Like some – I won’t say most, because I couldn’t know – I was annoyed when I receive my latest jury summons in early May. I was mad when I was told to report to San Fernando Courthouse on June 5, the second day of my service period. But I was downright petrified when I was called into jury selection that afternoon.
There were sixty of us. A literal soup of garden variety Angelenos – albeit picked from diverse gardens. Young and old, male and female, brought together from neighborhoods near and far. The well-dressed businessman, repeatedly checking his watch; the youth, whose eyes only occasionally left the screen of his iPhone; the young mother, swaying to comfort an infant in her arms; the middle-aged woman on the phone, arranging alternate appointments for her customers or patients. And me, trying not to act too shell-shocked when we were all called upstairs to Department “C”, which is just another name for the courtroom of the Honorable Daniel B. Feldstern.
Sixty individuals, all handed numbered cards at random. I got #51, and immediately breathed a sigh of relief; surely they’d find fourteen suitable jurors among those first fifty, right?
We were given a lot of information before the selection actually began, giving me plenty of time to figure out how I was going to get out of the situation. I remembered my sister telling me, “Just say your nephew is a cop. They’ll disqualify you.” But I was wary. My last experience, with downtown’s Federal court, ended disastrously with me in tears after facing a mean-spirited judge who clearly despised me for suggesting that my customers might need me (and therefore I should go home.) I was dismissed, but not because I’d asked. The memory still stings.
Here, in San Fernando, the charge of attempted murder was briefly described. We were given a variety of scenarios to consider, and asked how we might be affected by factors such as the testimony of law officers (would we be more likely to believe them than others?) circumstantial evidence (if there was nothing concrete?) and the defense relying 100% on the People to prove her client’s guilt (could we truly believe “innocent until proven guilty?”). We were admonished not to make assumptions about the defendant. We were read the names of prospective witnesses: doctors, police officers and private citizens—in case we knew any of them.
Eventually, we were individually questioned about our occupations and relationships and experiences that could jeopardize our ability to be fair and impartial. One of every two being questioned knew someone in law enforcement. Judge Feldstern was serious, professional and tactful. He was clear about his expectations, and while he took obvious exception to some of the lame excuses he heard from the jury pool, he remained respectful. His honor took time to explain the concept of civic duty and our judicial system. I was impressed—but still scared, anxiety churning in my stomach.
One by one, prospective jurors were dismissed. Deputy District Attorney Richard Quinones struck down fewer than defense attorney Ms. Allen. Even after one side would eventually accept the jury “as seated,” if the other dismissed another juror, it changed the perceived balance and the first side would react with another change. As seats in the jury box emptied, they were filled from the courtroom pool.
When my turn came, I dutifully answered as truthfully as I could. As the last/most recently seated, I occupied the “Alternate #2″ seat. And was astounded when, after a last round of questioning, both counsels accepted the jury. Surely my face reddened, and I hoped Judge Feldstern couldn’t see it as I sat closest to him.
We were dismissed for a break before hearing opening remarks. I walked to the courthouse cafeteria in a fog. My jury service was about to begin in earnest.
To be continued…