-minute mile on a good day, will ever be asked by our government to help out in the future. So, when called to jury duty we serve gladly, if only in the knowledge that we're helping out someone else who can't spare the time.
In the summer of 1977, I served on a murder case with mostly young people like me, retirees, and a very few middle-aged people who were either civic minded or couldn't get out of it. The murder allegedly occurred within 10 blocks of my home. Normally one would think that the proximity of the crime to a juror was a disqualifier but the murder rate was very high in the late '70s, jurors in summer were desperately needed, and DQing us never came up. A second juror, a Spanish-speaking gentleman (more on that later), also came from our neighborhood.
The case was a drug deal gone bad in a kitchen with a half-dozen witnesses, all of whom but one (more on that later also) gave eyewitness testimony. One of the witnesses was a little boy, 10 years old. Another witness testified in Spanish. The judge, the colorful and late Justice Sybil Hart Cooper, a trailblazer for her gender in 1977, cautioned the Spanish-speaking juror to disregard the testimony that he heard in Spanish and only to deliberate on the testimony provided by the translator, a legal fiction at best.
All the witnesses had their say and and we were surprised that the ADA or the defense lawyer did not call the final witness to testify. As I paraphrase, the ADA said in his summation, "You're probably wondering why all the eyewitnesses to the crime except Mr. Jones [not his real name--1OTT, Summer Intern] were called to the stand. Well, you see, ahem, harrumph, brachk-brachk, this gentlemen is a transvestite, and I was concerned that he would show up in Your Honor's courtroom in full regalia and make a mockery of the proceedings." You have to recall that this was 1977. Phil Dohahue had only recently had gay folk on his talk show and the term LGBT had not yet been coined. We all nodded in agreement, imagining puppeteer Waylon Flowers and Madame sashaying across the courtroom with flair. Madame, by the way, has come out of retirement with a new partner.
I was the 13th juror and not called to deliberate. Two hours went by and I as the alternate waited in the courtroom in case a juror fell ill. No-nonsense Judge Cooper cracked out of earshot of the jury room, "I don't know what's taking them so long!" She eventually dismissed me and I'm pretty sure the accused was found guilty.
Next post: the grand jury.
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