O Happy Day

There is joy in Mudville this day!  For the 8th time, my beloved Boston Red Sox have won, nay, earned, the World Series Championship.

Accomplised first in 1903, and repeated 4 more times in the following 15 years, the Sox looked like a dynasty in the making.  Then, in one of the most brilliant baseball moves of all time, they sold one George Herman Ruth to the NY Yankees, at Christmas time, in 1919.  A better gift the Yankees never received.  The rest was history, and the begining of - the Curse of the Bambino. For 86 long years.

Not until 2004 could the beleagured team break through to put the curse in its proper place, the graveyard of baseball paranoia. Since then, they have won 3 Series titles in 10 years.  From last place in 2012 to the top of the world in 2013, the Sox appear to be hatching another run at lasting glory.  And they've done it by staying, for the most part, under the radar, quietly going about the business of winning baseball games.  For example, of the 12 World Series they've played in, they have won 8 of them.  Get them there, and they deliver.  Not too shabby.

So congrats gents, well played.  Well deserved.  Now, please, for the love of God - shave!  You look like what I can only describe by using an endearing quote from the movie "Serpico," and it can't be repeated in this forum.  Lather up boys!

Coach Mac Quote:  "When the leaves turn brown, the Red Sox WILL wear the crown."
                                Amen coach!

A Jury of His Peers (Pt. "The Last")

Time for waiting up, the judge swung into action.  To give the defendant every benefit of the doubt, 911 and police were called, hospitals were contacted, and attorneys were sent scurrying (especially the defense attorney). Perhaps a sudden illness, an accident? No matter.  Find the accused.  Now.

Then, time to reconvene again, yet still no defendant.  Security film clearly showed him exiting the courthouse.  There was no footage of his return.  All agencies reported no contact with the defendant. He had simply vanished. 

The judge, staying on point, called the jurors in, and after advising them that they should not assume anything positive or negative about the absence of the defendant, began to read the instructions.  He was addressing suspicious eyes.

In a monotone voice he methodically began a litany of the charges, repeating basically the same words for all 7 counts against the defendant.  Every word, no shortcuts. In dispassionate, clinical terms, he explained in vivid detail exactly what each charge meant.  I wondered how many times in the course of a year these words were uttered in this courtroom, or any other courtroom for that matter.  The raw nature of our society was on display.  I pondered how extensive this underbelly really was.  No child should have to suffer this affront to their person.  Proof once again, that life, no matter its gifts, can be most unfair.  And cruel.

That done, and a few other procedural matters dealt with, the jurors were sent away, to begin their deliberations.  I caught a glimpse of Jerry the Juror.  He did not look comfortable.  But he did look deadly serious. 

A bench warrant was issued.  The defendant would eventually be located.  The jury would find for or against. Justice would be served.  Another case would be filed away, and the next in a never ending chain would take its place.

Then it was over.  It felt like the air was siphoned out of the room. The judge left. The court staff performed some final obligatory rituals. Like the aftermath of some significant life event, there came an abrupt letdown and a draining of emotions.

For these court people, this was just another day in their world. Another 9 to 5.  For me it was pedagogic, revealing, and so disturbing, on many levels.  But it’s the best we’ve got.  It’s all we’ve got.  

A jury of our peers. 

Mark Twain Quote: “The rain…falls upon the just and the unjust alike; a thing which would not happen if I were superintending the rain’s affairs.  No, I would rain softly and sweetly on the just, but if I caught a sample of the unjust outdoors I would drown him.”

A Jury of His Peers (Pt. 5)

The Trial

All this took place on a Monday. Freedom was not ours till late afternoon.  Courtroom gossip and our speculation from group discussions led us to estimate the trial should last for two or three days.

All day Tuesday, I was on edge.  The trial.  I wondered. I pondered. I ran movies of it in my head, imagining all sorts of scenarios. Focusing on anything was not to be mine today.  By mid afternoon, I knew.  I had to go.  Simple as that. I was hopelessly drawn in, like moth to flame.

So, come Wednesday morning early, I was on my way.  Hurriedly I passed through the security area, and raced up the stairs to the courtroom. Elevators are notoriously slow, especially when you need them, and I just had to get to court (never thought I’d be saying that – ever).

Eagerly, I entered the courtroom, only to be greeted by - nothing!  The courtroom was empty, save for courtroom staff.  The trial was over!  Well, at least the actual “trial” part. In the back of the room, last row in the spectator section, I chatted up the court police officer.  The trial went rather quickly. The prosecution and defense presented their respective cases and summations were completed, all in one long day.

The court was in recess for now, while the judge made preparations to give the jury final instructions before deliberations began. The “charge” to the jury was all that was left. I was the only spectator present, and drew some quizzical glances until one of the judge’s assistants asked what I was doing there.  I knew that was coming, from the second I entered the room. It was written all over their faces. Once I explained, they returned to relaxation mode and talked freely.

From the courtroom banter I gathered that the trial had not gone well for the defendant. Oh, how I wished I had come to court Tuesday.  Now I really missed seeing how both sides presented their case.  Did they act like we see on television and the movies?  I would guess not, given their conduct throughout this entire matter. What did the witnesses say?  How did they act, and look?  What were the turning points?  Were there any dramatic moments?  I’ll never know.

Soon, it was time be reconvene.  The attorneys appeared, and occupied their fancy chairs.  The judge took his seat.  The jurors were still sequestered in their room.  Everyone just sat and mostly stared at each other, and a strange, nervous silence commenced. It was as if everyone was waiting for something to happen, yet no one made a move to do anything.  What’s holding things up, I wondered.  Then I saw the reason, directly in front of me, hiding in plain sight all this time. A solitary chair.  It did not swivel.  It was the defendant’s chair – and it was empty!

Mark Twain Quote: “The humorist who invented trial by jury played a colossal practical joke upon the world, but since we have the system we ought to try and respect it.”

Stay tuned...final chapter coming next....promise.

A Jury of His Peers (Pt. 4)

The defendant.  Was this a jury of his peers?  At first glance, you would hardly think so.  Peer, in the strict sense, means a person of the same age, status, or ability as another  person.  The 14 chosen jurors were rather indicative of the original 150 summoned citizens.  Predominately white, all middle class - lower to upper, they were a photograph of the American mainstream. They were the young and the old.  They were professionals, and tradesmen. They were everything in between. They were you.

The prosecuting attorney, during the voir dire process, emphasized that the jury would see witnesses that they would not choose to associate with.  They would be persons with  lifestyle choices our jurors would not agree with. The prospective jurors were told rather directly that they would see persons of a different status during the proceedings, from neighborhoods they would not be inclined to visit.  Could the jurors “insert” themselves into the culture they would meet, and could they promise to be objective and neutral in their thoughts and deliberations?  That was the thrust of the District Attorney’s concern.  The jury, by the way, was composed of 8 women and 6 men.  All things considered, this doesn’t sound much like a “peer” relationship here, does it? 

I suppose the best that can be wished is that people who share a common humanity (and very little else) with the defendant, find the capacity to rise above any constraints their life experience built for them and listen with fairness and objectivity.  Actual judging might be quite another matter. Consider our little friend Jerry the Juror. How did he fare during this entire process? Why, he was chosen as a juror, of course. And neither attorney asked him a single question during the voir dire process! 

And at last glance, you would still hardly think so.

Mark Twain Quote: "They all laid their heads together like as many lawyers when they are gettin' ready to prove that a man's heirs ain't got any right to his property."

Bonus Quote:  "When the leaves turn brown, the Red Sox will wear the crown."  Coach Mac

                         Let us pray.

A Jury of His Peers (Pt. 3)

The Finalists

This disparate band of strangers, cobbled together only hours before, was now one - a club; no, a family.  Brought together by a random cut of the cards, fate bonded them to common duty. They would now share their lives for a few short days.  The cook, the college professor, the construction company owner, the librarian, the teachers, the operations mgr., the rescue mission person, the students, the shipping clerk, the retirees - each would now enter into an experience the rest of us could only imagine. No matter the separate paths they would travel when trial was done, they would never be completely apart again.  And in a strange, wistful way, I was so envious. In the coming days they would go through a life event I shall never know.  It was then that I realized, I wanted to be one of them. 

They were given some preliminary instructions, then led away to the jury room behind the bench. The rest of us were dismissed, our service completed for this day.  We could be called upon again, but not for a long time. The visual impact of us walking out the door back to our lives and the new jury filing through another door to a new episode in theirs, was telling. 

During the lull, while the judge prepared to instruct the new jury panel, there occurred my third great surprise. The defendant was not returned to a holding area, under guard, to remain sequestered until the trial began. The defendant was allowed to exit the same door we used. The defendant was - free! 

Did this make sense?  Child sexual abuse, I think, should be considered a very serious charge, not one in which you want the defendant wandering the streets during the trial proceedings, not only for the obvious reasons, but how about the flight risk? I know, presumption of innocence and all that, but still.  Again, maybe I watch too much television and too many movies. OK I tell myself, they know what they’re doing, I’m just a peripheral participant here. 

Mark Twain Quote:  "To succeed in other trades, capacity must be shown; in the law, concealment of it will do."

Note:  Thank you contributing editor - you are so right.  A post that takes almost 5 minutes to read is way tooooo long, even when you're sitting in a doctor's office. As you can see, this one is short and sweet, so please read this ( and finish Part 2).  :)  Stay tuned for "A Jury of His Peers?" and "The Trial." They also promise to be short-er.

A Jury of His Peers (Pt. 2)

The Choosing

Break over.  More waiting.  Only one trial was scheduled for the entire week (very unusual), so in a sense, we were lucky…only one chance at the brass ring.  If you missed, you could go home. But for now, it was simply wait.  Perhaps they were working out a plea deal?  Or playing cards.  By and by, at their leisure, the moment came.  Juror numbers were called, lots of them.  If you heard your number, you lined up in the hallway, to wait again.

Once all were selected, we were marched to the courtroom, upstairs.  Those left behind, we never saw again.  Gee, I thought.  If you don’t make the first cut in a jury selection, what does that say about you? Not too much, as we would soon find out.  And I’d like to know how these court folks choose jurors.  One of our members who was selected to go upstairs was a judge!  You know they are NEVER going to pick her for a jury, but she makes the cut!  Huh?

As we entered thru the public doors, the spectator seating was on our immediate right and left.  The courtroom was smaller than I imagined, barely room left over for a meager four rows of spectator seating. The juror box was further in, on our left, and on the right was a plain wall, with one door.  This, we gathered, was the door thru which the defendant entered, from a secure holding area beyond.  We prospective jurors completely filled every seat in the house -- jury box and spectator area.  The courtroom employed the same decorator as our gathering room.  It was modern, colorless, and yet functional. It was in need of some repair.  The staple of every courtroom in the land,  “In God We Trust,” hanging in its place of honor behind the judge, was skewed on the wall.  But loaded with flat screens and computers this room was, a testimony to modern technology.  I know I watch too much tv and too many movies, but in my mind’s eye I always picture courtrooms having personalities all their own - ornate, reeking of character and smothered with architecture - think "My Cousin Vinny."  This was none of that.

Before us, the judge and his assistants - stenographer, clerk, and court police officers. Two plain tables occupied the center of the common area, both adorned with flat screens.  An upscale swivel chair was at each table. One table had an additional chair.  Plain and simple, it didn’t swivel.  The fancy chairs were occupied by men in suits.  The lawyers.  Next to one of them, in the plain chair, sat a rather young man, neatly but simply dressed, and groomed for effect.  The defendant. Standing in this room, the seriousness of our impending task was palpable.  From this point on, it was clearly evident that it was all business. 

It was time.  The judge spoke, repeating the Lincoln quote to begin.  Then more words, to calm the prospective jurors and guide them in what was about to happen.  For the first time, he referenced the defendant by name, and outlined the charges against him.  Child sexual abuse. Multiple counts.  Of all the potential reasons for anyone to be on trial, this was one that the prospective jurors clearly did not want to deal with.  Our groans were inaudible, but our eyes spoke for them. Our thoughts of a glamour crime of, for example, bank robbery, were dashed.  Although such atrocities occur throughout our society, in the end we really don’t want to think people capable of such heinous behavior. We wished, to wish it away. 

The process was explained.  Twenty-one of our group would be called to take their place in the jury box. They would be questioned (voir dired) by the judge and both attorneys.  For various reasons, some prospects would be released.  We were told not to take this personally, for there were many reasons why a person could be rejected for service.  If fourteen (12 jurors, 2 alternates) of these original twent-one persons could be deemed acceptable to all parties, then the jury would be complete.  If not, more of us in the gallery would be called and questioned until fourteen jurors could be found.  Then, the rest of us could depart, our service complete.   

It began, and to my first great surprise, the jurors’ numbers, as well as their names, were read aloud.  I always thought that jury service, once you got in the courtroom, was anonymous. The defendant would have knowledge of each of our names.  That was disturbing to me.  But I had a feeling, which turned out to be accurate, that I was not to be called this day. I felt relatively free to enjoy the process.

The judge voir dired first, calling each to the bench. In muted voice, not unlike a priest in confessional, he posed his questions.  Most returned to the jury box, some did not. I couldn't help but note the paradox in the demeanor of two candidates. One young lady was in tears as she left the room, dismissed from service.  She had started reacting very emotionally when the judge read the initial charges.  Those tears never ceased, for good reason I am certain. Then, on the opposite end of the spectrum, the judge sitting in the jury pool had quite a private chuckle with the presiding judge before she left with a big smile on her face.  So, again, why was she allowed to progress this far in the process when it was clear she would never be allowed to sit on a jury? 

Then came the lawyers.  Each one was given thirty minutes to voir dire the remaining candidates.  Each took their turn separately.  It was at this point in the process that my second great surprise presented.  How many court room dramas have I watched where jury selection experts were called in to profile prospective jurors, or where the lawyers flamboyantly paraded and with probing questions, tried to reach into a juror’s soul.  None of that here. This was a trial on a shoestring.  These guys were on their own. 

In their capable hands, they shuffled the questionnaires we filled out at the beginning of our day. From what we could see, this was their only source of viable information about the future jurors seated before them. Every now and then, they would call out a name and pose a question.  Most seemed somewhat irrelevant, bordering on meaningless. The prosecuting attorney was more animated and spoke to more individuals.  He was even on his feet during the process, moving and gesturing - kind of like you think a lawyer would be.  The defense attorney remained seated, and asked fewer questions.  He seemed detached, but would confer with his client at times, as if seeking an opinion.  All in all, this process created more questions for me than it answered.

Suddenly, time was up.  If the judge did one thing consistently, it was to stay on point.  The attorneys were called to the bench.  A quick, lively, yet muted conversation took place and in mere minues the judge read off the names of 14 “good men and true” (I always loved that phrase, read or heard somewhere in my distant past).  In less than ninety minutes, three people interviewed twenty-one persons (note: some of the twenty-one were never asked any questions at all), and chose fourteen of them to sit in judgement of a human being's future, a future that would most likely affect the next 20 or so years of his only life here on earth. They were the chosen ones.  They took their place in the jury box and all others were dismissed.  In that instant, not recorded in any fashion for posterity, something rare and special transpired.

Next:  The Finalists, A Jury of His Peers, and The Trial

Mark Twain Quote: "An ingorance so shining and conspicuous as yours -- now I have it -- go on a jury. That is your place."