The Letter
It came through the mail slot like every other piece of correspondence I got every day of every week. I thought at first I had gotten a parking ticket I'd forgotten, left unpaid. "Superior Court of Alameda County" and the Seal thereof right on the front, light blue lettering on a white envelope. One of those perforated types that requires instructions to open. While I followed those notes carefully, I still tore the inner notice slightly. And there it was:
"You are hereby summoned to appear at Superior Court for Alameda County for jury duty."
Ah, really? I had joked with friends who complained about jury duty that I had never gotten a summons even though I had been a licensed driver since I was 16 and registered voter since 18. Now it was my turn. You know, people bitch about it but I thought: "Cool. Wonder if I'll get on a jury." I told my boss at Custom Process, the photo lab I worked at in Berkeley, that I had gotten the summons. I said I thought I probably wouldn't even make it to a trial. He looked at me kinda funny and shook his head: "Oh, you'll be on a jury, all right."
"What makes you say that?"
"I know you, Ed. If I was on trial for my life I would want a whole box full of people like you."
I didn't know what to say. I suppose it was a compliment, but could it have been a backhanded one? Was I gullible? Too empathetic? Ask too many questions?
The week I was to report I had to call before 8AM on Monday to see if my number was one of this week's pool. If not, I would be in a temporary pool for six months, then cut loose. I was on my way to work early that day and i forgot to call before I left, so I pulled off the freeway and stopped at a pay phone near a McDonald's. I slotted the quarter in and dialed the number. A recorded message rattled off the group numbers and sure enough, I was in. I had to report to the courthouse that day.
I called one of the guys on my crew and told him not to expect me that day and headed for downtown Oakland. I parked in the city parking garage and strolled around to the huge entryway. The courthouse is perched just above Lake Merritt.
A quick pass through the metal detector and up to the third floor to sign in and join the other cattle waiting to be called. I had brought a book, Bones of the Moon by Jonathan Carroll. A truly weird book to be reading in preparation for jury duty.
The lady in charge of the cattle call room would occasionally rattle off a list of names and tell them to go to Department so-and-so on floor something. The room was emptying out and I was still there, reading away, eating snacks from the vending machine. Finally my name came up, along with 20 or so others. We all filed out and headed for Department 6, Judge William R. McGuinness presiding.
As we shuffled in and took our seats. one man stood on the right side of the court and watched us all enter. He had a nice designer suit, short, dark, bushy hair and, as I wrote in my journal at the time: "snake eyes". His right elbow rested in his left hand and his right hand was on his chin, index finger just touching his lips. He scanned the room slowly, a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. This man was Ken Burr, the Alameda County prosecutor.
On the left side sat a couple of other suits. The defense attorneys. We all got settled and finally Mr. Burr turned around and sat at his table. The clerk told us we could remain seated as Judge McGuinness entered, which was a little disappointing. Not like TV at all. Not the last time I'd have that realization, either.
Then the bailiffs brought in a couple of guys who could only be the defendants: One a large, darkly complected black man who looked terrified and the other a lighter-toned, confident looking young man with large, dark-rimmed glasses. His almost haughty gaze swept the rows of potential jurors once and he took his place next to his attorney.
The clerk of the court stood and began reading the charges. And oh, my, what a list of charges: Four counts of First Degree Murder, Six counts of Attempted Murder and two Special Circumstances. The main defendant was one Charles Arnett Stevens, known four years earlier as the I-580 Freeway Killer. His co-defendant was Richard Clark, who was being tried for his role in one of the murders. Damn! When I get summoned, I really get summoned!
After the charges were read, the prosecutor told all of us that we would be given a questionnaire. We had to fill it out at our seats and hand it in before we left that day. Then all the principals left the court, with just the bailiffs sticking around as proctors. The questions were pretty run of the mill, asking if we knew any of the people involved with the trial in any way, from the judge to the attorneys and defendants to any investigative personnel. We were asked about any crimes committed against or by each one of us. Had there been any history of alcoholism in our families? I related my Dad's struggles with booze and his father's drunk driving accident that seriously injured a man who died within a year of the accident.
Then I went home. We had been told that about 300 people were being considered as potential jurors for this trial, so what were the odds?
Answer: Not as astronomical as I would have thought...
1 comment:
More, please.
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