Doodie Calls
I realize that good judgment is an important leadership attribute, so it is with some trepidation that I offer this story. Being a bleeding heart libertarian means that I am often a walking contradiction, and this occasionally gets me into trouble.
I believe that life is about collecting unique experiences. Whether it is scuba diving in a cenote in the Yucatan, driving a NASCAR at 140+ MPH, or exploring a wireless company’s development pipeline, it is the amalgamation of these experiences that influences who we are.
Over a lifetime, many of these pursuits have been misguided, like the time I took 50 sixth graders on a hike (and got lost), or my decision to ride the ‘summit plummet’ at Disney World (and ended up needing medical treatment). Sometimes thrill seekers make mistakes.
Such was my desire to experience the inner workings of our constitutional system by serving on a jury in a criminal case.
My first mistake was showing up, and that was quickly followed by my failure to take any of the several opportunities to get out. How would I ever learn how this all works if I left before the fun really began?
In hindsight, it was probably not a good idea to point out the logical inconsistencies in the questions posed by the attorneys during voir dire. They never show this part on “Law & Order”. After seeing several of my good neighbors blatantly (I hope) lying about their views on criminal justice, the odds of my being passed over started to wane.
As things dragged on, I flaunted the law and discreetly checked my Blackberry, risking confiscation and a $100 fine. Smiling, I congratulated myself on being a rebel and a pirate. Six hours after entering the courtroom, I was inexplicably selected as juror number one in the State of Texas v. Billy Bob Boondock, a decorated Vietnam veteran accused of stalking. Redneck on redneck crime.
Things got off to a slow start. On “Law & Order”, the trial part always takes less than 30 minutes. Little did I know that every question would be objected to and that it would take two hours of testimony to even find out what happened. Day one ended mercifully at 5 pm. Eight hours of my life invested in the experience so far.
Day two brought redemption. Dirty, nasty, obscene testimony and evidence. The seamy side of the sleepy Texas Hill Country was revealed while the associate pastor of our church sat next to me in the jury box (he was juror number two), we heard all about…
Bras flying on flag poles
Cocaine & marijuana use
Vulgar “love” letters & notes
Products made by Church & Dwight (a client)
Sexually transmitted diseases
And a rather large “personal massager” that got passed around the jury box (handed to me by my preacher and fellow juror)
For sheer entertainment value, this was right up there with what I imagine it is like to watch reruns of “Sex in the City” with lots of long commercial breaks…or hanging out in the Newark airport on a Thursday night.
Day Three brought the real fun. I ingratiated myself with my fellow jurors by interrupting closing arguments to request a potty break. When you gotta go… Once the jury received the case, I was nominated as the foreman (I was the only one wearing a tie) and began overseeing the jury's deliberations.
I considered myself a guardian of liberty and a check on the awful power of the state to deprive a citizen of their rights without sufficient proof or evidence. We started with a vote of 9 – 3 for acquittal on the charge of stalking, and I exercised my power as foreman to deprive the jury of lunch until they voted “not guilty”. It worked.
We then took up the misdemeanor charge of harassment (which, come to find out, can simply mean being annoying; who would have thought?) and settled on a quick compromise; guilty of the lesser offense. On to the punishment phase. I thought I might make my 2:30 pm appointment after all.
Oh, the horror! Now, much more evidence was presented that the defendant is a real creep. Apparently, some technicality kept all of this out of the trial. We’ve been duped into acquitting a wacko! Other jurors appear very unhappy with me. My job as foreman might be in jeopardy.
The tide turns a little when the defense calls character witnesses. Apparently, the complainant is not such a nice person either. The jury, including my preacher, gets to hear things like whore, bitch, slut, druggie, coke head, pot head, and my personal favorite, “not a lady.” We also find out that the defendant is – GASP! – not from Texas; he’s from West Virginia! Had we only known that before the verdict was rendered!
The high point of this phase is the list of names of Mr. Boondock’s goats, cows, chickens, and rooster. The rooster’s name is Louis, in case you were wondering. He also has two “bad” goats named “Brooks” and “Dunn”. A psychiatrist testifies that Mr. Boondock has “immature social skills and limited intelligence.” Did I mention that he was from West Virginia?
At 5:15 pm, we get to hear more arguments before assessing punishment. Prosecutor reminds us that even the town slut has rights and that we should put the bad guy in jail. Not much appetite for argument at this point in the day, and no one wants to come back tomorrow. I think that I can get everyone to agree quickly. I am, after all, their leader.
Our choice ranges from two years' probation to six months in prison and a $2000 fine. I assume that prosecutorial scare tactics are ineffective and that half of us would let Mr. Boondock move in with us if they would just let us go home. By now, the 2:30 pm that I moved to 4:00 pm is ancient history.
Boy, was I wrong. Turns out to be like negotiating peace in the Middle East. The complexities of the options available to us are overwhelming to the jury. I do my consulting thing and break it down into its component parts to find areas of agreement. Three hours later, I have 11 jurors supportive of probation, but there is no unanimity. The trick of depriving them of food doesn’t appear to work the second time around. I finally resort to calling a break and pleading my case one-on-one with the lone female holdout. I can be very charming. Some people just need to be heard.
Hooray! On the next vote, we are unanimous. Two years' probation, a 180-day suspended jail sentence, and a $2,000 fine. Billy Bob has been convicted and punished by the State of Texas for being a weirdo with “immature social skills.” We don’t like that kind of stuff around here.
I booked the $95 I was paid for three days of work as income, but the education has been priceless.
Duty or doodie? You be the judge (seems like a pretty cool job).
