Civic Slackers

 I laughed so hard I cried when MCW described to me the ridiculous performance he undertook to get out of serving on a jury last week here in Brooklyn.  A second degree murder case--surely not a pleasant experience.  I've been called to jury duty twice; the most recent time was in Manhattan, and the case would have inevitably been a boring one, someone suing a large company.  In the voir dire, I merely voiced the (maybe untrue) fact that I had very strong feelings about tort reform, and I knew I was home free. M on the other hand thought he'd go about it a little differently, and act like a crazy person.  Rolling his eyes, sighing audibly, looking around in a furtive manner.  He was called for questioning as luck (whose?) would have it, and when asked by the prosecution if he might possibly know anyone involved or related to the crime or the trial, looked around the courtroom, fixed his gaze on the man to his right and said "well, you look familiar judge."  They tossed him out.

     The first time I was called to jury duty was the summer after my freshman year of college--I'd postponed it three times while I was, first, out of the country, then second and third, at Sarah Lawrence.  I reported to the beautiful courthouse in downtown Albany, the only one there that day who looked (and most likely was) under 25.  I remember the case I was questioned for, involving a man who had hit someone on the head with a vacuum cleaner--not an easy image to forget.  Drugs were involved. But what I remember most was a shocking insight into other peoples' lives--and not those involved in the trial, but my fellow potential jurors.  We sat in the jury booth and the questions went down the line:  "How many children do you have?"  None yet. Two beautiful daughters.  My wife and I were never lucky enough to have any.  I remember turning to look at the man who answered last.  I can still see his profile in my mind, and feel the lump in my throat as a human story took shape in front of my eyes.  Of course, there are few greater parallels to the theatre than that of a court room, and the sober, moving reality of this human drama is something I think about with some frequency.  One sentance, one answer, hundreds of questions.   I recently read my mother's blog for the first time--she's not as prolific as I (full time job, what's that?), and I think she rode my coattails on the whole American Girl thing (I guess turnabout's fair play), but I thought her post about her time as a juror was really poignant, and here's where you can read it:    http://blogs.sage.edu/rsc_dean/2008/09/jury-duty/