And the Judge Said What?

We were in a windowless room with no clock upon the walls. I had no watch. Time was a concept found in the world outside, not here. I wondered if this was how it was in prison. When you are locked in a cell there is no clock. Are you allowed a watch? Probably not. In movies there always seemed to be a barred window at the back of the cell, but that may not be the case in real prisons. Is it like this morning for me, is time only known by what someone outside choses to reveal to you?

There is no time in eternity and when you are denied time in a world that runs by the clock it seems an eternity.

I struggle again to read people's watches around me, but they are too small, too distance or arms are too much in motion.

When I last was called to jury duty in 1998 things had been different. Not just the lighter security when you entered, the whole court house was different. That was back in the old courthouse, the one built in 1917 when architecture demanded a Greecian look for such august buildings, so it was a long white structure with many marble collums and a grand stairway.

I was now in the new courthouse, a modern highrise of glass and steel with a modest atrium.

There had been no overwhelming crowd in the assembly room back at that time, seats were plentiful for everyone and it seemed less clausterphobia. A chipper judge had come in to greet us and explain the system that morning, he was causal and chatty. There was no one today but our DI. We were supposed to have an orientation, but that didn't happen because of the inclusion of the Capital Murder jury pool. It had been too crowded, too chaoic. Looking around I could see dark TV monitors mounted all about the room. I am sure no cheery judge would have appeared in person. This orientation was probably a taped version. Progress is an impersonal thing.

Back then, at ten o'clock that morning, a person entered the assembly room and announced all the cases had been settled, none of us would be needed and we could all go home, we had completed our civic duty.

I had a feeling history wasn't going to repeat itself for our Drill Sergeant was speaking again, calling names from a list. At long last the petit jury types were on the move.

The first group was called to the front and disappeared out the entryway.

I was called in the middle of the second group.

Our bailiff was Jessica, a young woman in an uniform similar to a cop's, a weapon belt about her trim waist, with her hair pulled back in a military bun, await us. She was fairly attractive. Let me put it this way, she would have looked good in a bathing suit. But she wasn't Miss Conjeaniality. She greeted us with a stone cold expression and a voice whose tone told you don't even think of giving me trouble.

We crossed paths with a couple other female bailiffs during this little jaunt, none of whom would have looked good in a bathing suit, but all of whom were smiling and cheery and warm. I suppose it is one of the ironies of this world that in order to be taken seriously if you are attractive you must ugly down your personality. Not that Jessica's personality was ugly, just very off-putting. She was like an icesickle on a sunny winter morning. She glistened with a frosty beauty. If you touched her you'd be frostbitten.

She escorted us down the corridor to the elevators and sent us up. We coudn't all go together, even though the lifts were freight elevator size. There must have been forty in the group.

Several floors up we were taken to a courtroom where we waited a few minutes in the hall gazing at a view of the city through huge glass panels that made up the one wall. Then one of those less-than-attractive-in-a-bathing-suit bailiffs popped out with a smile and invited us enter. Jessica was in there and directed us to sit on the benches to the rear of the room. We were too many even sat hip-to-hip for the three benches, so a few spilled over into the jury box.

I am in my seventieth year and this was my fist time in a courtroom. I guess that means I have been practicing good behavior all my life or I just haven't been caught yet. There is something imposing about it. It almost doesn't feel real and everything feels detached from normal reality. It took a moment to even notice we were not alone.

Everything was wood. At the front was a raised platform with the highest point being the Judge's desk. It had a computer on it. Behind it was mounted the Great Seal of the state. Below this desk was a long work area. At one end sat a thin man at another computer, persumedly the court stenographer. At the other was a young woman at yet another computer. She was the court clerk. Given her age and a certain awkwardness when she had to speak, I would guess she was a law student. Being clerk to this court was probably an honor.

In the middle of the room were two tables. People sat at these tables facing across them toward the Judge's stand so their backs were to us. Although they were not far, they somehow seemed distant. Something in the formation of this room, perhaps because we were higher than the floor where they sat, distorted these people and made them appear small.

Along the side wall was the jury box, fifteen padded gray, swival chairs.

Another woman was seated at the table to our front left. She had a two inch stack of papers before her, which she kept thumbing through. She was the state prosecutor. At the table on the right sat a man in a business suit (probably a public defender) and to his right another man in a white jumpsuit with DOC on the back. Behind these two sat two burly officers of the law.

We had been instructed to make no noise. we didn't.

Jessica went out a door next to the Judge's stand and we could hear her say, "They're ready, Your Honor." Apparently Your Honor wasn't ready. There was some sort of delay. Another bailiff appeared and went through the door. Jessica shut it behind her and we waited. Maybe the judge had to go to the rest room at the last minute. Maybe she needed an opinion on her hairstyle. No explanation was given, we just waited.

Finally, Jessica reappeared and announced the Honorable such-and-such and said "All rise." We stood and a blond haired woman in judicial robes entered, took a seat high above all the proceedings and sat down. We all sat down.

The Judge's name sounded familiar. later I realized she was pretty well-known. She had once been the state's Attorney General, had once ran for the U. S. Senate. She also had a reputation of being tough as nails, it had once been said of her she would put Santa claus in jail.

None of this showed, she seemed very nice and friendly when she spoke to us.

The clerk then announced court was in session on case number so-and-so, the State versus whozits on illegal use and possession of fire arms or something along that order. The Judge then told us this was a criminal trial expected to last two days.

"The Clerk will now ask you a serious of questions. These questions are designed to be answered yes or no. You should answer no to each question. If you must answer yes to any one or more of these questions, then we will speak to you further as to why you answered yes."

The Clerk stepped to a central podium and read the questions rapid fire from a paper, "Do you know the defendent? Do you know either of the lawyers? Two police officers will be testifying in this case, do you know either of these officers? The defendant is wearing a Department of Corrections jumpsuit, will that prejudice you against the defendant? Do you have a prejudice against people with freckles that own goldfish?" No she didn't ask that last one.

It was a long list. At the end the Judge asked if any one could answer yes to any question. Several hands went up.

The Judge now called the lawyers, the clerk and the stenographer to her bench. She flipped a switch and an annoying buzz of white noise filled our ears. Jessica led each hand raiser in turn up to the group gathered at the bench where they were questioned. The only non-movement was the defendant and the two officers behind him.

There was an easy dozen or more people who claimed dismissal because they had answered yes. About two-thirds of these were dismissed and left. The rest returned to the benches, all rather grim-faced. One woman returned with tears in her eyes.

After all had their moment in the spotlight the annoying noise was turned off to our relief.

Now the clerk stepped forward again and called out twelve names one by one. Jessica pointed out exactly were each person called should sit in the jury box. Once all were seated, the clerk handed Jessica a clipboard of papers. The bailiff in turn handed this to the defense attorney, who glanced at the jury box and flipped through the papers so clipped.

He handed the pack back to Jessica, looked at the Judge and said, "Mr. Blank is satisfied."

I am not certain if Mr. Blank was the lawyer's name or his client's. I am guessing Mr. blank was the client, but how the lawyer knew his client was satisfied is beyond me. He didn't show him the papers or consult with him. His client simply sat staring straight ahead the whole time. The defendant was the elephant in the room; he was more the invisible man.

The papers were then taken to the prosecutor. She flipped through a couple times, looked at the jury box and said one juror wasn't satisfactory to the state.

The Judge told this person she was dismissed and she left the room. She had been one of those who had previously answered yes and been questioned. I am sure she was happy to leave.

The Clerk again stepped to the podium and called another name. A person on the benches took the place in the jury box vacated by the dismissed woman and we went through the whole clipboard process again.

This time both Mr. Blank and the State were satisfied.

Now the Clerk did her thing once more and called two names, the alternates. Again the whole process was repeated.

This time the defense lawyer spent more time studying the list and he looked at the seated jury several times and back at us on the benches even more times. Obviously he was studying us on the back benches for a player more likely to be favorable to his client. Apparently none of us fit that bill and he finally said Mr. Blank was satisfied.

The State was also happy with the picked.

I had been noting the order of names called and it is my estimate if one more prospective juror had been dismissed, I would have made the team. In some ways I almost was wishing that happened. This was a new experience and might have been interesting.

But they had a complete panal now, we were no longer needed.

They Judge turned to us rejects and thanked us. "We are very appreciative that you were willing to serve."

Say what? Willing to serve, us, willing? What is this willing bit? We may have been willing to serve, but the truth is you don't have that choice, at least without dire circumstances. What did the summons say? if you failed to appear you faced jail time and a hefty fine. There was nothing about "come if you so will" anywhere on that notice. They don't call it a summons for nothing.

One advantage of having been called to the courtroom was we were told the time. As I left that room with the other losers (or is it winners) not empanaled for that trail I knew it was almost noon. But don't think the place was done with us. Oh, no, we may have been dismissed from this courtroom, but there were a lot of courtrooms in this building. We had to report back in at the assembly room and wait on the possibility our "willing" service was needed elsewhere.

Back in the big room, our DI, who frankly I was now thinking of more as our lovable den mother, called out some more names. I recognized they were all the people we left behind sitting in the jury box.

"Are any of those people in this room," she asked. I guess they wanted to be certain none of them had escaped, except some guy raised his hand.

"Were you in courtroom such-and-such just now?" she asked him.

"No," he answered.

"Well, why weren't you? You were supposed to go to courtroom such-and-such when I called your name earlier."

"You didn't call my name," he said.

"Oh, yes I did," she said. "I did indeed call your name. That is why I asked everyone to say here when I called their name. Your name was called and you should have been in courtroom such-and-such. You in big trouble now, hmm-hm!"

Everybody laughed.

Lunchtime was to be from 1:00 to 2:00, so when our Den Mother - Mother Hen - DI next appeared I expected an announcment that lunch was upon us. I wondered if I wanted to leave the building for an hour. Did I really want to go through security again. I might not be so lucky the next time I slipped off my belt. My pants might fall for sure.

"Everybody who took a magazine from these rack, please put your magazine back at this time. We paid for those magazines and provide them to help you pass the time. What you may not know, we mark those magazines with infra-red ink. Don't you even think of not returning the magazine you borrowed, we will track you down. Now you look at your neighbor and see if they have a magazine and you tell them to put that magazine on the rack at this time."

People flocked forward replacing magazines.

"Now people, you all look around and pick up any trash you may have. You bring that trash up and put it in these recepticles provided. This is my house, you keep it clean for my next guests. There were 21 coutrooms scheduled today. At this time, all 21 cases have been fulfilled."

She looked at us and made an upward motion with her hands. Everyone applauded and cheered.

"I knew you would like that. I am about to dismiss you, but we have a Certicate of Appreciation for each of you for being here today. As I call your name come get your Certificate and then you may leave. Now I will be calling your names alphabetically, so if your name happen to be Wurtz, you know where you be."

The guy next to me called out, "I think we should start in backward order for a change."

I said to him, "I prefer me start in the middle.

When I picked up my Certificate I thanked the lady for her good humor.

I got out and it was nearly one by the big clock on the street. I'd probably be home by the time I would normally get off work, if I made it to my car. I still had a three mile walk ahead mostly up hill.

There was no sign of that rain we were supposed to get mid-day. The sun was bright and shiny. It was also hot. We were suppose to hardly reach eighty, it turned out in was actually 91. I had no hat. Fortunately at this time of day the sun was to my right and slightly behind me. Still there was much glare.

And it was hot.

I began my walk. I was tired from the stress of the day and from standing. I had not had anything at all to eat or drink either. I had forgone anything that might cause frequent bathroom visits.

And have I mentioned, it was hot.

I made my trek. It is amazing how much of the route had no shade. I was feeling a bit whoozy after the first couple miles. Just another mile, I told myself, just a few more blocks, just a few more steps.

My jury duty concerns were gone. I will probably never be called again. I am not eligible now for two years and in two years I will be pass the age where I have to serve. Of course, I still had to survive and get to my car and go home or none of that mattered.

It is parked just around the next corner, but man, it is hot.

Ms Drill Instructor

There I sat in this corral of lambs for the slaughter. The line was still encircling the room like a giant python about to constrict us foolish sheep engulfed by it. It writhed slowly about the outer edges of the room, some never-ending body with no head and no tail.

I had chosen a seat at the very rear corner of this captive audience. It had been relatively easy to get to and I was not entrapped in the middle of a row where people would be crawling over me to come and go nor would I be climbing over them. It didn't take me long to realize this was a mistake.

It was getting rather warm in the room, so there was a small advantage being on the outer fringe. I had a teeny pocket of space rather than total engulfment by bodies all giving off heat, but it wasn't much comfort. It was still hot and I was beginning to sweat. Where was the air conditioning?

My real difficulty was hearing.

A woman's voice suddenly came out of somewhere to the front right of the room, the furtherest point from where I sat, and was saying something to we of the mob. I strained forward to hear. Now I know when I came in there was a podium with a microphone attached front and center , but for some reason she chose to stand to the far side of it and speak without amplification.  She was reading a list of names. Here and about the room someone would get up and go forward toward her direction. I couldn't see her because of the continuing line snaking through between her and I. I could barely hear her because as soon as she began calling her list odd cliques in the line just behind me began chatting about the minutia of their daily life in raised, giggling voices. Also at that moment I found the air condition as it suddenly snapped to life above my head with a constant hiss.

And so it went. The line limped along and a distant voice called forth bodies and I leaned further and further over listening for my own name. 

And then, finally, the line ended, its tail wiggled by and around and everyone coming had come. Every seat was filled and bodies stood or sat against the walls all about, with some small globs standing in the middle of the center aisle and another cluster of souls grouped near the entryway. Perhaps with the movement of feet done or just having grown use to this environment, I could hear the woman better. She was not calling names at that moment, she was saying she saw women standing and gentlemen should give their seat to the ladies.

Hey, what happened to the demand for equal treatment between the sexes? I though women had fought hard for the right to stand uncomfortably in a crowded room? Should they be forced to give up what they earned now for the sake of a seat?

Actually, because I'm an old guy from a different time when gentlemen did do such things for the fairer sex, I had just been about to give my seat to a woman standing by the wall opposite me. For one thing, I stand all day on my job so felt I am used to being on my feet for long periods, but with that announcement I was caught between gallantry and shame. Getting up now wouldn't appear a polite gesture, it would simply look like I was goaded into it. Maybe that is how all the men felt. Perhaps they had all been on the verge of sacrificing their hard plastic chair to some dainty lady along the wall and now they felt chided and reluctant. I saw no movement among the seated to change positions.

But I did. I left my chair and walked down along the left wall and squeezed in between a surly looking young man and a young woman seated on the floor.

I admit it wasn't all altruism. From this vantage point I could see the speaker and more importantly, hear her better.

 As I stood there I noticed the pretty young woman at my feet wore a very low cut top, one very revealing from my height above. Obviously I must be a sex pervert for it took me no time at all to notice this. Oh come on, I may be an old man, but I'm not a dead one.

The distant woman, who was obviously our caretaker for the day,  continued to call names. I saw those who came forth go to her one by one. She handed them a sheet of paper, whispered something in their ear and each then went to a table where a pail of pencils sat. They wrote something on the paper and brought it back to the woman, then returned to their seat. Rats, I though she was calling people to go to courtrooms. No one was going anywhere. The crowd was becoming a bit overbearing as time passed. I was waiting for my name so I could find out what this ritual was about, but before I was called she shifted gears.

And now finally, she moved to the podium with the microphone. Apparently she could not get to this microphone earlier because of that python snaking around the room. Now what she said was loud and clear.  She ordered everyone to listen up as free parking was about to be awarded.

"Take out your parking stub," she said, "and hold it up."

"Its like the lottery, isn't it?" I said to the surly looking guy. He just nodded, but surlily and gazed disdainfully at his parking stub. I, of course, had no stub.

"Look at the number below the name of the lot," the woman said. "If you see a number 43 below that name, then you have free parking. When you are dismissed for the day you will go to the garage. You will find your car. You will then start your car and you will drive to the gate. You will put your stub in the slot and the gate will rise, and you will go home."

My Surly did not have a 43 on his stub.

"If you do not have a 43 on your stub," said the woman, "look below the name of the lot. If you have a 44, you have reduced parking. When you are dismissed for the day you will go to the garage. You will go to the walkup pay window and you will pay $7.00. You will now have ten minutes to find your car and get to the gate. If you do not get to the gate in ten minutes, the reduced rate will go up to the regular fee and you will pay $10.00.

"Therefore, people, I suggest you find your car before you go to the walkup pay window."

She then called roll for those in jury type Capital Murder.

Ouch! Capital Murder, don't want on that jury, oh, no, no, that isn't going to be over in a day for sure. She called out the names and each person was to answer if they were present. We got some "here"s, some "yes"s and an occasional "present". Then we got someone who corrected the pronunciation of their name. 

Oops!

The woman in charge looked at this person. "Folks," she said, "I am going to mispronounce some of your last names. I am going to mispronounce some of your first names. This list is in alphabetical order. You should know about where you will be. If I call something near close to your name, just answer here."

I liked this woman. She had a sense of humor, she made us laugh sometimes, she made the day bearable, but she had the look of a former drill sergeant. I remember when my daughter got through Basic training and came home. She told us the first thing she learned was when the DI said something you don't roll your eyes. She had and the next thing she knew she was doing pushups in a mud puddle with a fifty pound pack on her back. This woman calling roll looked like if she said, "Get down and give me twenty" you would get down and give her twenty and throw in an extra five just to be on the safe side.

She must have called over a hundred names before she asked, "Anyone here jury type Capital Murder whose name I did not call."

A man in the back raised his hand.

"What's your name?"

He gave it.

"You jury type Capital Murder?"

"I don't know," he says, "what's a jury type."

"Okay people. Pull out your summons. Look in the upper right hand corner. You will see the words 'Jury Type'. Sir, do you see the words Jury Type?"

"Yes."

"Do the words, 'Capital Murder' appear next to jury Type?"

"No."

"Then that is why I did not call your name, sir."

As I stood there, still waiting to hear my own name called for something, for anything, a young white man walked by a couple times.  He wore a Phillies T-shirt, satiny white basketball style shorts with a red stripe down the side and a Phillies baseball cap turned backward upon his head. Blast, I guess I could have worn my plain black hat, right way around, after all. And to think I was worried about courtroom decorum!

Someone in a uniform came in and handed our Drill Instructor lady a paper.

"Quite down out there, people," she said. "I'm going to get some of your out of here. I call your name you come up and form a line at the door. Your bailiff is Jeffrey. He will instruct you as to where to do. The paper you are handed, do not read it, it will only confuse you."

She now read off a batch of names and people filed out the entryway.  She turned and looked at them.

"What I tell you? I told you, do not read it, it will only confuse you. See now, you're reading it and now you are confused." She turned back to the rest of us. "When I tell you to do something, do it. I'm trying to help you people up here. Listen to me. I tell you, 'Don't read it'; then don't read it! It will only confuse you."

She called another batch, who marched out, then another and another. These were the prospective jurors for the capital murder case. There must have been well over a hundred of them. Yeah, that trial isn't going to be over in a day or two. It'll probably take them two weeks to impanel a jury.

Of all the people there this day, I only heard one familiar name, William S. It wasn't a common last name like Smith. It was a fairly uncommon one, so I wonder is it was the Bill S. I once worked for 13 years ago. He was called in one of these batches and sure enough as he walked down the aisle I could see it was him, looking 13 years older (as if I didn't). Poor fellow, he was on the capital murder list.

Once the capital murder unfortunates had left the room, she called everyone from the four corners of this world who were left into the main room. Those back in the little vending machine cafe adjoining the room were ordered forth. We were all told to find a seat and sit. Now she said she was going to call the petit jury type roll call.

Some guy in the back raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"What's petit mean," he asked?

She raised an eyebrow and answered, "Small."

I am meanwhile trying to determine the time on the watch of a man across from me. I could not quite get the angle of the hands. It looked to be perhaps a bit before 10:00 or a bit after 10:00 or it could have been about 11:00.

She was calling roll. Again the "yeses", "heres" and "presents" until she came to a man seated to the front of me. She called his name.

"Shake 'n' bake," he answered.

She sternly repeated his name.

"Here, " he humbly replied.

When she called my name I gave a stout "here" in return.

Darn, I wish I could figure out the guy's watch. How long have we been here and then I heard my name called again.  She was back to calling little groups to her. I was going to find out what the mysterious paper was. I went forward and was handed the questionnaire I had filled out and sent back right after I received my summons. Two areas were highlighted in green. She whispered in my ear I must fill these space in. One was for my work number, which I had left blank because at the time I had no idea what my work number was. The other was Race. I had deliberately left that blank on principle. (It is too long to explain my stand on race here, that will take some future post.)

I went and filled in the spaces, hoping the number on the little folded yellow Post-it I fumbled from my wallet really was my work number, and returned it to her. I wasn't about to argue my theory on race with the sergeant. I had no intention of doing pushups in a mud puddle. I handed in my completed form and returned to my seat.

When, I wondered, will we ever be called to a jury if at all?

If not at all, when would we be dismissed?

And what was the time on that guy's watch?

The answers lay ahead.

Get Me to the Court on Time.

I got my Certificate of Participation. I fulfilled my civic duty and I am glad the ordeal is a done deed and over with.

I got the summons a month ago, the day I had been granted my vacation week for mid-September. I came home and announced to the Little Woman I had vacation the week of our anniversary, then I opened the mail to find I was ordered to Jury Duty on September 8, three days before my vacation would start. One doesn't want to spend their vacation in a courtroom, which was now a possibility.

Not only that there was the money situation. Money isn't something I have. Taking my vacation is costly enough, because I don't get paid for time off, and that includes vacation or serving on a jury. The justice system pays $20 per diem after the first day to jurors for their service.  For most people by the time they pay for gas, parking and lunch that $20 is eaten up. Even if I didn't have to pay for parking and skipped eating, that $20 doesn't come close to making up for my lost wages.

Nonetheless, there is nothing to be gained by moaning about it, one must go. Early Wednesday morning I set off to the city for my day at court. I parked three miles out from my destination. That is how far from center of town you must go to find free parking on the street. In the center of things are parking meters that won't cover the time you must be there or parking garages, which will for a good price. One mile out and you still have street parking limited to two hours, and you will get a ticket.

But I'm a walker and three miles is no big deal. Now came a decision. I wanted to limit what I had because of the security measures at the court. (My friend, Ron, would hate being called to Jury Duty. You can bring no cameras, no cell phones, no electronic devices -- so there would be no picture taking in the courthouse. Trying to enter with any such devices would result in their confiscation.) This brought a question to my mind about my hat. I always wear my hat (baseball cap, actually) when out. You see several years ago I suffered Graves Disease and it left me with eyes that are oversensitive to sunlight (and sometimes overhead lights in buildings) and if the sun is bright, without my hat I become blind as a bat. Sunglasses do nothing for me. It is the downward angle of light and the only thing which works is a good hat brim.

But I wasn't sure if my hat would be welcome in court.  I know, it was probably a dumb concern, but I didn't know, so I fretted about it. I wore an old cap driving in because it was one easily folded and tucked into a back pocket, but when I finally parked I wondered if I wanted even that hassle. The day was a bit overcast as I drove and the forecast was calling for some mid-day rain, so I left the hat in the car.

Ha, where did the overcast go? I came the first mile and as I crossed the interstate as the edge of the downtown area the sun was mid sky and bright. I was walking directly into this fiery ball. This was not good, but a line of small trees was not far and once I reached them it blocked that red globe. Except now the big red globe was to my left. What in the world was this? How could the sun be directly ahead, but also off to my left? Was this the end of the world? Were were two suns in the sky about to turn us to a cinder?

As I cleared the line of trees I saw my dilemma. The sun was indeed to my left, but it was reflecting in all it's brightness off the top of a mirrored high rise directly ahead. I was hatless in a double whammy. Too late now, I could only squint and hurry as quickly as my arthritic feet would take me to the shadows of the downtown buildings.

Now here's the thing, the court information was very empathic about time of arrival. My summons read I must report at 8:30 AM. However, on it and on the court website, in bold print it stated if you arrived before 8:15 you could not get into the courthouse proper. You could get into the atrium, it said, but warned there were no benches or chairs or water or food or any other creature comforts to be found in the atrium and you would have to suffer there in deprivation until 8:15 when security would begin allowing you passage forward.

I knew I had parked my car about 7:00 and I can walk three miles in forty-five minutes, but I was not certain of what time it was since I wear no watch. There is a large clock on a pedestal on the same street as the court, so I went to the clock. It was 8:47. I then turned down the next cross street because I knew a park was behind these buildings and I found a bench and sat down. I would wait here for a while rather than arrive at the court and it's alarming atrium before 8:15.

I sat and thought about not much of anything. I watch a few people go by. A pretty young woman in business attire came by and went up the long set of steps that joined this street with the other between these buildings. I followed her progress up. Her skirt had a long slit up the back from the hem to her...well, her rounder parts. Going up the steps she showed a lot of leg and then some.

I then watched an old man with a cane come down those steps, clinging to the railing and then the wall for the final few where no railing existed. I wondered if he did this every day.

I decided to go up the steps myself and check the clock. As I approached the steps what did I see? The clock, plainly visible at the very top from where I stood. If I had sat a bench further over I would have been able to watch the time seated. It was two minutes to eight.  I went and sat on a bench where I could watch the hands and decided I would head to the court when they reached five after.

It was two or three blocks further to the courthouse. I'm sure I arrived at the doors a bit before 8:15, it certainly wouldn't take me more than ten minutes to walk that distance.  I pushed through the front doors and there before me was security.

Let me say things had changed since the last time I was called for jury duty. I was called about this same time of year in 1998 just as they were about to embark on the biggest trial in the city during my life here. A very prominent, well-to-do lawyer with many political connections had been charged with the murder of his mistress and the dumping of her body at sea. I went in with some thought of being selected on that jury. That would have been a long trial (and indeed it was going from October 26, 1998 to January 19, 1999), but in those days I would have been paid my salary by my employer for the duration.

That was before 9/11. When I reported back then one simply walked through some metal detectors and as long as no bells and whistles went off one went directly to the jury services room. Not so this time. This time I had to empty all the content of my pockets into a little plastic box and hand it to the security guard. (Women had to place their pocketbooks on a conveyer for x-raying. Then the security guard asked if I had any metal on me. I held up my left hand.

"Just my wedding ring and my belt buckle," I said.

"You will have to remove the belt," he said.

I removed the belt and placed it in that plastic box atop my wallet and keys and reading glasses. I stepped through the metal detector, grateful my pants stayed up. No bells sounded.

I then had to lift my pant legs so the guard could examine my shoes. Then I was given the plastic box to carry to a table where I could put myself back together, still grateful my pants remained where they should be.

I walked down a long corridor to the Jury Assembly Room and stepped in the doorway.

What the hey?

There was a line that began where I stood and went all along the wall down a short hall, around the corner and along the wall of the room. At one point it went down another hall and came back and continued around the room and back out the entry hall to the clerk station, where you had to show your summons.

So tell me, if I arrived just at 8:15 and you couldn't get into the building before 8:15, where did all these people come from?

There were already some people through the checkin process and seated in the room. And you know what? When I finally snaked my way slowly around that entire large room and handed over my summons that line was just as long as when I entered.

Once checked in, I went back into the room and found a seat all the way in the extreme back right corner. The seats were filling up and the line wasn't shrinking. People just kept coming and coming. Chairs were filling with bodies and the line wasn't any smaller and there was no air conditioner going and it was getting very warm.

Something told me this was going to be a long day.