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January 29, 2007
Tales from the courtroom
I just finished a drug-related trial and had an interesting experience during jury selection.
The judge had 12 prospective jurors in the box, with another six seated in the well in front of the box; after his initial questions, he allowed the lawyers to enter the well and begin voir dire, the questioning of the panel.
Juror #1, the president of the local chapter of the ACLU, thinks drugs should be decriminalized.
I ask her how she feels about being called on to remove her Birkenstocks and slip her calloused feet into The Man's jackboots, grinding them into the neck of the downtrodden member of the proletariat sitting in the dock.
"I can be fair," she says.
"So, even though you vehemently disagree with the law, you're confident that you could vote to convict the defendant of felony drug possession, if I prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he had meth in his wallet.
"Yes, I can."
Riiiiiiiiight.
"Your Honor, the People thank and ask the Court to excuse Juror #1, Ms. X."
Buh-bye.
The seat is filled by someone from the six-pack in front, and the peremptory is with the defense.
The defense kicks a juror, the seat is filled, the judge questions the new guy, then lets us inquire, and the pick is back to me.
"Your Honor, the People accept the panel."
"Ms. Defense Attorney, the peremptory is with the defense."
She boots another prospective juror out of the box, a replacement is seated, questioned, and it's again my turn.
"They still look good, Your Honor; People accept the panel."
This goes on for a while, with the defense culling the jury box, and me standing over and over to say, "I like these guys; looooooking good," etc.
Finally, I'm questioning a woman in the back row -- Ms. Y -- who had told us in chambers that she'd been prosecuted by my office in the past. I ask her, if she were in my shoes, would she want to have someone like her on the jury?
She pauses, thinks.
"That's a good question."
I tilt my head and gaze at her steadily, a quizzical look on my face.
"Yeah, I'd probably want me on the jury."
"Good enough for me," I say, and walk back to counsel table.
I had a good feeling about her; she said she'd been treated fairly by the system, and I think she wanted an opportunity to show that she was a law-abiding member of society.
"Pass for cause, Your Honor."
"The peremptory is with the People."
"Accept the panel, Your Honor."
"Peremptory is with the defense."
"The defense thanks and asks the Court to excuse Juror #4, Ms. Y."
A grizzled fellow settles into the empty chair and begins answering the judge's questions.
"My name is Sgt. Rock. I retired from the Los Angeles Police Department after 30 years."
I surreptitiously glance to my left at the defense attorney, who is staring at her legal pad.
He continues, in a gravelly baritone.
"I graduated from the police academy in 1963, was a patrol officer for eight years, then a patrol sergeant for 22 or 23 years. I worked in four divisions and spent some time working robbery/homicide."
I pinch myself, 'cause I must be dreaming. I look at my notes, pokerfaced.
Hey! I think she's used up all her peremptory challenges. That's gotta sting.
I sneak another glance, and the defendant is not looking very happy with this development.
If life has a soundtrack, the defense attorney's is sounding like this:
(muffled trumpets)
Wahhhhhhh,Wahhhhhhh,Wahhhhhhh,Wahhhhhhhhhhhh.
She questions the retired Sgt. Hard-ass, searching for a basis to challenge him for cause (and thus not needing a peremptory to bounce him from the panel), but he answers that, no, he won't give the testimony of a cop more weight than that of a criminal defendant.
He gives her nothing, and she sits, dejected.
I enter the well, look at him and say, "Sergeant, I've got no questions for you," and sit.
"People accept the panel, your honor."
They convict.
There are no rules in jury selection; it's an art, not a science, where gut feelings are more important than rigid guidelines, but this is a classic example of trying to save a couple of peremptories for the end, so you don't get stuck with the one juror you absolutely, positively don't want.
In ten years of doing this for a living, I've never seen a bigger, Homer Simpson-worthy "D'OH!" moment during jury selection than this.
If it's any consolation to the defense, at least it was a case where the defendant -- a mild-mannered hobo who likes to get high once in a while, without a history of violence or theft -- wasn't facing serious time.
Posted by Mike Lief at January 29, 2007 07:09 PM
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Comments
Just curious: Was Sgt. H-A your foreperson?
Congratulations on the quick verdict.
RIP John House and thank you to you and your family who have sacrificed dearly for my safety and freedom.
Posted by: Thin Ice, Sr. at January 30, 2007 06:14 AM