My friends all gave me advice on how to get out of it - "say he looks guilty", said one. "Say you're a full-time advocate for gay rights", said another. But I knew that it was part of being lucky enough to be an American, so I knew that I would speak only the truth.
We had to be there at 8 am. There were 600 of us, all packed like sardines in the room, patiently waiting for our assignments. The Clerk of Court had a sense of humor at least, interjecting funny personal stories along the way, like the lady that just decided to leave one day and got sentenced to 8 hours of community service - in that very room. And since she wasn't a potential juror nor was she a government official, she had to be introduced as a lady serving her sentence of community service.
Finally my name was called along with 60 others, and we shuffled over to one side of the room to fill out questionnaires. What was my religious affiliation, what were my hobbies, what TV shows did I watch...easy enough questions. The final question gave me pause though - "do you believe that a child's testimony can be trusted as much as an adult's"? I'm paraphrasing, but that was the gist. I answered as best I could, and when we were finished we were given orders to appear the next morning at the 213th District Court.
The next morning I arrived on time, and sat in the hallway with the other 60 jurors for an hour. Actually, I stood, since there was only room for about 6 people to actually sit. The bailiff called us in and we had to sit in the order of our juror number - I was number 18.
Juror 19 to my left was an older man, who I immediately nicknamed "Old Man Denture Breath". I could actually hear the clicking noise as he occasionally adjusted his teeth. Even when he breathed through his mouth all I could smell was rotting stomach contents. I turned to my right, and juror number 17, although more middle-aged, was almost as bad, just from poor dental hygiene I guess.
Voir Dire - pronounced in Texas as Vore Dyer, means to speak the truth. First the prosecution gets to ask us questions for an hour, then the defense gets the same opportunity. The defendant was there too, and looked to be about 18 or 19 (which at my age means he could be 35), and although he was dressed in a suit, seemed by his posture to be a gang-banger. There goes my presumption of innocence, huh.
We were told what the case was, but no details. As I suspected from the questionnaire, this was a molestation case, involving a child under 14. At least 5 people said that they were biased towards the defendant and thought him guilty right off the bat. At least 4 of those people just didn't want to serve and hadn't really thought out their answers very well. Some of the potential jurors had molestation in their family, some had multiple cases. At least two women and one man were brave enough to say that they themselves were molested and didn't think they could be impartial. One incredible man said he had been molested, but felt that he COULD be impartial, and that he felt it was his duty to do so.
The majority of the potential jurors were native Texans, and when the lawyer would ask them a direct yes or no question, quite often answered "probably" (pronounced as 'probly'). Or "maybe", as in "maybe so, maybe yes, maybe, probly". The poor defense lawyer being a yankee, finally had to confess to being frustrated with the answers, and begged for these people to give a yes or no answer. Didn't work - the habit is too ingrained.
Voire dire finished around 12:30 pm, and we were given 30 minutes to grab a bite downstairs from the snack machines. My back ached from the hard wooden bench we had been sitting on for hours, and my heart ached for the child concerned, as well as the jurors who had gone through the same thing.
We got back, and with no ceremony, the judge called out names of 12 people who would serve on this trial. Old Man Denture Breath was called, but I wasn't. I wasn't really sure how I felt about that. On one hand, I was relieved that I didn't have to experience the raw pain that would surely come from this trial. On the other hand, I felt like I could have been a good juror.
I was shuffled down to the jury dismissal area to get my check for service. They're quite generous here. The first day is $6.00. Every day after that is $40.00, which is a huge increase from days gone by. I took my check and walked a few blocks to bus station, which took me back to my car. Back to my world, which doesn't include child molesters, old men with bad dentures, and hard wooden benches seemed designed to punish even the innocent. Sometimes you have to peek behind the curtain just a little bit to see the dirty side of life to make you happy to go back to your ho-hum, boring, existence.
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