Day 1: A dark and stormy morning

I arrived at the court house bright and early Monday morning, March the 17th. Well, not so bright actually, as it was raining not only cats and dogs, but the entire pet store.

It was certainly early though, especially when one considers my peers were no doubt still slumbering in a tropical paradise.

The jury pool is located in the basement, (some call it the dungeon), of the court house. I was forewarned that there would be a line. There’s always a line, after all. But given I had arrived while roosters were still asleep, I fully expected to be near the front.

Of course I was wrong. The line in fact stretched so far back I wasn’t sure where it started and where it stopped.

I made my trek towards the back, taking in my fellow jurors. Those that showed expression looked irritated, though there were a few vibrant ones. Some looked like they knew there way around a court room, though not from the jury bench, if you catch my drift. I was most surprised by how many people my own age were present, some even younger. They aren’t kidding when they say “a jury of your peers”.

Dressed in my Monday best, I wore an old pair of khakis from high school (they still fit!), and a green polo, given it was St. Patrick’s Day. It wasn’t like I was going to church or anything, but I figured you should look your best for your day in court.

And I didn’t want to get pinched either, given the looks of some of these folks.

There wasn’t much talking in the line. Court house employees breezed passed us as if we weren’t there, a typical Monday morning for them I’m sure.

Each new person who came in felt compelled to say something clever about the line. One man said it was “…Like a cattle call!” followed later by a woman who proclaimed ours “The longest line in history!”

Thankfully the line moved surprisingly fast. I was starting to get concerned that something was eating the people in front. After a brisk 5 minutes I saw we were headed towards two glass doors, each ominously saying “Jurors Only” in solid black lettering.

At the head of the line was a table with two ladies dressed in green (I guess I wasn’t the only one) signing in the jurors. When my turn came up both were charming and friendly, a pleasantry on a dreary morning.

Both thought they recognized me, but I informed them that I just had one of those faces. I then found a seat, a task in and of itself, and read the little jury instruction booklet they give you.

Not much time had passed before one of the ladies grabbed a microphone and introduced herself as the court clerk, Sally Howe Smith. We got a brief introduction on the importance of the jury duty and our role in it.

Ever cordial, she opened up with a cheery “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya’!” and then confided to us that she comes from a family that celebrates every holiday, most especially St. Pat’s. Sounds a lot like my family.

Now, for one who’s never been there, the Jury Pool can best be described as a huge waiting room.

Tables are scattered about the place, and the walls are surrounded by chairs. If you were lucky, (or early), you got one of the 7 turquoise vinyl couches. There was even a ping-pong table, though it went mostly unused during my stay.

But as big as it was, just about every seat was filled. All 289 of us, cramped together like a bunch of sardines. Sardines practicing their civic duty.

The whole thing was “A little overwhelming at first.”, as Stephanie Lewis, a City of Tulsa employee and fellow juror put it. She was right.

I had gotten so wrapped up in the experience that I hadn’t really thought of what a great responsibility the juror job has. As the little booklet says, Jurors must not form conclusions until they have heard all evidence and have received the instructions of the court on the law.

Ms. Lewis summed it up well; “The verdict is in the juror’s hands, so you’re affecting the outcome. It’s in your hands”.

I was taking everything in stride. At the risk of sounding like a nerd, I was kind of looking forward to getting seated. Makes for a good story.

And so I sat there, like a good sardine, waiting patiently for my turn.

The first call was around 10:00a.m. I sat up in my chair, spring-loaded, ready for action, ready to adjudicate. The bailiff announced the case would be civil. Well, I wanted a criminal, but this was fine.

Carlene Tallent, the Jury Coordinator, began shaking a big box and then drawing names out. Tension mounting, I sat in suspense, waiting for my name.

Five names down and nary a mention of yours truly. Then ten. Fifteen down. Then…they left. Without me. Oh well, I was enjoying my book, anyway.

Little did I know then that I would be enjoying my book for the remainder of the day. Four more bailiffs in, four more bailiffs out, each one of them without me.

It appeared my chance at being an immersive reporter would have to wait a day…

Carlene Tallent-Jury Coordinator Extraordinairre

Despite not getting seated that day, I was blessed that my Jury Coordinator was Ms. Tallent, who was most convivial in talking with a pesky student reporter.

Ms. Tallent, born and raised in Lawton, Ok., has been working for the county for twelve and one-half years. Ms. Smith recruited her from a Doctor’s office and she’s been here ever since.

When she started, she only knew about courts from serving as a juror. Questions like “Why are there 12 jurors on a jury?” had plagued her. So Carlene, ever the professional, did the research.

Nowadays, save for Ms. Smith, you’re not liable to find another person who knows as much about the courts. Indeed, Ms. Tallent had an answer for just about every question I threw at her.

For example, the badges they give with your name on them. Why can’t you take them off in public? To protect you from liability, in case someone tries to talk to you about a case. It serves as a friendly warning, sort of a “Beware of Juror”. Then there are the stories.

Like the time when someone showed up in PJ bottoms saying “Your dress requirement is business casual. I work at home and this is what I wear.” Or the time a friendly old man who had a big date began leave the courtroom at 5, assuring the judge that he had Ms. Tallent’s permission to do so.

Morbid little guy that I am, the stories I liked most were the murder ones. (See link)

It’s hard to disagree when Ms. Tallent says that at the court house “No two days are ever the same.” It hardly seems like one day is ever the same. But you don’t work over a decade at the court house without knowing what the jurors are thinking.

To those folks aggravated about being called, Ms. Tallent has some practical advice: “It’s a requirement. No one wants to do it. But it’s one of the few rights we have left. And you don’t want to lose it.”

Well, I hadn’t thought of it like that!

Day 2, Part 1: The Calling

Day 2 began not unlike day 1; Still dark, still stormy.

Fortunately this go-around there wasn’t a line, as we all just came and signed in. There weren’t any preliminary introductions this time. I guess if we didn’t get the procedure after day 1 we probably weren’t ever going to get it.

So I just came in and sat down to my book. I settled for a seat along the wall, as all the couches were taken. There were more early birds then there were worms.

Not much of note happened for the first hour or two. I read and people-watched, sometimes at the same time.

There was one white-haired fellow who talked with a group of thirty-somethings about his days in the service. A long-haired, mustachioed man discussed electronics with the guy next to him.

And I listened somewhat intently as Newt Gingrich prescribed his remedies for “Winning The Future”.

I eventually made my way over to a free seat next to a familiar face.

The face belonged to Monsignor Gregory Gier of Holy Family Cathedral. I wasn’t a full-time parishioner at that particular church, though it’s kind of an unwritten rule that Tulsa Catholics go to Holy Family on Christmas Eve, regardless of their parish. But we had never formally met.

I was introduced to him as a Cascia Hall alumnus, so that’s what we talked about at first. We also talked a bit about the whole jury duty process.

Mngr. Gier told me how he was picked for a criminal docket, but was excused. The collar gives me away, he said.

It’s funny. Somehow, someway, the death-penalty denouncing Priest always seems to get called for a criminal docket.

I eventually got around to asking Mngr .Gier the question I had wanted to ask since yesterday, concerning his nephew Mark Fowler, executed in 2001.

Mngr. Gier was surprisingly forthcoming, and I suspect this was a story he was used to telling at this point (See Link).

Four months before the execution was scheduled, the Tulsa World published a personal-piece by Ginnie Graham, titled “There’s always those left behind”, recounting the whole ordeal with emphasis on Mngr. Gier’s perspective.

Mngr. Gier expected the story in the metro section of the Sunday edition. However, he was caught completely off guard when he saw his face on the front page. (Picture reprinted on right)

“I almost didn’t say Mass”, he confided to me.

He suspected that it made the front page because of a wonderful photo by Michael Wyke of him in front of the beautiful stain-glassed windows at Holy Family.

Despite the artistry of the photos, the effect was nevertheless jarring.

Mngr. Gier ultimately did say Mass that Sunday. His sole condolence being a steadfast hope that no one read the paper on Sunday before 8 a.m.

While Mngr. Gier and I were speaking a criminal docket for Judge William C. Kellough had been announced. Given I was batting about 0-5 at this point, I just kept right on yapping.

As I was doing so, more names were being called, and one guy even yelled “Bingo” in response. She was getting towards the end, as the group assembled was taking up more and more space.

“Hunter Howe Cates”

Did I hear that right? Had I just been called?

“Present” I yelled back.

“Thank you”, came the reply.

I was called. For a criminal docket! It was a miracle! Now was I my opportunity to become a real-life immersive reporter.

Not only that, but I was about to do my civic duty! And it was a criminal trial too! I was to decide another human beings fate!

How exciting! How enthralling! How, how….yikes!

Day 2, Part 2: My Day In Court

Upon being called we were told to line up in rows on the brick walkway which separates the two wings in the jury pool room. A stout bailiff then issued an edict that our cell phones were to be “Not silent…Off!”.

And at that we were off to the 3rd floor. All 15 of us.

Lugging 15 irritated people up several flights may sound like a logistical nightmare, but this bailiff had it down to a science. We were even allowed to take the stairs or the elevators.

As women old enough to be my grandmother defiantly scaled up the steep stairs, this 20-year-old chose the elevator. It was a little embarrassing, but I quickly got over it.

Somehow most of the walkers made it up there before I did, just piling onto my shame.
The bailiff then gave us another quick run-through of what we could and couldn’t do. And at that we entered the courtroom.

If I was expecting a big, Hollywood-style courtroom with vaunted ceilings being held up by gargantuan pillars, with statues of lady justice everywhere, then I would’ve been disappointed.
Fortunately I wasn’t expecting that.

The courtroom wasn’t tiny by any measure, but it was certainly cozy. I’d describe it as practical.

The jury box was to your right as you entered, and the judge’s seat was situated towards the back. A barrier separated this area, which also had two tables, from 6 rows of seats designated for viewers. The only person occupying these several empty rows was a young blonde woman protectively cradling a baby.

At the table furthest from us there sat a burr-haired, baby-faced man, looking all grown-up in a suit and tie.

At the other table sat a gray-haired, olive-skinned man in a brown suit. Sitting next to him was a man around 35 with long hair. He sat there holding his head aloft with his hands. He had the same quiet desperation in his eyes as the blonde.

“Please rise for the honorable Judge Kellough”.

Everyone stood up as a tan haired middle aged man in glasses and gown entered the room. He sat down and instructed us to do the same.

We were then given some more instructions, a running theme.

The way this process worked, 12 of us would first be selected randomly. Then we would be instructed separately by the D.A. and the Defense regarding what this trial would involve.

This part is called “Voir Dire”, because lawyers love foreign languages.

If either the Prosecutor or the Defense found that we were unfit to serve, (say, for example, we were, I don’t know, a Priest in a murder trial) then we would be “challenged for cause” and excused.

If a person was fit enough to pass this part he still wasn’t home-free. Both sides were then allowed to dismiss three jurors, with no questions asked. They could kick you off for no other reason then you looked funny.

Clearly I was in trouble.

Now, while I had to wait a whole day and a half to be called for a jury, I only had to wait 30 seconds to be called to sit. I was lucky number 7.

After all 12 of us were up there, we got more instructions. The judge then started asking us questions. They werr mostly mundane “Who are you? Where do you live?”-type stuff. As far as I can remember I got those correct.
Then it was the D.A.’s turn.

I’ll start off by saying what I found most interesting about this process was the competing strategies performed by both attorneys. Both of them, even the baby-faced D.A., clearly knew their stuff, and was more then capable of making a convincing argument.

I’m a little ashamed to admit that after hearing the D.A. speak, absent any evidence, I was confident the Defendant was guilty. Either that’s some good lawyer-ing, or I’m a sheep. Baaah….

The D.A.’s questions were mostly focused on whether or not we were biased against the system. He asked whether we had served on a jury before (some had), whether we were displeased with the verdict (some were) and whether some held resentments about previous experiences (some did).

I must say I felt a little sheltered given I was one of only a handful up there who hadn’t had some brush with criminality, either as victim or victimizer. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being sheltered.

The questions continued on like this for awhile and I was feeling pretty secure in my spot. But then the D.A. asked a most inconvenient question: Do any of you believe marijuana should be legalized?

Homina, homina, homina...

It’s always awkward to answer yes to a question when everyone else is answering no. It’s even more so when you’re the only college student in the room, surrounded by a bunch of adults no doubt saying to themselves “It figures”.

I was fully expecting the D.A. to ask me to pack up my gear and head out. But instead he asked me if I understood that Legislators make the laws, not jurors.

“Yes”, I meekly responded.

And after a few more questions along those lines, we moved on. Phew. I guess I made it.

The first person to be dismissed for cause was a heavyset guy who I would only put at 5 years my senior. And he basically dismissed himself.

The D.A. told us the law: In Oklahoma, if you are convicted of trafficking narcotics, then you can be sentenced to life in prison without parole. Not Trafficking with Intent to Distribute, mind you, just trafficking.

So if you have a broom closet filled with enough snow to kill an elephant, but you’re just “watching it for a friend”, then you could get life.

This man thought that was too harsh. So he was dismissed.

Truth be told, I agreed with him. I thought it was too harsh a sentence and I knew I would have trouble enforcing it. But I wanted to serve on the jury, and knowing I was already walking on eggshells, I bit my lip.

I realize now that was a cowardly thing to do and I am somewhat ashamed of myself for it. I knew what I felt was the right thing to do, but I let my ambition to serve on a jury, to tell a good story, stand in the way of my judgment.

After the first man was dismissed on cause, another fellow, this one in his forties, was also dismissed for the same reason. And I sat there, feeling I should say something.

Someone else did say something, the “Bingo!” guy from earlier. He expressed his reservation out-loud, but he never quite brought himself to admitting he flat-out couldn’t commit that sentence.

I suspect everyone up there felt the same way. I know I certainly did.

It was an unspoken feeling, an insipient belief, silently coursing through all of our veins, begging us to act. Tension mounting, consciences’ cracking under the strain, there was but one source of salvation.

Lunch break!

Day 2, Part 3: The Remains of the Day

I don’t know where everyone ran off to during their lunch break. All I know is that we all assembled back in the jury pool at around 1:00pm. Then, at 1:10pm, our bailiff came back down to return us upstairs to meet our fates, whatever they happened to be.

I took the elevator again.

Upstairs we all lined up again in rows, only this time in the order in which we were seated, so I stood in front.

The “Bingo!” guy was warmly embraced by an old-timer, who had also been seated. The older man firmly grasped the younger mans shoulders and affectionately predicted “He’s gonna’ be our foreman!”

The foreman, as the booklet puts it, he “…Acts as chairman (of the jury). It is his duty to see that discussion is carried on in sensible and orderly fashion, to see that the issues submitted for your decision are fully and fairly discussed, that every juror has a change to say what he thinks upon every question.”

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t kinda’ want that job for myself. But the people had spoken. And I suppose “Bingo” guy did have a certain Henry Fondaish quality about him.

I guess after my comment I had a certain Peter Fondaish quality.

We entered the courtroom with a degree of pomp and circumstance, which I enjoyed, though it was certainly not to the degree afforded to Judge Kellough.

After some preliminary sitting, standing, and instructions (again!) the D.A. finished up with us. I don’t think he had much more to say, as he got most of what he wanted in before lunch.

Now it was the Defense’s turn.

If the D.A. looked like he’d never been in a courtroom before, then the Defense looked like he had been born in one. I don’t know if it was the gray mustache or his no-nonsense manner, but something about this fellow screamed old-time lawyer.

Because of this I immediately liked him. He reminded me of long-gone era, when men became lawyers not because it was the glamorous doctorate, but because of a genuine passion for the law.

If I may be permitted to preach for a minute…

It seems that just about everybody has a law degree these days. This unfortunate situation, I feel, brings the whole occupation, indeed vocation, down. In addition, it makes everyone who generally wishes to spend their life practicing law immediately suspect of being a charlatan.

Sure there have always been crooks posing as attorneys. But there was once a time when lawyers were a definable, particular breed. Now, regardless of your passion, your calling, your creed, there is a law for you.

Worse then that, people no longer enter law expecting to be good at it or even wanting to be. They join the ranks because to them it’s the most prestigious “Get Rich Quick” scheme around.
It just seems like the aura once afforded to the profession is becoming increasingly, tragically lost.

But this Defense Attorney, for whatever reason, reminded me of a different time. A time when being a lawyer meant something, other then you decided to stay in school for four more years.

Ok, rant over.

I said earlier how after listening to the D.A. speak I was convinced the defendant was guilty. His spiel was that good. Well, with that in mind, I was just as confident after the Defense spoke that he was innocent.

If the D.A.’s goal was to get us to understand what he had to do, (prove the defendant guilty), then the Defense’s goal was to do, basically, nothing.

You understand that the Prosecutor has the burden of proof in this case, the Defense asked us. You know that he has to do all the work, he added. He even asked me in particular what I thought his job in this case was.

I responded that it was to counteract the arguments made by the D.A.

Wrong.

While that would’ve been a good strategy, (and almost certainly the one he would employ), that wasn’t what he was shooting for. It was the D.A.’s job to prove guilt, he said, not his to prove innocence.

His client was, after all, “Innocent until prove guilty”.

I’m not sure if I thought of this at the time, but there was something absolutely fascinating about this whole process. This was, in essence, a chess game between two people. It was a battle of wits between two lawyers, who just happened to be a young lion and an old lion. More important then the symbolism was the fact that a man’s life at stake.

What put everything into perspective for me was when I considered the two strategies being employed.

On one side was The Prosecutor, who empowered us, who told us that we could help put a criminal behind bars.

On the other side was The Defense, who enlightened us, who implored us to send a man back home to his wife and child.

It was hard to believe that they were talking about the same person.

As far as I can remember, no one was dismissed for cause during the Defense’s cross examination. I don’t think that’s customary anyway, as it’s the D.A.’s job to put the fear of God into ya’, and the Defense’s job to bring you back down to earth.

And with that Voir Dire had ended, and it was time to move onto the eccentric Stage 2. It is the popularity contest of the jury system, the time when attorney’s get to choose who they want to play on their kickball team.

Stage 2 is the part where both sides can dismiss 3 random jurors, no questions asked. It begins with the D.A. who…

“Hunter Howe Cates”

Anyway, as I was saying, Stage 2 is…wait a minute. What did he just say?

Had I just been dismissed? Me, the squeaky-clean, red-blooded, clean-shaven, All American Everyman?

This was an outrage! On what grounds was I being dismissed? It’s not like I said that marijuana should be legalized or anything egregious like that.

Oh wait.

Well, there it was. I had fully expected to be seated, fully expected to serve, and most especially, fully expected to have some great in-depth immersive report at the end.

And I had blown it. And all because of my big mouth.

I sulked my way down to the basement, taking in the shock. I was so distressed that I took the stairs.

The rest of the day I remained in the jury pool. I tried to play the old Nintendo they had hooked up, but it didn’t work. Most everyone there was to interview had filtered away.

So it was just me and Newt.

There was one more call for jurors that day and I was, again, not picked. We were let out for the day, and told we didn’t have to come back the next day. It was Holy Week and the Courthouse was closed that Friday. So I was done.

And that brought an end to my Adventures in Jury Duty.

Final Deliberations

Jury Duty is the bane of many a man’s existence, something nobody wants to do.

Think about it: In jury duty you are forcefully removed from your comfortable, secure, life, and then unceremoniously thrust into solving the situations of strangers.

In any other situation that would be called eavesdropping but in this instance they call it your civic duty.

Jury Duty is truly the great equalizer. Everyone has to do it, and no ones likes it. That was the attitude I had when I began my adventures in jury duty.

I was fully expecting to join the ranks of embittered jurors, those who had been abducted by the county and forced to decide on an issue where they were neither qualified nor competent. To have to spend days upon days rotting away in a room filled with your peers who look remarkably like strangers. To do something I didn’t want to do, but had to do, out of some ambiguous duty.

I was fully expecting to be said person. But I’m happy to say I wasn’t.

After a long, drawn-out trial the jury came back with a unanimous decision: I had enjoyed myself.

I don’t know why but I did. I don’t know if it was the nice people, the friendly atmosphere, my quiet afternoons with Newt, or some combination of them all.

But I think what I most enjoyed about the experience was that it was just that: an experience. I was thrust into a world that I had preconceived notions about, only to discover there was much more to it then I had ever imagined.

So to whoever reads this I offer some advice. If you get a jury summons in the mail, don’t throw it away.

First, because you’ll go to jail if you do.

But secondly, because you really should do it.

It may be out of your way, it may be inconvenient, but you’ll learn something from it. You may learn something about yourself, you may learn something about your country, but you will almost certainly learn about something.

And at the end of the day, when it that a bad thing?

So go ahead. Do your civic duty. Serve on a jury. Get to know your peers. Make the world a better place.

Besides, who needs to go to some tropical paradise on Spring Break anyway?