The Trial: More Carnage

At some point during my commute to the courthouse I noticed what I thought was a bit of fuzz on my left eye. I kept trying to blink it out or dab at it with my finger, but it remained. I discovered later that I had a "floater". I was told by my doctor that these are usually not a problem, and can be brought about by stress. Hmm...what kind of stress had I been under recently? The journal continues.

2/10/93

Seemed like a pretty routine day. We heard from Evidence Tech Viglienzone three or four times today, for one crime scene or another. The testimony of a Tech seems to be designed to set the whole gruesome picture before us, warts, guts and all. We saw photos and physical evidence in the murders of Loquann Sloan and Lori Rochon. We also listened to Tech-man explain what he found at the attempted murder of Mr. DeSilva on Oakland Avenue. Lori Rochon's son gave testimony, mostly concerned with his Mom's normal routines and schedule the night she was killed. The boy was just 19 when this happened, and I'm sure that Mr. Burr had him up there mostly for emotional value. It worked.

A fellow named Critchlow got to the stand and described how he was reading about the car (owned by Upendra DeSilva) getting shot up by the bakery his daughter owned down near Santa Clara and Oakland Avenue. He got curious and went down to the scene. Lo and behold! He finds a Federal .357 Magnum shell casing just sitting in the street! When the DA asks him to indicate, on a photo taken the night of the shooting, where he found it, he draws a little "X" right under the rear bumper of a police car! What a guy...Well, the DA is finished with him and now we come to the cross-examination. We on the jury wonder if Mr. Selvin is going to try to get flip with this older gentleman as well. All he asks is what the name of the bakery is. Mr. Critchlow tells him that the place is called Ladyfingers. Doughboy says: "Excellent muffins she serves there..." We sit, wondering where this is leading, and Selvin says: "Thank you, no further questions." with a sly grin on his face. Everybody is looking at one another with astonishment. What the hell is this? Joking is one thing, but this guy couldn't have less tact or subtlety. He exacerbates the situation by offhandedly saying to the judge: "I eat there often, great place."

That's all I can take, and in a loud stage whisper I say: "Who cares?" This causes something of a buzz and I look at the judge, who is turning slightly red, with his hand over his mouth. Some of my fellow jurors are looking at me with amusement or astonishment, but I meant it. Levity has its place in some small measure, but goddammit there are people in the gallery who have lost loved ones to violent crime, and his client is the main suspect! Treat these proceedings with some decorum or you can just kiss off my sympathy vote...

"Loquann Sloan was executed." That phrase appears in my court notes, and it's just plain fact.

(A note here: We were not allowed to take our note journals home with us, so I had actually paraphrased. See image below.)

Somebody stepped out of a walkway, put a gun to his head and pumped two rounds into his left temple, with a third bullet grazing the back of his head. No matter what this kid was into, he didn't deserve this.

With each new packet of physical evidence we see, those same copper bullet jackets show up. The DA referred to them as "calling cards", and that's an apt description.

We parked our cars across the street at the Oakland Museum, the cheapest place we could find. $2 for all day parking and we were being "paid" $5 per day plus mileage one way. My "pay" came to just over $7 per day. I was lucky that my employer actually had a jury duty pay policy in place or I would have been screwed. I often used that short, (and sometimes dangerous) walk across 11th Street to pause and take in the picturesque beauty of Lake Merritt and surrounding trees. Then I'd take a deep breath and plunge back into Life, one direction or another.

Continued...

The Trial: Grim Reality

After a three day weekend away from the trial of Charles Stevens and Richard Clark...

2/9/93

Looks like it was one day down, one day up. Yesterday we spent most of the day on Leslie Ann Noyer's case. The centerpiece of the day was Richard Clark's statement concerning the early morning hours of April 3, 1989. He recounts that he drove around town after getting home from Army Reserve training out in Fairfield. He stopped at the Quick Stop on Santa Clara at Harrison, bought beer and somehow got to 541 Chetwood. In the tape, several parts have been edited out. To maintain my objectivity, I don't think I'll speculate here what the judge ordered edited out. It's really tempting, though, and I'll write about it when appropriate. Clark is sitting on the passenger side of the stolen RX7, yeah, another one...He somehow gets one of the two women "on the street" to come over to his side of the car and perform oral sex with him at gunpoint. He has the Desert Eagle pointed at her as she does this.

He states that he couldn't "get off" because he just wasn't "into it" like that. Somehow an argument ensued between Clark and Noyers, and Clark pumps three bullets in her direction. She falls to the ground, moaning and twitching. Clark stands over her and shoots again. The pictures tell it all...my God, I'm really consumed with anger over the dumb animal thinking that this tape shows. Clark shows no real emotion about it at all. I really don't understand the cold-bloodedness of it. In my court notes I write:

I'm shaking with anger. I've had to sit here all day Monday, looking at the horribly mutilated skull of this young woman, brain tissue out of the body, a life of possibility cut short. That night I go home, turmoil bubbling inside of me like a cauldron. I'm really glad Jan is home. I give her a hug later in the kitchen while fixing dinner, and I shed some tears for this woman I never met. The terrible intimacy of her death forces me to view the possible demise of anybody close to me. Well, I need to chill.

2/10/93

Today was much easier to take. We had several interesting moments. The first two witnesses of the Anderson/Lee shooting came forward. Ms. Anderson is a Federal parole officer. She and her friend, Jenelle Lee, were driving back to Anderson's apartment on Jean. They were coming down the hill on Santa Clara and Lee truned briefly, noticing a man walking down the hill. He stopped, raised his hands, and shots pinged into the car, shattering the window. Ms. Anderson simply filled in the details as best she could. When her testimony was finished, she happened to be standing in front of an elarged map of her neighborhood. The DA had just walked back to his table without asking any further questions, so she just strolled off the stand. She hadn't been dismissed, and nobody noticed her leaving until she was past the gate into the gallery. The judge said something like: "Oh by the way, you are dismissed." It really cracked everyone up. Believe me, the tension of this case will create a funny moment whenever one tries to eke through.

The next witness, Jenelle Lee, brought us right back into the here and now. She recounted what she experienced that night, and it was obvious that it was difficult for her still. She bit her words off, becoming snappish with the defense attorneys even at the most innocuous questions. She barely saw the shooter, but gave a pretty fair general description of him. In the lineup that included Stevens held over three months later, though, she identified a different man. Tell the truth, I don't hold that against her. The weight of Stevens' other taped testimony convinces me so far that the gun used in the shooting at Anderson's car was wielded by Stevens. He sits there in court smiling and grinning while Jenelle Lee recounts possibly the worst night of her life. This doesn't help him in my eyes. I'm developing a certain hatred for him.

The last witness today was an older black woman named Mary who first called the police the night the 16-year-old boy was shot. (Loquann Sloan) She had been up late with a cold the night of 6/8/89, and she heard four shots ring out in short order. She went to the window. Seeing nothing, she went to the doorway onto the porch. She then went out onto the porch, leaning over to see the young man lying in a pool of blood on the ground. This woman seemed on the face of it to be a frail old woman, with occasional memory lapses and shaky mannerisms. When the defense doughboy got ahold of her, though, she just set him right in his place. He wanted to clear (muddy?) things up in the chronology of her actions just after the shooting. She corrected him several times, her voice taking on a stern tone whenever she felt he was leading her astray. We all got a kick out of her. It was a nice way to end this day.

We're all human beings here. Well, some only biologically I guess. That "certain hatred" I spoke of came from my reaction to Stevens' totally inappropriate reactions to the testimony. He did this time after time over the course of the trial. Obviously his attorneys didn't know, didn't care, or felt they could do nothing about this. His loss.



Movin' on...

The Trial: Further Testimony

My journal entries from the trial of The County of Alameda v. Charles Arnett Stevens and Richard Clark

2/4/93

Get tires from Bill Roberts

Dog & cat food/Other groceries

Equipment from Brian for clinic after 4:30

Call dentist to cancel Peter's appointment

Call printer about forms

Start calling to confirm clinic help

Confirm pitching machine availability

Things pile up when you're out of touch. I'm back to work tomorrow. Will each individual crime scene play itself out this way, day after day? I can see how we'll be here for some time. How do you really and truly disregard something you've heard in court, yet been told to forget?

We made the paper, the trial did...I was a good juror and didn't read any of it. So proud of myself.


2/4/93

We listened to Tech Rivers complete her report about what she found around the RX7. The prosecution focused on the fact that there was a regular house key stuck in the ignition of the RX7. I'm sure her job is tough. She has to take pictures at some pretty horrible crime scenes - blood and guts everywhere.

We heard from Officer Flynn, the cop who searched Stevens, finding an extra clip, loaded, and one live round in his jacket. Not much other testimony here, just substantiating the fact Stevens possessed the optional (?) equipment for the gun.

Next up: The coroner who autopsied Ray August. What struck me about the testimony here was that the DA had to structure his questions to prove it was the gunshot wounds that killed the man, not the accident. After viewing the photos of the man's head, it's pretty apparent to me that it was the bullet that did the job. The entrance wound was small and neat, the exit wound about the size of a half dollar, maybe larger. We got a detailed description of all the wounds, just to be sure that nothing there would have killed him outside of the bullets to his back and head. We also examined the slugs taken from his body, some aerial photos of the scene. The most sinister piece of evidence though, is the Desert Eagle. As it's passed around, all eyes are on it. It comes to me. I hold it with the barrel pointed at my left eye in order to see the rifling inside. What the DA said in his opening statement was accurate: Instead of the lans and grooves of a normal fire arm which are carved into the metal to spin the slug accurately, there were six smoothly polished, twisted ridges. This supposedly improves accuracy with such a powerful charge. Then I hold the weapon in my left hand to check the balance.Stevens is right handed, and I have wondered how easy it really was for him to steer a car with his "strong" hand while firing with his left.

The DA claims, and there is a statement later by Stevens himself, that he has practiced firing the Eagle with both hands. It is a well balanced weapon, semi-automatic. I could probably do the same kind of damage he did with a gun like this.

After lunch we're treated to the detective from Homicide who interviewed Stevens at the police station. We listen to his tape-recorded statement while following along with the transcript. Stevens admits to possession of the gun, practicing with it, driving around the area at the time of the shooting. He says that he had no idea why the officer pulled him over. He was with somebody named Mario earlier, and in the statement he thinks Mario is still around, either busted or running away. He claims to have had one 16 oz. beer earlier in the evening. He thinks he was turning onto 35th or MacArthur instead of the freeway when he was captured at the on ramp. He sounds tired, but lucid. So lucid, in fact, that either he is blocking out what he did or he's one hell of a liar.

There are moments where he mumbles or hesitates, and I don't know how to interpret these moments. I'll need more information all around this point before I get a clearer picture of his mental condition or personality. How much of this can I believe?

This seems to wrap up the main portion of the DA's case with respect to the night of 7/27/89. I'm sure we'll hear more about it later. Now the next fellow on the stand is another ordinary cop, the first one on the scene of the murder of Leslie Noyer. She is considered the first victim of the Clark/Stevens murder lesson. Clark is charged with being the trigger man, while Stevens supposedly lured Noyer to her death. The officer seems like a tired man. He's not too happy having to describe what he found on the driveway there on Chetwood, but he hangs tough. No need my describing here what he found. It was all covered in the opening statement. Time to chill out now. Time to go home...

I drove beneath the 35th Street overpass on Interstate 580 every day going to and from the trial from my home in Dublin. It was hard to pass the concrete pillar where Ray August died without feeling a pang of sadness and sympathy for his loved ones. I'm so glad I had a lot of other things on my plate at home to keep my mind off the horror I was seeing recounted every day.

Next: Keeps gettin' rougher...

The Trial: The Story Continues...

From my personal journal....

2/3/93

Although we only spend five hours, more or less, in the courtroom, everybody is feeling pretty fatigued toward the end of the day. Today we listened to the testimony of Deborah Rivers, a police civilian evidence tech; former captain Smith of OPD, (and) police evidence tech Hutchinson. These three people describe the events of 7/27/89, the techs (delving) into precise detail.

Hutchinson the gathering of evidence, physical and photographic, from the scene of Raymond August's final resting place in his Prelude. He took photos of the skid marks, the place on the 35th Street overpass pillar that the Prelude struck, the interior and exterior of the Prelude and the Blazer, and one shell casing found on the freeway. Some contention arises between the defense and the prosecution when the DA tries to get Hutchinson to interpret the blood spatter pattern on the Prelude windshield. The problem seems to be, only my opinion, maybe the defense wants us to believe that somebody else did the shooting or what? Jeez, I really don't know if they want us to think maybe Stokes did it or if it's a tactic to cloud the issue.

Captain Smith detailed his capture of Stevens, identifying him in the courtroom and identifying the weapon that fell out of Stevens' jacket. There was no real challenge to his testimony, only how long it took him to get from 14th (Avenue) and 35th (Street) to the overpass. Why? The details, as I've written them, were really immediate and exciting when listening to Smith tell them. It's only day two, but there's a hell of a lot of evidence already mounting up against this guy.

Rivers was the tech that that secured and collected evidence from the westbound 35th ramp. She collected the gun, clips and ammo. She photographed the interior of the RX7, showing a spent casing and a live round, .357 Mag load. She also notices scratch marks along the driver side of the RX7, consistent with glass shattering against the car.

It's eerie to project myself into that scene: the Mazda pulling up beside the Prelude, shots ringing out, the car skidding across the road, striking the center divide, pinballing across into the concrete abutment head-on, the driver probably already dead before the car stops skidding. The interior of the Prelude is showered with blood and brain tissue, Meanwhile the RX7 circles around and stops to watch. I will be objective, but it is really asking a lot of me.

I think I'll go to the library tomorrow and check out a book, just to distract me from this when I can.

The Oakland Public Library is just steps away from the courthouse and I take full advantage of my library cards privileges. Sometimes I walk around Lake Merritt. On one of the first days we jurors are packed into an elevator, descending to ground level to go out for lunch. The doors open on floor 4 and there are all three defense attorneys. We all stare at each other for a moment before Mr. Selvin says: "We'll wait for the next one...." Good idea!

More later.

The Trial: Day One Part Two

My journal from 1993 continues. I italicize from time to time to keep things clear or smooth out choppy ideas. I wrote most of the entries the day they happened, trying to get down every detail from the proceedings.

Back in synch now...

Now the DA talks about the circumstances of the night of July 27, '89. A fellow named (Rodney) Stokes, in a red Blazer, is traveling westbound on 580 near the Harrison Street exit. A white RX7 pulls up close to him and Stokes sees a gun held in somebody's hand extending from the car. He tries to outrun the RX7 unsuccessfully, then he slams on the brakes just as a shot is fired into the Blazer's lower-right windshield. The driver (extends his arm from the car) turns and pumps two more shots into the grill of the truck, then speeds away. Stokes recovers, unhurt, and follows the RX7 with his lights off. He sees the RX7 approaching a white Honda Prelude in the same manner he was approached. He begins flashing his lights and honking his horn to distract the (shooter) driver or warn the other motorist, but three shots are fired into the Prelude, one of which passes through the skull of the driver, killing him.

The car crashes into the center divider then caroms across the freeway, crashing into the bridge support of the 35th Street overpass. The RX7 has exited at 35th, crossed over the freeway, then down the entrance ramp on the other side to the halfway point, where a man gets out to view the damage. Stokes stops at the accident scene, seeing that he can't help the driver and noticing the suspect watching the action from the other side of the freeway. He gets into the truck and drives down the High Street exit to Walgreen's, where he calls 911. He then drives the opposite way up the freeway (off ramp) back to the Prelude. He sees people gathering at the car, sees people on the overpass, sees the suspect's car still on the ramp with a police car parked right behind it!

A watch commander, out on routine patrol on 35th Ave has gotten the call from dispatch about the shooting. As he turns down the ramp to get on the freeway to double back, he sees Stevens sitting in the RX7, watching the action. The officer gets out of the car with gun drawn and orders Stevens to get out of the car with his hands up. Stevens does this, turns around once completely, then begins slowly stepping backwards. The cop yells at him to stand still and Stevens makes a break for it, trying to hoist himself over a concrete retaining wall. The officer (Smith?) pulls him down, is struck by Stevens, and the officer hears the sound of a gun clattering to the ground. He manhandles Stevens to the ground away from the gun and cuffs him just as Stokes comes running up, shouting that Stevens "..is the guy the guy who shot at me and the other guy!"

Ballistics ties the weapon to the other killings and shootings by the tool marks (on the brass) and the hexagonal striations common to the Desert Eagle. Clark admits, according to the DA, to killing Noyers with the Desert Eagle. The DA wants us to convict Stevens of special circumstances, lying in wait for his victims, a consideration that would bring the death penalty.

Both defense counsel declined opening statements, deferring until their defense arguments began.

With that, the first witness for the prosecution took the stand. His name was Matthews, and he witnessed the incident between Stokes and the RX7 from about 30-40 yards away. He testified that he saw flashes of light and heard reports as if the car was backfiring. He said that it never entered his mind that he might be witnessing a shooting. The RX7 had moved close to the Blazer, and after the flashes the two vehicles swerved around each other, with the RX7 accelerating quickly away. The Blazer pulled over, turned off its lights, then sped after the RX7. Mr. Matthews lost sight of both of them, then came upon the Prelude crashed on the side of the road, with the Blazer stopped and (Stokes) trying to render aid. Matthews drove to a gas station, where the phone did not work. He went back to Walgreen's where Stokes was already on the phone. Matthews went home, calling the Homicide Department later, after hearing about the shooting.

The defense attorney for Stevens seemed to try to cloud the testimony somewhat by asking if Matthews could see how many people were in the RX7 or the Blazer, or whether he had seen the gun or identified the shooter. Matthews said that he could not make out details like that in the dark. The DA clarified things by asking the witness if he could see the actual bullets fired. The witness was excused. That pretty much took up the day.

The DA really put a hell of a lot in front of us. The thing I need to do most is maintain objectivity in the face of all this damning evidence before it is presented as actual fact. (What the hell did I mean by that?) It's snake-man's job to do just that, just as the two or three doughboys at the other end of the table will try to make me see it a completely different way. Well, one day down and (?) to go.

From my courtroom notes on that day:

"Note:
I wish the DA would get his names straight. He constantly confused street names and victim names. This doesn't help us keep track."



To Be Continued...

The Trial: Day One Part One

My journal from 1993, continued...

February 2, 1993

Wait. Wait. Wait. Woke up this morning at 7:30 to be there in time for the (supposed) 10AM start. Got there by 9:30 or so and waited until 11:00, bullshitting with the other jurors. Skip (#4) and Jim (#2) and Rudy (#6) and I (#5) talked about every small subject imaginable. What the hell will we be able to dig up for conversation if this trial goes on for 2-3 months? The possibilities boggle the mind. We finally filed down to the courtroom, somewhat edgy and giddy. After being seated, the judge spoke to us again about appreciating our service, and instructed the clerk to read the statement of charges. I listened to them with a new intensity, placing each incident within a time frame in '89. It still amazes me how many charges we will have to rule on.

The prosecutor began his opening statement. We were brought up to speed on the entire case against (Charles Arnett) Stevens and (Richard) Clark. It started with the two of them getting together in high school as friends. After that time Clark joined the Army Reserve and Stevens worked at a pawn shop. The DA contends that Clark and Stevens met up around early '89, and that the two of them exchanged knowledge. Clark about effective killing methods and Stevens the sophisticated weapon, namely an Israeli-made handgun called the Desert Eagle. (I was right in my recollection of the weapon).

Clark and Stevens then supposedly went to an apartment complex on Chetwood, in Oakland, and by some means lured a young woman to the vehicle they were in, where Clark used three rounds fired from the passenger side toward teh driver side to mortally wound her. ((Leslie) Noyer is her name). He then allegedly gets out of the car and stands over her, bringing the weapon to within 18 inches of her head, and administers two shots as the coup de gras.

The DA shows us the horrible photo of her body, the skull cap blown ten feet from her body by the force of the last two shots. The photo doesn't affect me too terribly, what with my experiences seeing things like that (and worse) through the various photo labs I've worked in. It does visibly shake some of the jury members, and one or two people get up from the gallery and leave, probably to get some air. He shows us the weapon, the shell casings found at the various scenes, slugs taken from the bodies of the victims, and attempts to tie them all to Stevens. He shows us maps of the Oakland area, with red dots for murders and blue dots for attempted murders. He relates the circumstances of the shootings:

Two women returning home after a party, driving on an Oakland street. Their car is riddled with bullets. Neither is seriously injured. The casings matching the "tool marks" of a Desert Eagle are found at the scene. The area of the gunman is shown in its proximity to Stevens' home: down a driveway, across a church parking lot, over a fence from the apartment of Stevens. Noyer was killed just blocks away from the same point. The DA tries to show the ease of escape for Stevens from both points.

Then we hear about (Lori) Rochon. She was the first actual killing on (Interstate) 580. A single round was fired into her from (her) passenger side, mortally wounding her. She was able to stop the car without crashing, but died of the wound shortly thereafter. I then remembered hearing about that the morning it happened, knew that she was driving a white Mustang. Sure enough, the DA showed us a picture of the car and it was that Mustang. I remember that I felt glad that I was still driving the 24 Freeway to work and didn't have to pass the scene. The traffic reporter said that it was being treated as a potential homicide, and that sent a shiver through me.

I think that's when I started feeling edgy about being shot on the freeway. People were getting shot down in L.A. around the same time, and my fear was that my semi-aggressive driving habits might get me killed as well. Funny what you imagine...

Then we hear about two other incidents where shots were fired, but nobody was killed. A van was shot up at the 24/580 westbound merge, then three minutes later a man named DaSilva was slightly injured when (the windows of) his LeCar was shattered by several more shots. A fellow who read about this shooting walked down to the scene and found one of the shell casings bearing the same tool marks as the Desert Eagle. Imagine! How many people really have the wherewithal to go search a crime scene on their own just to "see what they can find"? Maybe I'm naive about this, but I can't see legions of people crawling about on all fours near every other shoooting in Oakland.

Oh, I put this one out of context: A 16-year-old boy was shot in the head three times in an outlying area of Oakland, He was, as the prosecutor put it: "...a drug dealer, as so many young men today are..." Well! The bot was taken by surprise, and three rounds were pumped into his skull at close range. We saw another graphically gory photo of him, showing the "stippling" effect of gasses and lead particles around the wound indicating weapon proximity. Again, a casing from a Desert Eagle was found. Whoever, and I stress not using the defendant's name here, used that gun was crafty but stupid. Leaving the brass at the scene of all these shootings was going to do in the shooter sooner or later, unless the person just tossed the weapon in the Bay and picked up another one.



Part Two Real Soon...

The Trial: Selection

From here on I will be quoting directly from my journal from the time. Jan told me it would be the best way to come to grips with what I was experiencing. Once again she proved why I love her so.

January 25, 1993

At this, the fourth pre-trial visit to Section 6, it seems like a reunion. I recognize the people from my interview group, including the big guy who was obsessed with having many chickens for lunch. (Oh yeah, forgot that part!) I think about speaking to him, asking him if he had chicken and maybe how many he had, but sanity takes hold and I refrain. There is still that feeling of pent-up excitement in the air as we are ushered into the courtroom, a smell of old paint, dust, sweat mingled with aftershave and perfume. We are all silent but for the shuffling of feet. Everybody files into the room and finds a seat. Once again the whole crew is waiting for us: bailiffs, reporters, attorneys, the sanke man, clerk and assistant, and the judge, William McGuinnes. He's a pleasant guy, showing a lot of deference to all of us for sacrificing so much of our time to this cause. With the calling of the roll, the action begins.

McGuinnes instructs the clerk to read off a list of twelve names, randomly selected, to compose the initial jury. My name is the fifth one called, no particular surprise to me. I take my seat as juror #5, knowing deep in my soul that I will not be removed, that I will be here when the process is complete...

(This morning was odd, filled with snippets of dreams, odd talismans appearing in my second sight. The most vivid looked like this


It is the front of an eagle's beak clutching a bright ball of light with distinctive rays shining out. It reminds me of something from the Mayan art I saw recently on PBS. I'm not going to try to interpret it, but it was one more sign to me that my life path is being followed and intersected by this trial.)

...Three hours later. After numerous challenges by the three parties involved, the gallery has been cut to just six people from about 60-70, we are all in place. I have not been challenged since taking my seat. The only other person from the original group of 12 called still there is #6, the fellow next to me, named Rudy. The same Rudy from the interview group who wanted to discuss football to great lengths. I suppose we'll have something else to talk about from now on...

The bailiff shows us the jury room on the sixth floor, our home away from home for the next couple of months. He tells us the mundane details. Everybody seems a little shocked, bored, excited all at the same time.

Afterwards, as I drive home, I feel a sort of relief from finally knowing, but apprehension over the upcoming trial. How long will it really go? They said 8 weeks or so, but when has a government official ever really stuck to estimates? Hearing witnesses, seeing evidence, watching an ancient process being played out before me as I, along with four (other) men and seven women "good and true" sit to judge guilt or innocence, life and death. It connects us to thousands of others, maybe millions through history who have answered this call. Therein might lie the thrill running like a cool blue current through our veins, expressed in nervous laughter and glassy eyes.

This should really be memorable.

Next up: We're off!