http://www.postcrescent.com/article/...own-challenges
As anyone who has watched a crime drama knows, everyone in this country has the right to an attorney.
It's not guaranteed, however, that everyone will have a good one.
And that is one of many observations from my new life as a juror.
During the summer, I received a questionnaire from the county clerk's office regarding my suitability to serve on a jury. It seemed mainly concerned with establishing the fact that I live in Outagamie County, although it also wanted to make sure that I can understand English.
I filled it out, sent it in, and forgot about it until I received my official summons to report for jury duty on five specific days in September.
Friends began telling me of ways I could ensure that I wouldn't be picked for the actual jury. My son reminded me of Tina Fey's character on "30 Rock," who showed up for court dressed as Princess Leia and told the judge she couldn't serve because she's a hologram.
But after years of watching "Law & Order," I was curious about what the process was really like. I wanted to serve.
There was just one tiny, hopefully insignificant problem. The fourth of my five required days was the same day that Gordon Lightfoot was performing in Milwaukee.
It's possible to petition the court for a "temporary hardship" and be switched to a different month. But it was just one day, and I had been told that many cases settle prior to their trial dates, so I decided to fulfill my obligation and hope for the best.
The only thing I feared was that my first three days would all be cancelled, and I would have to show up as a newbie on the one day I truly didn't want to be there. But, really, what were the chances of that?
Well, as you've probably surmised, better than fair.
I called the jury message line the night before the fateful day, but unlike the previous three times, I was told to report the next morning at 8:45. (I was also advised to leave my cell phone, my pocket knife, and other "contraband of sorts" at home.)
What could I do? Could I even find a Princess Leia costume at that hour?
Eventually, of course, I did the only thing I could do — I showed up, still hoping for the best.
Perhaps, as I have heard often happens, the case had settled on the courthouse steps.
It hadn't.
Maybe I would know the judge, the defendant, or one of the attorneys.
I didn't.
Possibly I wouldn't be one of the first 20 potential jurors called into the jury box for voir dire.
I was.
So when the judge asked if any of us felt we could not be a fair and impartial juror, I did what I had sworn to do. I told the truth.
I told him that, just for that day, I couldn't be fair and impartial because I had to be in Milwaukee that evening for a concert and I was concerned that I couldn't properly concentrate on the trial and the evidence in the way that was required.
"What is the concert?" asked the judge.
"Gordon Lightfoot," I responded.
"Ooohhhh!" said the jury box.
Then the judge excused me from the panel. And while he was being, well, judicious, I also felt that he was being kind, and I can't be sure, but I think I saw just the hint of a smile.
The concert was wonderful. Mr. Lightfoot was in fine voice during the show and jovial afterwards, and I'm very thankful I was able to be there.
Still, I know there may be those who feel that I somehow shirked my civic duty. So if you believe in karma, or penance, or the idea that what goes around comes around, you'll be happy to know that what came around the following Tuesday was a much more difficult case, and I was chosen to be on the jury.
The first thing that happens when you're picked for a jury is that the bailiff confiscates the cell phones (and other contraband) of those who ignored the jury message line. You are then taken to the jury room, your new home away from home for as long as it takes to reach a verdict.
Our trial lasted all day and into the evening. We were frequently sent back to the jury room in between witnesses, where we experienced long silences punctuated by bursts of small talk, which is what happens in a room full of strangers who are forbidden, at that time, from talking about the one thing they really want to discuss.
Jury trials are the only human endeavor I can think of where people go to school for years to learn their craft, apply it as well as they're able, and then, at the most critical point, the entire operation is turned over to a bunch of amateurs.
It would be like the Packers driving down the field and, when they reach the red zone, having Coach McCarthy pull his players in favor of cheesehead-wearing fans picked at random. (And good luck finding enough sober ones.)
We, the amateurs, tried very hard to rise to the occasion. We spent hours discussing evidence and reasonable doubt and points of law that seemed obscure and, at times, contradictory.
Even with a preponderance of evidence, it's not an easy thing to have a hand in sending another human to prison. And I don't believe we convicted an innocent man, but having experienced the process, I can see how such a thing could happen, even with a jury as diligent and well-intentioned as ours.
In a real trial, mistakes can be made, witnesses can lie, and attorneys don't necessarily display the scripted brilliance of Jack McCoy or his adversaries.
It's not "Law & Order."
It's life.
Jennifer Perry's new column in Appleton, WI.
