From the Eyes of a Juror

by Frank Terranova

  As we can plainly see, Newlan’s juror number was “33”, and the first thought that came rushing into his fanatical head was, “Larry Bird’s number…that’s gotta be a good omen!”

  You see, the Boston Celtics were in the NBA Finals, which were set to begin tomorrow night, and from Newlan’s rabid, superstitious-sports-fan vantage point, having the same number as the ex-Celtic great had to be a positive sign that the Celtics were destined to win another championship.

  As to whether the number “33” would affect the status of his civic duty in any way, Newlan had no idea, and at that moment he didn’t really care. The only thing that mattered was his belief that this random stroke of numerical kismet would bring back the Leprechaun, the Shamrock, and the long lost luck of the Irish to the Celtics…and that was good enough for him.

  What factor, if any, Newlan’s lucky number “33” would actually play in the Green Team’s fortunes is a discussion for another day, but the double three’s certainly would not turn out to be a favorable draw in the lottery that he was about to be entered into.

  Once Newlan’s paperwork was deemed to be in order, the court officer explained that he could take a seat anywhere in the assembly room, or hang out in the hallway, but he had to be sure that he was within earshot of the speaker system. And he then went on to provide Newlan with the same stern sermon that he gave to all the jurors who made their way through his courthouse.

  “If your number’s called and you don’t respond, you’ll be marked absent and you’ll have to come back to serve again another day. And what’s worse, you could be fined up to two thousand dollars…so I would advise that you pay attention.”

  And although the court officer spoke with authority, Newlan was unimpressed by his warnings. He just wasn’t in the mood for it. He had been through this drill many times before so he was familiar with the routine by now, and he didn’t need some dumb pseudo-cop lecturing him.

  “Don’t worry, when my number is called I’ll be ready, you can be damned sure of that,” absent-mindedly grunted a defiant Newlan in what appeared to be an involuntary stream-of-consciousness foreshadowing. Whether he was referring to being seated on a jury, or perhaps contemplating the end of his earthly journey through space-and-time, not even he could say for sure. But in any event, as it would turn out, he wasn’t quite prepared to face-off against either one of these momentous turning-points in his life; for there are some milestones in our mortal existence that no amount of foresight can prepare us for.

  Newlan’s double entendre had him feeling a bit dazed-and-confused as he stumbled into the waiting area, which was getting quite crowded, but he found an empty seat at the front of the room and he pulled out one of a handful of Rolling Stone magazines that he had brought along with him to kill the time.

  After ten minutes or so, a petite woman of about 40 years of age sat down next to Newlan, which was no big deal given that most of the other seats in the cavernous room were already taken except for a few chairs in the first couple rows, but it perked his interest nonetheless.

  Newlan hastily decided that the situation called for a cool, calm, and collected plan of attack, and as such he gave the woman a slight nod, acknowledging her presence, before promptly going back to reading his magazine…but not before unobtrusively checking her out first. As a single man, Newlan constantly had his radar going, and he considered any social event, be it a wedding, or a funeral, or even jury duty, as a potential opportunity to meet a dating partner.

  Whenever Newlan went on one of these reconnaissance missions, he routinely made it a point to glance at the woman’s fingers, looking for evidence of a wedding ring, before getting in too deep (after of course first checking out for the all-important physical attributes). And as it turned out, the woman now seated next to him wore no rings at all, and she wasn’t bad-looking, so that in itself was a signal to send in the reinforcements.

  Passing the wedding ring test was critical to Newlan because he had long ago formulated a strict policy of never fooling around with married women, and the rationale behind this decision was very sound indeed.

  “After all you never know when some jealous husband might come around looking for you with a gun,” reasoned Newlan, and he had no idea just how astute this observation would turn out to be.

  Although, if truth be told, Newlan would be the first to admit that he didn’t always obey his own guidelines to the letter of the law…but then again, that was when he was young and stupid. Sure, he had had an encounter or two with a bevy of desperate housewives, but “what’s done is done” as he liked to say, and at least he learned from his mistakes.

  Beyond the jealous husbands, Newlan’s dilemma had just as much to do with the fact that anytime he had one of these illicit trysts, he was guaranteed to be troubled by a guilty conscience afterwards. And what was worse, for days on end, he’d be plagued by a strange feeling that there was some sort of tell-tale sign giving away his cheating heart; it was as if everyone was staring at him, judging him, passing along his dirty little secrets in gossiping whispers; it was as if he had been branded with a scarlet letter which was broadcasting the news of his indiscretions to the entire world, and it always left him feeling vulnerably exposed.

  Newlan eventually came to the realization that this was no way to live, and he hadn’t shacked up with another man’s wife in quite some time. Although, perhaps his respite had more to do with the fact that the opportunity just hadn’t presented itself in quite some time. After all, it isn’t an everyday occurrence that a married woman drops into your lap like a leaf from a tree; even though, if we are being forthright, we all know that it does happens more often than we would care to admit.

  Like most men, Newlan was weak when it came to the sins of the flesh. He was also astute enough to acknowledge that, even now, in a moment of indecisiveness, he might still give in to temptation. And so he did his best to keep his distance from the flirtatious advances of any and all diamond-studded, ring-wearing suitors who crossed his path; he did his best to avoid the smoldering eye-contact that a married co-worker would occasionally send in his direction; he did his best to shield himself from the dangerous liaisons that have led to the demise of so many a man.

  On the other hand, when it came to single women, that was a different story; all bets were off and it was every man for himself as far as Newlan was concerned. He still enjoyed the discovery and excitement of a new amour; it was just the predictability and the eventual boredom that came along with long-term relationships that he didn’t care for so much.

  As it is plain to see, Newlan had some serious commitment issues. However, he was well aware of the fact that he was stubbornly set in his ways, and he didn’t need anyone telling him as much. But despite his disapproval, lots of people would remind him of his shortcomings anyway.

  As we have already learned, Newlan had plenty of female companions, and he was perfectly happy with the life that he had chosen for himself. Sure he went out on his share of casual dates, but he had pretty much resigned himself to being a life-long bachelor, and he wondered why his so-called “friends and loved ones” couldn’t resign themselves to that fact as well. And sure he understood that they all had his best interests at heart, but sometimes he wanted to tell everyone to just leave him alone and mind their own business.

  The only woman that Newlan ever really loved was his high school sweetheart, Marianne Plante. But that was eons ago, and lamentably it didn’t work out due to his immaturity; or plainly put, he did way too much partying back in those days for Plante’s tastes, and as such, he pretty much scared her off for good. But, as he had often said, just because it didn’t work out with Plante, that didn’t mean he had to stop trying to meet “Ms. Right”; for despite his confirmed bachelorhood status, he still had visions of someday being swept off his feet by the perfect woman…and so when the lovely lady seated next to him in the assembly room struck up a conversation, he was all ears.

>   “I heard that they’re calling in 300 jurors a day just to handle all of these murder trials,” exclaimed the friendly stranger.

  “Well there gonna need them, since I’m sure, one way or another, most of these people are gonna get themselves out of being on a jury,” replied Newlan with a smile.

  “How do you figure?” asked the woman who then added, “by the way, my name is Gloria…Gloria Moorhead.”

  Newlan sensed a friendliness in Moorhead’s tone, which put him at ease, and so he extended his hand as he went non-stop right back into expounding upon his theory.

  “Hi I’m Frank Newlan, nice to meet you. I just think that most of these people are gonna come up with any excuse they can think of…whether it’s work-related…or a medical condition…or some of them will even claim that they can’t speak English. You name it and someone’s thought of it. I’m telling you, people will do anything to get off jury duty, and who can blame them?”

  “Oh, I guess I just never thought of it that way,” confessed Moorhead as Newlan inconspicuously gaped at her.

  Desperate to keep the conversation going, Newlan chuckled and added, “Now me however, I won’t lie to get off jury duty…but I may try acting crazy and see if that helps. Also, if you’ll notice, I haven’t cut my hair in a while…well that’s on purpose. I decided I’d put it off until after jury duty…I figure it never hurts to look a little scraggily.”

  Moorhead shot Newlan a skeptical look, but he shrugged his shoulders in return as he sheepishly contended; “Hey, you never know.”

  Moorhead smiled back at Newlan and lightly touched his wrist as she spoke.

  “I think you look fine…so don’t expect to get off that easy.”

  Newlan recalled reading somewhere that whenever a woman touches your arm while talking to you, it’s considered a sign of flirting, and so his interest in Ms. Gloria Moorhead was definitely perking up.

  “And with a name like Moorhead, imagine the possibilities,” thought the devilish Newlan.

  Moorhead had dark skin and straight, medium length, jet-black hair. She wasn’t bad looking at all, although she did have a tiny mole on her upper right lip; not a Cindy Crawford beauty-mark type of a mole, but more of an unsightly blemish. And yet despite her flaws, all things considered, Moorhead wasn’t looking too shabby…or so thought Frank Newlan.

  “Besides, I’m no prize myself,” reasoned Newlan.

  At some point over the years, Newlan had come to the realization that he may have set his standards a bit too high, and he was suddenly becoming much more realistic in his old age when it came to the women he dated.

  Feeling good about his chances, Newlan was just about to make a provocative comment to Moorhead when the chief court officer approached the podium at the front of the room and asked for everybody’s attention.

  “Damn it. Just when I was making some headway with my new friend, Ms. Gloria Moorhead,” silently whispered Newlan in the best John Houseman impression he could muster.

  From the looks of things, it was time for the orientation speech, which Newlan was already quite familiar with from his previous jury duty experiences. He recalled that the court officer in charge of the orientation would usually begin by trying to tell a few jokes (which if he was lucky might get some muted laughter) before moving on to the crux of the presentation, and sure enough the amateur comedian once again gave it his best stand-up routine.

  “Now listen up, if you are one of the ‘unlucky ones’ who doesn’t get chosen for a trial, we will do our best to get you out of here as soon as possible…maybe even by noon or early afternoon…and you will still be credited for a full day of service. Of course, you are free to go back to work, but don’t worry, we won’t tell your employer if you decide to go shopping for the rest of the day,” explained the court officer to a few smiles, but mostly silent, stone faces.

  The court officer then warned everyone against wandering off, and he reminded them that they had to be ready to go if their number was called upon to be taken up to a courtroom.

  “Otherwise you will be marked absent, and you will have to return for jury duty again on another day, or even worse you could be fined up to two thousand dollars.”

  Every scenario that the court officer came up with for missing an announcement, such as being in the bathroom, or going for a walk down the hallway, or going outside for a cigarette, was following by the same mantra of, “otherwise you’ll be marked absent and you will have to return for jury duty again on another day, or even worse you could be fined up to two thousand dollars.”

  The court officer went on to say that they would be watching a brief informational video shortly, and after that a judge would be coming in to address them.

  Newlan vaguely remembered the awful video (it apparently hadn’t been updated in decades), but he didn’t recall a judge addressing the prospective jurors in the past, so he thought that maybe at least that might be somewhat interesting.

  The video started off with the soothing voice of a friendly, female, African American judge welcoming everyone to jury duty and thanking them for their time before she began covering some basic courtroom concepts such as the difference between a criminal and a civil trial.

  The prospective jurors learned that a trial typically pitted the State (for criminal trials) or the plaintiff (for civil trials) vs. the defendant. They were also educated on the fact that criminal trials required a unanimous verdict while civil trials required a 10 to 2 decision.

  The video went on to explained how each lawyer could use “peremptory challenges” to remove a limited number of jurors without cause.

  “If you are challenged, you should not take it personally,” counseled the celluloid judge, and if Newlan had been paying attention he would have known that she was the powerful, high-ranking Supreme Judicial Court Chief Justice, Margaret H. Marshall.

  Newlan again thought back to his prior jury duty experiences, where he had almost been selected onto a few criminal trials, only to get booted off by the district attorney each time; and each time, he did feel slightly offended; each time, he did get upset; each time, he absolutely did take it personally, regardless of what some talking-head on a video monitor was advising him to do.

  Newlan regarded the act of being challenged by the DA to be an indication that he was somehow unfit or unqualified to serve as a juror. But in the end, he always rationalized his removal by reminding himself that he didn’t really want to be on a jury in the first place.

  The video finally finished after about twenty minutes, and as the lights flickered back on, Newlan had to laugh when he looked around the room only to observe countless pairs of sleepy, narrow eyelids peering back at him.

  “Great,” thought Newlan after the video was over, “now I can get back to my conversation with the lovely Ms. Moorhead.”

  But before he could so much as get another word in edgewise, the head court officer was back at the podium asking for everyone’s attention again.

  “Ladies and gentleman, I’d like to introduce you to superior court Judge Paul DeMarco who would like to say a few words to you” declared the court officer, and the announcement immediately captured Newlan’s attention.

  “Judge DeMarco? It couldn’t be the same Judge DeMarco who presided over my stupid case, could it?” wondered Newlan. But sure enough it was him…one and the same.

  “He’s gotta be close to 80 years old by now,” thought an awe-struck Newlan, and all he could do was shake his head and mumble, “man, you can’t make this shit up”; it was a favorite expression of his, an expression he would use often in the coming weeks.

  The semi-retired Judge DeMarco still possessed a perfectly sculpted head of gray hair, and like Gloria Moorhead, he also had a deep, dark tan, but otherwise, he looked just as Newlan remembered him.

  “Jeez, I gotta get me some sun, I look like a ghost next to these people,” silently griped Newlan as Judge DeMarco slowly made his way to the
podium with his black robe dragging the ground behind him.

  The honorable judge then went on to make the following eloquent, albeit well-rehearsed, speech:

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and on behalf of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I’d like to thank you for reporting to jury duty today.”

  “The main point I’d like to stress this morning is that citizens like you, who are willing to serve as jurors, truly form the foundation of our democracy. The right to a trial by a jury of one’s peers stands as a safeguard of our civil liberties…and serving on a jury is by far one of the greatest responsibilities that will ever be entrusted upon you as citizens of our great state.”

  “Ever since colonial times when our first pilgrims came across the Atlantic, they brought with them the concept of trial by jury, and in fact, Thomas Jefferson once said, ‘I consider trial by jury to be the only anchor ever yet imagined by which a government can be held to the principles of its constitution’.”

  “Outside of serving in the military, I, like Thomas Jefferson, also consider jury duty to be one of the greatest duties that we as citizens may perform in order to protect our constitutional freedoms. Ordinary people such as yourselves are entrusted with extraordinary authority; to listen to the facts in a case and arrive at a verdict.”

  “Sharing the responsibility in our judicial system prevents governmental corruption and tyranny, and as one of our chief justices once said; ‘jurors bring fresh minds.’ People from any and all walks of life are eligible to serve as jurors. All that is required of you is the ability to listen and to use your common sense.”

  “Our system is called the One-Day/One-Trial system, meaning that you are only obligated to show up for one day, and, if you are not impaneled, you will be released from your service for at least three years. If you are impaneled, you will be required to serve for the length of the trial which can last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks and in rare cases sometimes even a few months. However, most of you will complete your civic duty within three days, and the overwhelming majority of you will have completed your service by the end of the day.”

  “The Office of Jury Commissioner endeavors to furnish juries that include a fair representation of our populace. If you were to be charged with a crime, I’m sure you would want and expect the jury to be impartial, and so, naturally, all who appear before the court should be given the same consideration.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, each day over one thousand of your fellow citizens report for jury duty at one of the many courthouses across the Commonwealth, so you are not alone. And since we no longer allow exemptions of any kind, other than age and illness, our jurors can come from all sorts of professions, include judges and lawyers.”

  “Today you are sitting in the Middlesex Superior Courthouse where we hear cases ranging from relatively minor offenses right on up to first degree murder trials. As a matter of fact, we have a number of high-profile cases that are impaneling juries today…and you could very well find yourself on of one of these juries.”

  “Over the course of the day our court officers will do everything in their power to keep you informed as to your status, but we hope you can understand that oftentimes they will not be able to share any details with you. And even though you might feel secluded here in the waiting area, you can rest assured that we are working hard in the courtroom, taking care of the business at hand; business that we might not be able to complete if you were not here…ready, willing, and able to assist us in the process of meting out justice in a fair and consistent manner.”

  “In conclusion, let me reminder you that even if you are not selected to serve on a jury, the mere presence of jurors in the courthouse is invaluable to us. You see ladies and gentlemen, just the fact that you are here will influence many parties to come to a settlement before they ever go to trial. I can tell you from my experience alone that it happens quite often. A defendant may be willing to accept a plea bargain in a criminal case, or a litigant in a civil case may agree to a settlement, all because the parties know that good people such as you are here, waiting to be seated on their jury.”

  “Again, on behalf of the Commonwealth, I thank you for coming, and I want you to know that you truly make a difference in our judicial system.”

  With his speech finished, Judge DeMarco stepped down from the podium, and as he did, Newlan contemplated running over to him and asking whether he remembered “the case of the street-corner beer drinkers”, but ultimately he decided that he’d be best served to turn his attention back to Ms. Gloria Moorhead instead.

  “Well, that was a nice gesture, having a judge address us and all…except that it was basically the same speech that the judge in the video gave us,” remarked Newlan. “Sure, Judge DeMarco, who by the way is an old friend of mine, added some nice touches, such as mentioning the pilgrims and Thomas Jefferson…but come on now, that stuff’s ancient history. Talk about being melodramatic!”

  “You’re so funny Frank,” giggled Moorhead. But all kidding aside, the speech actually did help to foster a feeling within Newlan that he was doing an important service; although at the moment, all matters relating to Ms. Gloria Moorhead took precedence over this coincidental close-encounter with his distant past.

  Newlan looked over at Moorhead and casually purred, “So…where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?”

  It was clear from her body language that Moorhead was definitely showing an interest in Newlan, but before she could respond, a voice over the intercom announced, “Would jurors number 1 through 75 please take all your belongings and line up in the hallway.”

  “Aw hell,” groused Newlan, “what number do you have?”

  “143,” replied Moorhead with a pout as she showed Newlan her juror card.

  Newlan was now faced with a predicament; should he ask Moorhead for her phone number and take a chance at being rejected? What did he have to lose? If she said no, he’d never see her again anyway.

  However in Newlan’s mind, he had a lot to lose; a little thing called self-respect. He hated the bitter sting of rejection so much that he’d very rarely ask a woman out on a date unless he was already 99.9% sure that she would say yes. This practice led to numerous occasions over the years where an aggressive, courting female would practically have to hit him over the head with a hammer to get him to notice that she were flirting with him…and only then would he build up the nerve to ask her out.

  Because of this irrational fear (one of many by the way in a long list of Newlan’s character flaws), he was hoping to converse with Moorhead a bit longer to ensure that she wasn’t just teasing him, before proceeding with caution.

  But in the end, unable to make a rushed decision, Newlan threw in the towel and simply said, “It was a pleasure talking to you.”

  Moorhead extended her hand and replied, “you too.”

  She then winked and added, “oh, and good luck getting off whatever case they’re bringing you to.”

  Newlan gave her an unintentional grimace as he got up and slowly walked away, while at the same time thinking, “Curses…foiled again.”

  As Newlan got to the arch of the door leading to the hallway, he turned and looked back; he had to look back, he always looked back. He was going to say something to Moorhead; he had to say something to Moorhead, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Meanwhile, it appeared as if Moorhead was about to say something too, but she was tongue-tied as well, and all she could manage was to form a wisp of a smile and wave goodbye.

  “Oh well, just two ships that passed in the night,” muttered Newlan as he sadly made his way to the end of the growing line that was forming out in the hallway, where all around him a slew of court officers were herding up prospective jurors as if they were a flock of sacrificial lambs…headed off to slaughter.