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...