An Upbeat Verdict From the Jury Box

As a veteran journalist, I have more than 20 years experience covering court cases in Los Angeles and across the country. I have an intimate knowledge of the justice system from outside the jury box. A few weeks ago, my notice to report as a juror came in the mail and I got to view the system from the other side.

I was excited about finally getting to consider the evidence, deliberate and hopefully reach a verdict. Given the uproar about the Simpson case, I was especially anxious to see for myself how jurors behave in the private sanctity of the deliberation room.

What I saw of the process was both heartening and disheartening.

For one thing, the lack of higher education appears to be an important criterion in selecting jurors for criminal--but not civil--cases. How far you went in school is always asked during jury voir dire in criminal cases; they don’t even ask in civil court.

My panel of 12 was chosen with relatively few dismissals by either attorney. It was decidedly mixed: six men, six women; five whites, three blacks, three Latinos, one Asian.

We heard a civil case in Los Angeles’ downtown county courthouse, a building that for me was first made famous by Perry Mason.

A 54-year-old railroad worker was suing the railroad over a fall that left him disabled and incapable of working. The trial itself was fairly routine, although there were TV cameras in court--not the kind I make my living with, but high-tech closed-circuit cameras controlled by the judge. They eliminate the need for court reporters and quicken the proceedings.

Following three days of testimony, we were sent to deliberate. The jurors were already a little edgy. I think we were all anxious to begin this phase of our responsibility, but the weight of the job facing us was palpable.

The first hour or so was awkward and tense. We each had our own feelings about what we’d seen in court, but had not, until now, been allowed to express them to each other. We were 12 strangers thrown together by lottery, trying to make a fair and important decision.

Selecting a forewoman was easy. Then we went around the room, each juror giving his or her impressions. I wondered if the O.J. Simpson jurors had started out this way and was glad not to have been one of them.

Then it happened. One juror, an otherwise congenial man, sought to speed up the deliberations because of his pending vacation, set to begin the next day. He began badgering and hurrying others, scoffing at and even intimidating some into “getting on with it.”

I thought to myself, “So this is what juries do. It’s true. Nobody gives a damn.”

But then something just as remarkable happened. The errant juror was rebuked, not just by the forewoman, but by nearly all the others as well. The jurors said things like, “I will not be rushed.” “This is too important.” The forewoman said that while she was sympathetic to this juror’s plight, we were here to do an important job, and like it or not, that’s what we would have to do. Even at the expense of his vacation. Even at the expense of our personal feelings.

There was momentary quiet. Eyes darted around the table. The lone juror relented, the tension eased and we got down to business, tending to the peoples’ work, fairly and squarely. After a day and a half, we reached a verdict.

They ought to call it jury “consideration” instead of “deliberation.” That’s really what we did. We considered our duty as citizens. We considered the evidence presented to us. We considered evidence that could have been presented but wasn’t. We considered the judge’s instructions pursuant to the law. We also considered each other. We did not expect to set aside all our differences, and we didn’t. What we did agree on was the greater good. That’s what jury service is. Or should be.