The calm . . .
Part One - Jury Duty
The thick white envelope that my mailbox held would be more than just a summons to miss a day of work sitting the relative comfort of the new San Bernardino jury selection office. The county had recently built an entire new 7-8 story building and the jury room was on the first floor with comfy chairs, tables to work at, and free WiFi. I let my employer know that I would had received a summons and informed them the night before that I had been asked to physically present myself the next morning, 9/21/15, for potential selection. As a government employee, I was paid my regular salary to attend jury duty and submitted to just doing work remotely while I waited for my chance to get out of the trial. No one has ever been more naive, in the history of the world, than I at that time.
The first day of the trial I brought a new crochet project I was working on and some work to finish. I had decided if there was time after finishing my work, I would start a baby blanket for my best friend's new baby. Little did I know I would have enough time to finish that blanket and a few other items, before this experience ended. I arrived early, checked in, and then settled back to work. After a few minutes I noticed that there was an extraordinarily large amount of people gathering in the large waiting area. Well in excess of 250.
As luck would have it, one of my co-workers was actually summoned for the same day - but assigned to a different jury pool. We talked about the luck of that and made idle chit-chat. After an extremely long time, the first jury pools went up on the monitor, I was not on any of the first five panels. My co-worker was told to come back at 1:30 and his jury would either be paneled or dismissed. I found out later, he was dismissed upon return. If I could have switched places with one other human on Earth, knowing what I do now, I would have offered all my worldly possessions to do so with him.
Finally, my name appeared on the fifth screen of a multi-screen paneling for a case on the 6th or 7th floor. We were told to be back for potential screening at 1:30 pm. I left for a quick lunch, came back early because parking was insane, and then waited for half an hour. Around 2:30 we were finally addressed by a bailiff who let us know that this panel was one of two or three potential pools of jurors. This process would take several days, if not weeks, and many of us would be here that entire time.
A low, audible groan rippled through the many people present. At this point, as a rough estimate, there were roughly 80-100 (or more) people still present. We were all given rudimentary instructions and told to meet on the sixth floor. The elevators were instantly bombarded with bodies. Even though there are six public elevators, it took a full 10 minutes for us all to get upstairs. I waited until the last elevator, being claustrophobic isn't all the glamour people assume it to be. One of my fellow claustrophobes riding the elevator this day with me, would turn out to do so many days to come.
The bailiff asked us to wait outside the court room while they checked if the judge was ready for us. After another short time, we were told to quickly and quietly file in to the room and take a seat. The room was packed in a short time with humanity spilling out into the aisles and into the small chamber between the public hallway and the court. When I say it was packed, I am not being hyperbolic, I mean it was jammed in an unsafe way with people seated everywhere. The entire jury box, alternate juror, witness box, public audience area, and aisles were crammed full of seats. They had to borrow chairs from nearby courts so that we had enough seating. It took almost 20 minutes, just to get seated. Some may ask, "Why all the seating talk?" It belays the semi-tedious nature of what was to follow, so bear with me.
The judge entered, introduced himself and thanked us for attending. He began to discuss, briefly, what was to come. A process I will refer to as the "excuse hunger games". A time in the jury selection where every able-bodied, sound-of-mind, and normally eager citizen suddenly finds an atrocious malady or predilection that should exclude them from jury selection. On this day, I heard some of the best (worst) requests for being excused from the jury pool. The judge had already let us know this selection and trial could take several weeks and possibly even a month to complete. One man asked to be excused because his job wouldn't pay him, the judge asked who his employer was and called to verify that. Others presented previous vacations or plans that couldn't be changed, work load, hardship economically, and some event stated they simply didn't want to. There was even a gentleman who staggered to his feet and asked the judge when he would call his number, the judge replied that he didn't have his number as a potential juror listed. It was soon discovered that the obviously drunk/high man was in the wrong courtroom. A general shaking of heads and smirks ensued as he stumbled out.
After an afternoon of the most excruciating process of explanation, discussion, and then either excusal or denial of excusal - the judge informed us that the pool remaining needed to return each morning until and unless excused or seated on the jury. As we left for the day, I still didn't understand what was about to happen. I had already made up my mind to let the chips fall where they may, I had no real reason to request a dismissal: I was given unlimited jury duty time, I was paid my normal salary, and I was of sound judgment (in my head, at least). I left for home joking with my other back of the line elevator riders, "What if we get picked? A month? Crazy!" Crazy indeed.
The next day we all returned bright and early, hoping to find that the case was resolved and the jury dismissed. No such luck. After another morning of many, many, OH GOD so many requests to be dismissed, the remaining 70 or so of us that were left had more room to spread out. This is where my most vivid memories begin to form about the process and players involved occurs. The judge took a moment to drop a bombshell on us. He addressed us an let us know that we would be asked to completed a lengthy questionnaire and then be dismissed for approximately a week to two weeks, this did not mean we were off the hook, though. There was at least one more pool of jurors equal to our size and a smaller one after that which the court had to get to our same point in the process. During the intervening days we would be off, the court would push through those two pools and finally have a large jury pool from which to seat the final jury. He told us that in excess of 400-450 jurors were summoned for this trial. To whittle that down to the most appropriate 12 with 2 alternates would take time. He asked for our patience and thanked us for our time. I had been spending much of this time staring at the muscular arms of the second bailiff. A tall, built, mountain of a man swathed in the ugliest tan-brown turd-colored polyester clothes available.
"Before I let you go," he began, he wanted to let us know a very few facts about the trial so that we could properly fill out our questionnaires. "The jury selected will be deciding the penalty phase of a murder trial with special circumstances." I sucked air in loudly, and unexpectedly, through my nose. I knew what that meant, but not many around me did. I sat for the remainder of his address with a glazed look staring at the judge. The judge looked at me as he spoke the next part. "That means," he seemed to speak directly to me, "the jury selected will not be asked to decide the guilt or innocence of the defendant - he has already been found guilty of several charges in a previous trial, including murder with a special circumstance of torture. What you will be asked to decide is should the defendant's punishment be life in prison without possibility of parole or will he be put to death by the state?" Now there was a universal gasp and many people looked at those near them for assurance they hadn't just heard that. "Further, you should know that the victim in this case was a child. A toddler, of four years old, to be exact."
"Fuck," escaped my mouth in a not-so-low tone. I wasn't the only one shocked into audible exclamations. I stared at the back of the defendant's head, I guess he was the murderer at this point since others had already convicted him.
"I want to make this clear," crap the judge was still talking. What new load of suck was he about to drop on us? "I want to make clear that your only task will be in deciding whether or not the defendant, Harby Ausbon Burden, will spend the rest of his natural life in jail with no possibility of parole or be sentenced to death by the state."
The thick white envelope that my mailbox held would be more than just a summons to miss a day of work sitting the relative comfort of the new San Bernardino jury selection office. The county had recently built an entire new 7-8 story building and the jury room was on the first floor with comfy chairs, tables to work at, and free WiFi. I let my employer know that I would had received a summons and informed them the night before that I had been asked to physically present myself the next morning, 9/21/15, for potential selection. As a government employee, I was paid my regular salary to attend jury duty and submitted to just doing work remotely while I waited for my chance to get out of the trial. No one has ever been more naive, in the history of the world, than I at that time.
San Bernardino Superior Court
(the gloomy weather is a nice touch)
(looks pretty swell at night)
The first day of the trial I brought a new crochet project I was working on and some work to finish. I had decided if there was time after finishing my work, I would start a baby blanket for my best friend's new baby. Little did I know I would have enough time to finish that blanket and a few other items, before this experience ended. I arrived early, checked in, and then settled back to work. After a few minutes I noticed that there was an extraordinarily large amount of people gathering in the large waiting area. Well in excess of 250.
Jury Duty Waiting Room
(this is the best shot I could find of the jury duty waiting room - this picture belies the actual size of the room)
As luck would have it, one of my co-workers was actually summoned for the same day - but assigned to a different jury pool. We talked about the luck of that and made idle chit-chat. After an extremely long time, the first jury pools went up on the monitor, I was not on any of the first five panels. My co-worker was told to come back at 1:30 and his jury would either be paneled or dismissed. I found out later, he was dismissed upon return. If I could have switched places with one other human on Earth, knowing what I do now, I would have offered all my worldly possessions to do so with him.
Finally, my name appeared on the fifth screen of a multi-screen paneling for a case on the 6th or 7th floor. We were told to be back for potential screening at 1:30 pm. I left for a quick lunch, came back early because parking was insane, and then waited for half an hour. Around 2:30 we were finally addressed by a bailiff who let us know that this panel was one of two or three potential pools of jurors. This process would take several days, if not weeks, and many of us would be here that entire time.
A low, audible groan rippled through the many people present. At this point, as a rough estimate, there were roughly 80-100 (or more) people still present. We were all given rudimentary instructions and told to meet on the sixth floor. The elevators were instantly bombarded with bodies. Even though there are six public elevators, it took a full 10 minutes for us all to get upstairs. I waited until the last elevator, being claustrophobic isn't all the glamour people assume it to be. One of my fellow claustrophobes riding the elevator this day with me, would turn out to do so many days to come.
The bailiff asked us to wait outside the court room while they checked if the judge was ready for us. After another short time, we were told to quickly and quietly file in to the room and take a seat. The room was packed in a short time with humanity spilling out into the aisles and into the small chamber between the public hallway and the court. When I say it was packed, I am not being hyperbolic, I mean it was jammed in an unsafe way with people seated everywhere. The entire jury box, alternate juror, witness box, public audience area, and aisles were crammed full of seats. They had to borrow chairs from nearby courts so that we had enough seating. It took almost 20 minutes, just to get seated. Some may ask, "Why all the seating talk?" It belays the semi-tedious nature of what was to follow, so bear with me.
The judge entered, introduced himself and thanked us for attending. He began to discuss, briefly, what was to come. A process I will refer to as the "excuse hunger games". A time in the jury selection where every able-bodied, sound-of-mind, and normally eager citizen suddenly finds an atrocious malady or predilection that should exclude them from jury selection. On this day, I heard some of the best (worst) requests for being excused from the jury pool. The judge had already let us know this selection and trial could take several weeks and possibly even a month to complete. One man asked to be excused because his job wouldn't pay him, the judge asked who his employer was and called to verify that. Others presented previous vacations or plans that couldn't be changed, work load, hardship economically, and some event stated they simply didn't want to. There was even a gentleman who staggered to his feet and asked the judge when he would call his number, the judge replied that he didn't have his number as a potential juror listed. It was soon discovered that the obviously drunk/high man was in the wrong courtroom. A general shaking of heads and smirks ensued as he stumbled out.
The Judge
(judge Michael A. Smith)
After an afternoon of the most excruciating process of explanation, discussion, and then either excusal or denial of excusal - the judge informed us that the pool remaining needed to return each morning until and unless excused or seated on the jury. As we left for the day, I still didn't understand what was about to happen. I had already made up my mind to let the chips fall where they may, I had no real reason to request a dismissal: I was given unlimited jury duty time, I was paid my normal salary, and I was of sound judgment (in my head, at least). I left for home joking with my other back of the line elevator riders, "What if we get picked? A month? Crazy!" Crazy indeed.
The next day we all returned bright and early, hoping to find that the case was resolved and the jury dismissed. No such luck. After another morning of many, many, OH GOD so many requests to be dismissed, the remaining 70 or so of us that were left had more room to spread out. This is where my most vivid memories begin to form about the process and players involved occurs. The judge took a moment to drop a bombshell on us. He addressed us an let us know that we would be asked to completed a lengthy questionnaire and then be dismissed for approximately a week to two weeks, this did not mean we were off the hook, though. There was at least one more pool of jurors equal to our size and a smaller one after that which the court had to get to our same point in the process. During the intervening days we would be off, the court would push through those two pools and finally have a large jury pool from which to seat the final jury. He told us that in excess of 400-450 jurors were summoned for this trial. To whittle that down to the most appropriate 12 with 2 alternates would take time. He asked for our patience and thanked us for our time. I had been spending much of this time staring at the muscular arms of the second bailiff. A tall, built, mountain of a man swathed in the ugliest tan-brown turd-colored polyester clothes available.
"Before I let you go," he began, he wanted to let us know a very few facts about the trial so that we could properly fill out our questionnaires. "The jury selected will be deciding the penalty phase of a murder trial with special circumstances." I sucked air in loudly, and unexpectedly, through my nose. I knew what that meant, but not many around me did. I sat for the remainder of his address with a glazed look staring at the judge. The judge looked at me as he spoke the next part. "That means," he seemed to speak directly to me, "the jury selected will not be asked to decide the guilt or innocence of the defendant - he has already been found guilty of several charges in a previous trial, including murder with a special circumstance of torture. What you will be asked to decide is should the defendant's punishment be life in prison without possibility of parole or will he be put to death by the state?" Now there was a universal gasp and many people looked at those near them for assurance they hadn't just heard that. "Further, you should know that the victim in this case was a child. A toddler, of four years old, to be exact."
"Fuck," escaped my mouth in a not-so-low tone. I wasn't the only one shocked into audible exclamations. I stared at the back of the defendant's head, I guess he was the murderer at this point since others had already convicted him.
"I want to make this clear," crap the judge was still talking. What new load of suck was he about to drop on us? "I want to make clear that your only task will be in deciding whether or not the defendant, Harby Ausbon Burden, will spend the rest of his natural life in jail with no possibility of parole or be sentenced to death by the state."
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