Open Writing

The structure of municipalities in the USA is arcane, and varies from state to state. Where I live, in New York State, we have the “City Of,” which is within the “Town Of,” which is contained within the “County Of.”

To make matters worse, in parts of the state there is also a designation, the “Village Of,” which is on the outer perimeter of the “Town Of.” Still with me?

Each one of these municipalities has its own local government and judicial system. In the time I have lived here I have been summoned to jury duty three times: once by the “County Of,” once by the “City Of,” and once by the, you guessed it, “Town Of.” Each occasion was an abysmal experience.

The wheels of justice grind slowly, and nowhere is this more evident than in the courts. My county court spell consisted of sitting with my fellow jury pool members for three days without once being selected to serve in a trial.

Most of the time it seemed that nothing at all was happening. Occasionally there’d be a short flurry of activity. The heads of the pool members would come up from their books in anticipation, but like a zephyr on a hot summer day, the flurry would die away. In the end, according to the court regulations, they had to let us go. By this time some of us were reluctant to leave. The place had begun to seem like home. We’d established friendships and were well into an exchange of our life stories. On parting, promises were made to keep in touch, but of course we never did.

The second time I was summoned, it was the turn of the “City Of,” and the experience embodied many characteristics of the previous occasion. But there were enough differences to make it memorable, principally because I was actually selected to serve on a jury. I felt fortunate to be chosen, because, unlike the county court, there was nowhere for the jury pool to wait, other than in a room shared with the defendants assembled for trial.

Being at close quarters with large, unshaven individuals in manacles and leg chains is just too stimulating for my faint heart.

Along with my fellow jury members I filed into the court, and sat
expectantly wondering what was in store. After what seemed like an age, the court officials joined us, and not long after, the judge. It was my first close look at a judge in court. Far from being the severe figure I had expected, perhaps even hoped for, this judge was a kindly and pleasant man. He went to great lengths to ensure that we understood our responsibilities and the court’s protocols.

At last the trial got underway. Councils for the prosecution and the
defense were called to the podium and went into earnest dialog with each other and the judge. This exchange was carried out at a volume level just below our hearing threshold, so we had no idea what was transpiring. After five or ten minutes of this, there was a lot of head nodding, followed by the judge announcing that the case had been settled out of court. If my fellow jury members and I had dared, we’d have groaned. As it was we internalized it.

A couple more cases evolved in like fashion, and by now it was time to adjourn for lunch. Once reseated after lunch, and wondering if we’d be able to stay awake, we were told that the court was adjourned for the day! We were instructed to ‘phone the court before presenting ourselves on the following day. When I did so, I was informed that no cases would be heard that day, and that I was discharged from my obligations. I felt cheated.

Where was all the drama of Perry Mason, or the bizarre craziness and tension of the OJ Simpson trial, or the battery of reporters clamoring for statements?

My most recent summons was even a peg or two down from the “City Of”
experience. The “Town Of” court is really the poor relation of the whole system. It tries less notable cases: petty larceny, traffic infractions, and minor civil suites. The court building reflects this. There are no Ionic columns here, no statue of blind justice with her scales, no mountain of granite steps to climb to a grand portico. Rather, the court is housed in a single story, rather rustic building. It barely hides the clutter of muddy back-hoes and other machinery of the town’s engineering department, located behind the building.

Without going into a lot of dreary detail, suffice it say that the
tediousness of the previous courts was repeated in full measure. The
protocol was a little different however, and enough to separate it in my memory. The initial difference was that this town court is in session only at night. One has to wonder how perspicacious a juror would be after a long commute, a day at work, and no evening meal.

The experience was also marked by a requirement that the prospective jurors complete a questionnaire. Our answers to the questions would “Assist council to determine our acceptability for service in a particular case.” I was briefly tempted to wonder what kind of answers would get me disqualified, but I resisted the temptation.

The evening ground along, and we were eventually seated in court, awaiting our selection or dismissal. In came the judge, surprisingly, in front of the podium and without the “All
rise” we had expected.

He was there to inform us, first of all, that there were no functioning toilets in the building, and no drinking water. Apparently the septic system was on the blink. There could have been no more certain way of ensuring everyone had a compulsive need to urinate than coupling those two facts. If that were not bad enough, he went on to say that he had selected five cases to be heard that night! It was already 7 pm. In a panic of
anticipated discomfort, we listened intently to the, by now standard, sotto voce exchanges between council and the judge, trying desperately to glean clues as to how long we might have to restrain our mictural urges.

Three of the cases were plea bargained and concluded with alacrity, the fourth pleaded guilty, and the fifth was a no show. Heaving audible sighs of relief, we were dismissed and on our way home by 7.30, free of obligation for two years. Part of the information handbook we were given detailed the method of identifying prospective jurors. It indicated that the judicial
system had broadened its catchment criteria, which, in effect, meant that the same people would not be called as often. I can only be grateful for that. Too much excitement at my age is bad for me.

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