Jury Duty

Most of the trials I observed this summer do not resemble Law and Order. There were no battles between Big Brother and corporate giants where I worked. The claims generally fell under $25,000, and the dress was casual for the parties and some of the attorneys. Credit card debts were collected, offending parties in car accidents were sued, and doctors met insurance companies in court to claim $200 a pop for medical procedures that the insurance companies had deemed unnecessary. Daily life goings ons. The “characters”, more like you and your next door neighbor than Jerry Springer. This is what you see when you sit in for jury duty.

There was a case the other day, where a couple in a sedan--the husband driving, the wife, very pregnant, nomming on snacks in the passenger seat--got into an accident with a commercial van. Both parties were suing each other for damages, and their stories didn’t line up. The couple claimed they were making a legal left turn and that all was clear until the van sped up to make the light, and hit them. The men in the van claimed that they were already in the middle of the intersection when the sedan came out of nowhere and hit them. The photos of the damaged vehicles showed damage on the right passenger side of the sedan and on the front bumper of the van. When facts are contested between the two parties, the jury comes in.

The jury, to my surprise, was made up of college-age students: six out of seven jurors were in their late teens or early twenties, nodding off, looking into their bags, being young.
During the attorneys’ summations for liability, I was torn. Out of all of the cases I had seen this summer, this was one case in which I found it difficult deciding for one side or the other—I probably would have assigned 60/40 liability in the end. In contrast, six of the jurors had the most impressive poker faces I had ever seen. The seventh (alternate) juror fell asleep.

Fine. I go outside with some of the other interns and attorneys and wait for the verdict. It was already three in the afternoon and we expected to stay until at least five (when the court closes) for the verdict. If the verdict came back the next morning, it would not have been an uncommon event. I’ve seen juries hung for smaller cases than this for as long as seven hours. I contemplated going home and asking the judge what the outcome was in the morning. After thirty minutes of shooting the breeze, I was about to say goodbye to everyone and go up to the judges’ chambers when the clerk comes into the hall and says the jury has a note for the judge.

“Oh, it’s probably a question for the judge,” I say as we head in. The judge rips open the note and says, surprised, “We have a verdict.”

Already? Okay. The jury comes in and the foreman (a disinterested young guy in a polo) reads: 0% liability for party B (men in the van), 100% liability for party A (the couple), party B not responsible for accident. Unanimous decision. 100% liability for Party A, 0% liability for Party B. Party A’s actions caused the accident, 100%. Unanimous decision.

Done. Home time.

The interns I was sitting with went up to congratulate the attorney they were working for while I sat back in the bench, thinking and wondering if I missed something. Unanimous on everything, and 100/0 split on liability were lines too clean for me to find comfortable.

I like watching these trials more than Law and Order or Judge Judy. Dramatic moments are easily ingested, but there’s something rewarding about catching the subtle parts of these cases. Absent the lights and glitter, you see more clearly the people, the way they speak, the lawyers’ technique, their command over exceedingly technical subjects when the doctor witnesses try to mouth back at them. I like thinking about what it’s like for people to get their one day in court. Is it vindicating? Is it terrifying? I sneak glances at their faces as the opposing attorney calls their claim of injuries a blatant lie. I imagine their feelings about the judge, who is asking them at each step of the way: do you have any questions? Do you have any concerns?

Are there no questions, or does it feel like the judge will never be able to give you the answer you need?

I understand that when a jury is sworn in, no part of the oath tells them to let their imaginations run wild. (But the subtleties are important. Judges have told me about how juries catch a woman claiming to have back injuries wearing 5 inch heels to court.) I understand that the topic at hand will not be the stuff of international blockbuster movies. The direct and cross gets dry sometimes. The idea of an indifferent jury bothers me, though.

Each juror had a more important part in that part, that day, than any of the interns. No doubt. We can fill ourselves up with subtleties and speculations all we want. At the end of the day, the four of us have zero votes in the matter.

The lawyers know the case inside and out. They happen know their NY state laws, too. But since they can’t fistfight it out, the four lawyers with four law degrees all amount to zero votes as well.

We know that everyone in the courtroom stands when the court officer knocks on the wall and announces the judge is entering. The judge in all her robes and wisdom stands when the jury walks in. In jury trials, the judge does not have a vote.

This is an index number. A case. People. An accident. Days missed from work, back injuries, neck and shoulder injuries. An eight month pregnant mom-to-be. You’re talking about three years thinking about this accident, thinking about what is to be done, thinking about how to pay for physical therapy bills. You’re talking about maybe one or two years flitting in and out of this court and that court until finally, you are in this part, in front of this jury, and their six votes. This is a normal case that the judges see every day, but when they charge the jury to take matters seriously, they mean it.

Two days later, the case comes out just as it entered. The party that won in liability won nothing in damages. The parties, lawyers, and jury go home early: the couple and the men in the van, three years poorer. The attorneys, just plain poorer.