It's been a couple weeks since the jury I served on delivered a verdict, and I've had a better opportunity to reflect on what it all means. When I was first notified that I was expected to serve in the month of June, I was annoyed at the inconvenience and wondered how it would interfere with work and with our wood floors being refinished. Those considerations were petty and inconsequential. Work will go on. Floors will be done. The responsibility of serving on this jury was far more important than any of those things.
Jury duty weighed on me heavily. I found myself exhausted, overwhelmed, and confused during the trial. After we delivered a verdict, I thought I'd be able to return to my normal routine. I was wrong. I think about the plaintiff, about the defendant, about the other jurors, and mostly about how the decision we made will impact the lives of those involved.
I'm humbled by the amount of trust the court places on us as jurors -- just average people who are asked to weigh the evidence. Not based on law. Not based on years of schooling. Just based on what we heard and observed during the trial. And mostly based on our own experiences and best judgment. None of us had any experience with law, but we all had experience with life, love, pain, marriage, and sacrifice.
Day One
I arrived at the federal courthouse shortly before 8:00 am. Two jury cases were beginning that day. All of the potential jurors assembled in the Juror Room where we were given instructions and refreshments. We filled out some paperwork and watched an informational video. When the judge was ready for us, the Court Deputy came and retrieved the jury pool assigned to our case. I'd estimate there were 24 individuals who initially entered the courtroom.
The courthouse is beautiful -- like something you'd see on TV. Marble and mahogany. Huge, heavy double doors served as the entrance to the courtroom. We entered and sat in the gallery. The judge, the court reporter, the deputy, the plaintiff and his counsel, and the defense and counsel were all present. The judge gave us instructions and provided some details about the civil case before us. Some folks were dismissed from the beginning -- two women apparently were nursing mothers; the others for reasons I am unsure of.
After a short break, 17 of use were assigned to a seat in the jury box so voir dire (questioning of the jury to determine if any bias exists that would preclude someone from being fair in their judgment of the case) could begin. If you've ever felt like someone was judging you or sizing you up, multiply that awkward feeling times 100. That's what it feels like to go through jury selection. Both sides watched our every move -- every reaction, every response to every detail and every question. In the end, seven individuals were dismissed. A few for obvious reasons relating to the case and a couple that appeared to be peremptory (meaning without any reason or cause). One gal had to be just over 18 years old. Another made emphatic statements that he could not or would not award a large sum of money to someone in a personal injury case. One woman's brother died of a traumatic brain injury. And another's husband was a patient of one of the doctors who would testify in the trial.
Ten of us were selected and seated in the jury box. The judge gave us instructions. We were not allowed to discuss the details of the case with anyone -- not our loved ones and not other jurors. As jurors, we were only to discuss the details of the case when deliberations began. This we handled by getting to know one another on a superficial level. We had lunch together and talked about jobs and kids and spouses. We had our own jury room and rest area where we spent seven days together.
We were instructed not to interact with any party to the case, even if it were "to pass the time of day." Sounds easy enough, right? As the trial progressed for over a week, it became increasingly difficult to ride elevators with the plaintiff or defendant and their counsel, use the same public restroom as the plaintiff, or enter the same building at the same security checkpoint every morning without running into each other. And it felt rude and wrong not to hold doors, say good morning, or give a smile to the very people whose lives we were about to change.
Last, we were given some instructions about how to handle the evidence, the testimony, the objections, and the other court proceedings. We learned more about the case -- essentially we would be determining the amount of damages given to the plaintiffs in a motor vehicle accident where fault had already been found on the part of the defendant. The judge had already ruled that the defendant was negligent, and our job was to hear the case and award monies to the plaintiff based on the weight of the evidence.
After jury selection and lunch, the trial began. Opening testimony included some more details about the case. The plaintiff was severely injured when the truck he was driving was hit head on by another. A piece of piping improperly attached to that truck impaled the plaintiff and caused serious injury to his abdomen, groin, and spine. It's amazing that he lived and is able to walk today. Unfortunately, the driver of the truck that caused the accident did not survive. He died at the scene.
The mood in the courthouse was solemn. Professionalism and formality abound. What struck me early was the reverence for the jury. Each time we entered or exited the courtroom, all parties stood and acknowledged our presence as they would for a judge in a bench trial.
What came next was days and days of testimony from the plaintiff and his wife, his medical doctors, witnesses at the scene, and expert testimony from the defense. To be continued...
