Doing My Duty

And so it seems that the civic duty gods have caught up with me at last. I guess serving 3 weeks of petit jury in 1972 isn’t enough for one lifetime. I was called for Federal Grand Jury in Trenton while I was still employed by Johnson & Johnson a few years back, but, thankfully, I never had to report. This time, I was called for Grand Jury in Somerset County, a weekly gig that lasts 4 months. OK, so I’ll do my civic duty AND get a blog entry out of the deal, right?

Day 1 – Selection Day – February 23, 2012

I got up extra early, adhering to the notice that told me to arrive promptly at 9. I pulled into the Bernie Fields Parking Deck – which, by the way, is named for the person who manned the jurors’ parking lot for 45 years (nice touch, I thought) – with time to spare. I walked in with a woman who, like me, wasn’t sure where to go, and who soon told me she had children and was concerned about being on time to get her little one off the bus. I have no such “hardship.” No kids, no sick parents, not even a dog to be walked, so no hope of claiming hardship of any kind. It looked to me like I would be the perfect juror – available, interested and a big fan of “12 Angry Men.”

Apparently not everyone took the “arrive promptly at 9 AM” instructions to heart, as the potential jurors slipped into the historic and lovely old church that serves as the jurors assembly room until 10 minutes past the appointed hour. Finally, someone from the jury management office addressed us, informing us that we would be divided into two panels, one serving on Wednesdays and one on Thursdays (and no switching, either) – if selected. We would have to show up each week, but with 23 people on each panel, it would be acceptable to be absent for pre-scheduled vacations and business trips as long as documentation is provided. Even an occasional illness is permitted. Those with real hardships related to child care, employment and other issues could throw themselves on the mercy of the judge once we moved to the courtroom, where the selection process was set to begin.

The 150 of us assembled occupied every seat in the beautiful courtroom. As I gazed around the richly paneled and ornate room, I thought about sneaking in a camera to record it, but thought better of the notion.

While I agonized over what to wear that day (Would a suit be too formal? Would a blouse seem too casual?), most of the 150 people clearly did not have the same issue. Many wore jeans, though I didn’t notice anyone with skinny or ripped jeans. And the judge had the good sense to wear a robe, which hides a multitude of sins, including whether she ever wears the same outfit twice to court.

We were given instructions and thanked for our potential service and then the parade began. Names were called out one at a time, and people filed down to the front of the courtroom, where they sat in numerical order. An older gentleman – the bailiff – opened the gate as they, one by one, took a seat or went to the front of the room to tell the judge the sad story of why they couldn’t serve. Though a few people were immediately dismissed, I think it is safe to say that more than one who returned to his or her assigned seat gave it a good shot but couldn’t muster up enough of an excuse. In calling down replacements for those people who were excused, the judge asked them before they took their seats if they had hardships. One woman simply sighed, “No,” so plaintively that everyone laughed.

When they got to the last name for the last seat, I heard just what I expected to hear: “Tina Gordon,” and I assumed my position as the last member of panel 2, scheduled for Thursdays. Once the panels were completed, the judge dismissed the rest of the lucky folks who were not selected, and I waved goodbye to a high school classmate I spied across the courtroom. At least she will be free on every Thursday from now through June, while I sit and carry out my civic responsibility.

The judge gave us instructions and told us our service would be interesting and that we would probably be out of the courtroom in a half day, which doesn’t sound so bad. We can’t talk about any of the cases – except when deliberating – so that means I can’t blog about them, either. I’ll have to satisfy myself with comments about the process, like remarking on the guy next to me who reeked of garlic. A foreman (woman) and deputy were selected for each panel by the judge, seemingly at random, and the judge left us in the care of a staff member, who passed out “welcome packets” and instructions for when we actually begin hearing cases, which starts in two weeks. Between now and then, I’ll be in Providence for a Rutgers basketball game and then on to Hartford for the Big East Championship.

And then let me sit in judgment. Should be interesting. I hope.

March 15, 2012
The Ides of March brought my first actual day of jury service since I was sick with the flu last week on what was the opening day for my panel. I came in with a doctor’s note – not signed by Epstein’s mother, but by an actual MD – and the remains of a hacking cough in case there was doubt about my excuse. I was a little concerned, figuring that everyone else who was there last week would know what to do except me. Turns out there isn’t all that much you need to know. The wheels of justice turn slowly in Somerset County, as evidenced by the clock on the wall that had not yet been adjusted to reflect daylight savings time. Thank God someone in charge took care of that, because it would have distracted me all day – which, thankfully, turned out to be over before 11 AM. Who knew? There is a parade of assistant prosecutors who come in one at a time to present individual cases. We only hear the prosecution side, since this is not a trial. There is no defendant in the room and no representation by an attorney. We don’t decide guilt or innocence. At this stage of the judicial process it is our job to listen to the facts of the case and decide whether there is enough evidence to indict the accused so he or she can stand trial. You hear the name of the accused and of the police officer who is brought to court as the witness to deliver sworn testimony about the case. Jurors can ask questions of fact to the witness. Questions about the charges or any legal issue are handled by the assistant prosecutors. You can tell who they are by their legal-sized folders and the reference books they carry, from which they read to the panel the relevant law. There is no judge, and we do not sit in a courtroom – just a meeting room. The prosecutor reads the charge and asks if anyone knows either the accused, the victim, if the name is revealed, or the police officer (witness). If you do, you recuse yourself and escape to the adjacent coffee room. If there is a question about your eligibility to serve for a particular case, the proceedings stop and the matter goes to an assignment judge to determine whether the juror can participate. If everything is a go, the prosecutor tells you the case and the charge and then has the officer answer questions about the case before he or she steps out of the room so the panel can deliberate. A small sign in front of the room is lit that reads, “Deliberating.” It seemed to me that there should be music, like they have on “Jeopardy,” during that time. The foreman, who has a busy role (he also has to swear in the officers), then calls for a motion for a “true bill.” Once the motion is made and seconded, jurors vote by show of hand. Every case we were presented went through. There were more than a few guilty parties in that room today – at least on the fashion front. I doubt anyone spent more time that I did deciding what to wear. I ended up in black slacks, black and charcoal gray striped blouse and black cardigan (I didn’t know what the temperature in the room would be). The majority of people were wearing jeans, the men sporting sneakers, and only one elderly woman and a man wearing a suit looked like they had even considered business casual attire. Except me, of course. I’m hoping to be voted best dressed grand juror by show of hands. Mr. Foreman, are you ready to handle that part of your job?

March 22
It is my second week (the panel’s third) and I am starting to get the hang of the process. Though I live close to Somerville, I have to allot a full 40 minutes to get to the courthouse, between traffic, parking in the deck 2 blocks from the courthouse and walking a circuitous route to arrive. We start early, just before 9, as the first prosecutor walks in and begins to present the facts of the first case. None of this is evidence, we are told, because evidence can only be presented by the sworn witnesses, who, in the cases I heard, are either police or members of the prosecutor’s office. So far we have seen an equal number of male and female prosecutors, but the police officers are almost exclusively men – and most have shaved heads. Some come in regular uniforms, complete with guns. I am catching on to the language. The people who are accused of the crimes are referred to as “actors” – as if they are in a really bad production of some off-Broadway show. At the conclusion of the presentation by the prosecutor, the foreman reads the citation, which is a combination of letters and numbers which only spell trouble for the actors. Then someone has to “move” that there be a “true bill,” which means the case goes forward, or a “no bill,” which means the actor is off the hook. So far, we have passed every case forward, much to the appreciation of the busy prosecutors. And so far, my overwhelming impression – without getting into any of the details of the cases we have heard – is that criminals are not the brightest bunch. But at least we got out early again – before 11 AM – leaving me plenty of time to shop, run errands and get my nails done. I just can’t plan on doing any of those things on a Thursday between now and July.

March 29
Things are becoming routine now, with jurors assembling weekly, assuming the same chairs as the previous week and sitting quietly until the day’s activities get underway. People are beginning to ask more questions of the prosecutors now, feeling emboldened perhaps by their growing familiarity with the process to request further information or interpretation of the law. The cases are relatively routine, too. We’ve heard a bunch of shoplifting cases, receiving stolen goods, burglary and my favorite, eluding. One prosecutor warned us that if we see the police car’s lights flashing behind us and hear the sirens we should pull over. It is better to have a traffic violation than face a charge of eluding police, he explained. The prosecutors seem well-prepared and earnest in their presentations. Again, we are dismissed by 11 AM after going through nearly a dozen cases. I’d prefer these sessions last longer but that there would be fewer of them. Two months of this would be plenty. Four months of tying up my time seems excessive. And that $5 a day isn’t going to buy much of anything.

April
We set a new record today, handling five or six cases and getting out before 10 AM. While most of the people on my panel seem delighted with the early departure and vow not to go directly back to work, I am troubled by the inefficiency of the system. Is it really necessary for a grand jury to determine whether there is enough evidence to try someone caught shoplifting or in possession of a controlled dangerous substance who admits their guilt to the police? It seems to me that since we have not as yet turned down a single case presented to us by the prosecutors, this whole term of service is perfunctory, and it wastes a lot of time. I noticed a sizable drop-off in attendance this week and noted that several of the jurors arrived after we had started, which means they sit outside the jury room until the next case is called. There must be a better way to handle our justice system.

May
It has been a few weeks since I recorded any of my experiences on jury duty, but there hasn’t been too much breakthrough news to report. We did have one really long case that involved a large number of individuals and included the assistant prosecutor reading transcripts of wiretapped conversations (all within the boundaries of the law). The transcripts were rather amusing, as they showed how much effort was put into planning the illegal activities by the “actors” and how little their planning mattered in the end. After all, they were arrested, weren’t they?

I rode up in the elevator with the deputy foreperson and asked her if she has to stay later than the rest of us when she’s in charge. She does, in fact, often up to two additional hours, handling paperwork on cases and signing indictments. And for this she gets the same generous $5 a day that the rest of us receive for jury service. Meanwhile, even the prosecutors know us by now. They no longer read us the definition of “knowingly and willingly,” explaining that they can read it if we need it but that we probably don’t (correct). They show plenty of patience with us. They are knowledgeable and very friendly. I can only imagine how they must completely change their demeanor once they get into the courtroom to actually try the case. I bet they attack the defendants with everything they have. So it is getting very friendly and familiar for all of us as we slog through our 4 months. It is not without irony that I realize that our “sentence” of jury service is probably longer than the sentences that will be served by some of the accused whose cases we have sent to trial and who will be found guilty. Yeah, but we get the $5 a day.

June
We finally had our first attempted murder case. While I can’t reveal the details, I can say that this was a juicy one. And good luck to the defense attorney who has to take this case to court. All I can say is hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

After all of this time, I have learned more than I ever needed to know about drug use in Somerset County. In court, these cases are called CDS (controlled dangerous substances), and, it turns out, I have been on one or two of them myself. Apparently, this is acceptable with a prescription from a real doctor in the practice of medicine. Not that I travel around carrying drugs, but they do go with me on vacation. From now on, they will travel in their little orange prescription bottles, so I don’t end up with a CDS charge on my record.

It seems that the people who use drugs illegally (not like me, that is) are often in their cars with broken tail lights or driving erratically (could that be from the drugs? Hmmm…) when they are stopped by police on routine patrol. Not only are people frequently pulled over for a traffic violation when the drugs are discovered, but they come up with every flimsy excuse in the book.

Often burglaries take place and the loot is fenced (note how I am up on all the criminal lingo) immediately. Newark seems to be the place to go to get drugs or to get rid of stolen goods. And you know all those “Cash for Gold” places that you thought were for people like us who want to sell the old jewelry we don’t wear? Turns out they are more like your run-of-the-mill pawn shops, only specializing in jewelry – stolen jewelry, in many cases. The irony is that most of them require the seller (thief – alleged) to provide a driver’s license, and, as if the picture on the license weren’t enough, they take the person’s picture. Many also take a picture of the loot – I mean jewelry – that is sold. So when the cops come in with a list of what Mrs. Jones is missing after a robbery, they find the name, address and list of items so they know who stole what and where to go get them. My question is this: If a Cash for Gold place has the same guy come in repeatedly with a bunch of wedding rings and other jewelry, isn’t it pretty obvious he didn’t get it by cleaning out his own drawers? Why would they take the stuff, knowing it is probably stolen goods, and why aren’t they prosecuted if they do? Even if they aren’t subject to the receiving stolen property charge, they are still going to lose out since they paid the criminal (alleged) and the jewelry – if recovered – will be returned to its rightful owner. I don’t get the reasoning here, but, then, I’m not a thief or a pawnbroker.

OK – back to court.

My term ended with a big case that people in the Somerset County will read about in the press for a long time, but, of course, what happens in the Grand Jury stays in the Grand Jury (except for this lengthy explanation). I am now free of any jury service for 3 years and people are welcome to break the law in Somerset County without worrying about my sitting in judgment – though I don’t encourage that behavior. I am certain after this experience – where we voted in favor of the prosecution on every single case before us – that there must be a better way to mete out justice. However, looking back on the four months, I can say I learned a few things, found much of it interesting, and I have a new respect for the people who work so hard to uphold our laws. The crooks, thieves, and, especially, sexual predators? There are too many of them and some of what we had to sit through was rather disturbing. But at least I know I did my duty as a citizen.

As for me, I finally get my Thursdays back! And I am pushing for an honorary law degree.