Time Spent on Jury Duty

Tags

civic duty, court, courtroom, Hamlet, Jury Duty, Rosie

Spring 2018. That’s when it all began.

I guess it’s been long enough now that I can write about it. I am less rabid. More detached. Time has passed…

As tyme hem hurt, a tyme doth hem cure

Chaucer in Troilus & Criseyde

Perhaps.

* * *

Jury Duty.

I was actually looking forward to doing my civic duty.

I felt I was right up there with “Rosie”!

I was stepping up and shouldering my responsibilities as a citizen of the United States. I owed it to my fellow citizens to perform this service with a serious outlook – preserving not only the accused’s rights to a trial by jury, but in a broader sense, my own!

I was even sort of looking forward to it. I am “retired” – at least on paper – so at times I am bored out of my mind. [sigh]

And I had never been called before. So having something different to do for the month of April seemed like at least an interesting thing if not a “good thing”.

I suppose I was right about the “interesting” part anyway…

The Notice

I got my summons in the mail during one of the what had become ubiquitous snow storms in early March of 2018…along with a stern warning about fines and jail time if I didn’t show up or call in to get excused.

I read the reasons for being excused and decided that I was 1) not over 80 (yet!), 2) able to drive myself around, and 3) not suffering from some debilitating disease…oh, I don’t know…Malaria, Meningitis, Mad Cow Disease…they were not specific.

Little did I know that by the time the selection process was done, I would FEEL over 80, hardly be able to WALK, much less DRIVE, and probably would have contracted SWINE FLU. Therein lies the rub…(a misquotation from Hamlet who actually opines “there’s the rub”.) Or more appropriately but less accurately, “therein lies my tale…”.

The Pre-Preparation

Of course, I didn’t know all that in March. So, brimming with my naive determination to perform my civic duty I filled out the WHITE card that I was supposed to keep SAFE and bring with me; added the first day of selection to my Google calendar, and squirreled away the YELLOW card that had my JUROR NUMBER on it that I was admonished to NOT LOSE and KEEP WITH ME at all times.

I assumed they meant at all times while I was doing my jury duty…not at all times while washing the floor, walking the dog, or brushing my teeth. (You know, I don’t even have to keep my social security card with me at ALL TIMES. In fact, I am admonished not to. Talk about Big Brother…)

Truth be told, however, the whole semi-clandestine process was making me feel so very, very, much a part of the ponderous wheels of justice.

Just look at that visage. And look at that beautiful sky! It was so much nicer than the gray, snow-driven sky out my window in March. I was captivated.

And while somewhere, way in the back of my mind, I must have been feeling just a tiny little bit apprehensive, those threats of incarceration, monetary punishment, and ridiculous over-bearing instructions made me feel secure in the knowledge that justice-for-all was alive and well in my little backwoods Maine hamlet. I quashed a stray unpatriotic thought that they were somewhat counter-intuitive to the whole notion of freedom, kept calm, and carried on, as the Brits would say.

Preparation

As is my wont, I decided to take a drive down to Belfast specifically to check out the parking around the courthouse. I am not what you would call seriously “disabled”, but I do have back problems and should not be hiking around the universe. I have my handicapped parking card and I was sure I could find someplace near to park.

Wrong. Not for the first time as it turned out.

Time Wounds All Heels

Groucho Marx

There were two handicapped spaces at the American Legion Hall, but only one in front of the Court House and that had a 2-hour limit on it. There was no long-term regular parking around the courthouse at all. I could either come an hour early so I could nab one the of the Legion spaces before the downtown parking rush, or I could park about a half a mile away and walk (ie: hobble) back up the hill from the public parking lot down by the town docks.

Thinking there must be some accommodation for handicapped jurors, I inquired within.

“Hi, I’m coming in for Jury Duty next week and I was wondering what was available for handicapped parking.”

“We don’t have any long-term handicapped parking.”

“Oh, Ok. So what would you suggest I do since I cannot walk from the docks to the courthouse.”

“Call a taxi.”

“Really? From Searsport? Do you reimburse jurors who need to find transportation?”

His steely stare was answer enough for that.

An Aside: We are talking rural Maine here…no public transportation at all. Searsport is up the coast from Belfast about 10 miles from the courthouse – not within any urban designation – and I think there are probably 2 Taxis within a 15 mile radius. Not only would I be paying for the privilege of doing my duty, but I would run the risk of being LATE for court since “on time” is a vague and amorphous notion around here. Forget the 20-minute rule – up here, as long as the date hasn’t turned, you fall within the forgiveness period. However, I somehow doubted the court would see it that way.

“Sorry, Ma’am”, that’s it. You can park up the street at the Taratine Tribe parking lot. They let our jurors use their lot.”

“That’s equally far away – just in the opposite direction?” Great, I am thinking. I can just stumble DOWN a steep hill to the court instead of UP it.

“Yes, Ma’am.” It wasn’t that he didn’t understand that he was merely offering an equally untenable solution – just down the hill in the morning and up it in the evening instead of vice versa – it was he didn’t care. So much for public service.

“Just for informational purposes – do you excuse people from jury duty who need handicapped parking which you do not provide?”

“No Ma’am.”

“Well, Ok then, thank you.”

“Have a nice day “Ma’am”.

Right. Didn’t I read something years ago about handicapped access for all public buildings? I was irked enough at that point to go look it up:

Maine Public Law Regarding Accessible Building Standards

There must be parking spaces designated for persons with physical disability set aside in adequate number and clearly marked for use only by the disabled. Set aside in adequate number means that, for every 25 parking spaces made available to the public on a public or private parking lot, at least one of those spaces must be made  vailable in an appropriate location for parking exclusively used by persons with physical disability.

ADA

The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) prohibits discrimination based on disabilities in public accommodations, employment, transportation, telecommunications, commercial facilities, and state and local government.

Title II of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) prohibits “public entities” (that includes State courts) from discriminating against individuals on the basis of disability. Title II directly requires that courts make jury service accessible by making reasonable modifications in policies, practices, and procedures, ensuring the opportunity for effective communications, and by increasing physical access in courtroom facilities.

“Jury Services for People with Disabilities” American Bar Association

They have built a little ramp at the front door. But then again, all ramps are not equal. You can’t open the door from that ramp if you are in a wheelchair since there is no automatic opener and there is not enough room for a wheelchair to go by the door far enough to turn around.

They have cleverly positioned the ramp on the side away from the opening…so it opens towards anyone standing on the ramp…preventing anyone from actually getting around the door to open it. One has to climb the steps on the other side to actually get into the building.

Of course, the fact that you can’t GET to the ramp (or the steps)  since there is no handicapped parking makes those two problems effectively moot.

I was only slightly reassured that I was not the only person in the universe who saw my situation in direct conflict with these laws. This article is about a woman in Florida who ran into the same problem…albeit her town government made accommodations for her.

Sometimes I wish I was wealthy enough to take some of these folks to court. That would be fun – taking the court TO court! On the other hand, I probably couldn’t get into the courtroom to do so…

Moving on…

The Day Of…

I opted to arrive an hour early and read a book in one of the two Legion handicapped spots until 8:15 when we were supposed to report.

It wasn’t all that close – the closer spot was already taken – but the “Bingo” slot was at least on the same street and not a half-mile away. While I read a Sherlock Holmes story on my Kindle and munched on my granola bar cum banana breakfast, I looked longingly at the new courthouse complex being built across the street.

This is an artist’s rendering of what it will look like, Right now it looks like a war zone. And I am ASSUMING they will have some sort of handicapped parking there.

Of course, “assuming” being what it is, they may not. Hopefully I will never need to find out.

This, on the other hand, is the existing courtroom building.

It is an old building, actually sort of lovely in that imposing Victorian way that old brick buildings tend to have. It was once sitting in a lovely section of Belfast overlooking the Bay.

Unfortunately, it is now sitting on a side street surrounded by old rotting wooden structures, another dilapidated brick building that houses a museum, a no-longer-in-business gas station with dilapidated pumps and who knows what lurking underground, and the afore-mentioned Legion across the street.

Karaoke and Contra Dancing on Sunday – Trials on Monday. Not all that uncommon in small New England towns I guess.

I let a woman with dual arm-crutches through the door who was fiddling with her paraphernalia trying to figure out how to remain upright and open the door at the same time. Once she was safely inside, I followed. We had specific instructions to walk to the 3^rd door on the left and check in. So, I counted doors, walked, and waited in line for a bit.

The woman with crutches asked about handicapped parking. She got the same answer I did. It was delivered with a bright smile and the added caution that “If you leave your car in the 2-hour handicapped spot out front, it will be towed.” Perhaps I was becoming jaundiced at this point, but it did seem to me that the guy checking us in was thoroughly enjoying telling folks what they could not do.

Since I had already been through the no-parking routine, I got checked in rather painlessly and was told to turn around and head upstairs to the courtroom.

Another Aside: Why is it that all public buildings built in the 1800s put their main public gathering spaces on the second floor? Schools, Churches, and courtrooms, all have their functional spaces on at least the second floor if not the third. And they all have eighteen-foot ceilings so the stair risers are overly tall.

The Waldo County court building was no exception. It had the added architectural novelty of sweeping granite, dual spiral stairs rising on either side of the door, a la Southern Plantation style.

Note: I would have taken a picture of the actual stairway but the smiling gentleman behind his information window came out to explain I was not allowed to take pictures of the building.

Again – really? In a public building my taxes support? Of a staircase? Again, I don’t have enough money to push the point.

This is a much more lovely example of the design obviously built to take human beings into account.

The stairs in the courthouse – in addition to being tall enough get up over the lofting  ceilings – were extra high (about 10 inches tall each)  to accommodate the need to fit the impressive arched staircases into the available space – which was not really deep enough to actually put the damn thing in to begin with. It was obviously designed by someone with a serious case of grandeur envy unencumbered by building codes of any shape or form or even human anatomy accommodation.

I knew it was hopeless, but I asked anyway.

“Do you have an elevator for people who will have serious trouble climbing those?”

“We have a lift ma’am.” The guy graced me with that glorious smile of his and I steeled myself. “You have to operate it yourself and it tends to not work a good deal of the time. I wouldn’t advise it.”

I wanted to reach out and smack him up the head with my backpack. I refrained only because I couldn’t afford the fine and potential jail time associated with accosting an officer of the court.

Resigned, I turned back to the stairs and hobbled my way up them.

I am short. Really short. I am 4 foot 10 inches tall and my lower leg is almost 13 inches from ankle to knee. (I know this because I measured it when I got home.) The stair risers were 10 inches high. So, I wasn’t climbing stairs as much as hiking up a pseudo-mountain trail. Each step was an effort.

That said, I had an easier time of it than the woman with the crutches. Two of the other gentleman reporting for jury duty leapt to her rescue and positioned themselves on either side of her to literally lift her up each step. They were heroes. She was mortified. I was outraged. We were all silently determined.

A quick gander at the top of the stairs revealed that the door of the “lift” opened behind the 12 foot high doors of the courtroom and would have required them to be shut to open at all. My guess was that anyone in the lift would have to pound on the door until someone noticed and shut the courtroom doors to let them out – or until the ancient hydraulics running it gave up the ghost and the whole contraption sank back to the first floor.

In either case, there was no way on earth I was going to be in that lift. It seemed that everyone else with a reason to require an elevator agreed with me…the elevator remained unused.

Did I mention I was beginning to have a bad feeling about this whole adventure?

Turn your wounds into wisdom.

Oprah Winfrey

The Courtroom

So finally, there I was – somewhat worse for wear but still game. Sort of. Marginally.

For someone like me, who loves old anything, the courtroom itself was right out of my dreams. Picture an 1890s vintage Masonic hall and you have a great picture of the room I was in. Mahogany pews, ornate hand-painted name plates of judges from the Bible circling the walls, 15-foot double-hung windows, painted murals…the whole nine yards.

This idyll was immediately destroyed by the head clerk rolling a portable multi-media cart into the center of the room.

I mean, I get it. We needed to be indoctrinated…first by Chief Justice Saufley (a woman who by all accounts is brilliant, approachable, and steadfast) who gave us a nice “welcome to your duty” kind of speech. She looked and sounded genuinely happy to have us in her “virtual” courtroom. Obviously, she had not been to the Waldo County Courtroom in person – otherwise I do not see how she could have kept the smile on her face.

She was followed by a pep talk about how to act in court, how to address the judge, how to answer questions, what to wear (more aptly put, what NOT to wear (no shorts, no belly-buttons, no bare feet, etc.), delivered by Bill Green (the perennial boy-scout of Maine TV fame) and the oh-so-politically-correct anonymous lady who pops up on my TV during the news to tell me how to be healthy as I age. In other words – nicely produced BS.

Actually, I suspect these videos were designed to distract us from the fact that we were being pushed together into the pews like sardines.

“Everybody get friendly – there are 120 of you!”

While I was being shoved into the corner of my pew, I did the math. The old wooden pews were designed to hold four adults on each side…eight total per pew. There were 10 pews. That’s 80 people using old math. That’s four extra per pew…not a soul in the room under age 50 that I could see…nor anyone under 150 pounds – many over 250 or 300 at a wild guess. I scanned the room for a fireman.

Nope.

I guess that the courts are not only exempt from Title II requirements, they are also exempt from local fire safety rules. Only one exit from the second floor, no fire escape, serious over-crowding. (There may have been a fire escape or back stairway behind the bench, but it was not marked as an exit and it was “verboten” territory.)

You gotta love it.

But you “don’t gotta love” being squished up against some woman who sounded like she had pneumonia and was coughing and sneezing all over everyone in a 20-foot radius with no regard to the “cover your cough” mantra.

I got out my hand sanitizer.

The Questionnaire

Once they had us packed in and lulled into passivity by the videos, they got down to business handing out a 7-page questionnaire for us to fill out with all sorts of really important questions. No really – they were important. It’s just that anyone who doesn’t want to be on a jury just needs to jot down a couple of ridiculous answers and out you go! You know…”Would you consider murdering someone who trespassed on your land?” “Yes!” (And bingo – you’re gone.)

And I must admit that being given a 2-inch long, hardly sharpened golf pencil and nothing sturdy to write on was not conducive to serious contemplation. So here we all sat, squished together trying to put check marks on sheets of paper with tiny printed questions. Really?

We were given 30 minutes to fill out the questionnaire. We were then pointed to a back hall that had been converted to a toilet and told if we absolutely could not wait, we could get up and use the facilities. Just about everyone did if only as an excuse to move our legs. (And – let’s be honest – the average age in the room was about 70, so this was not a crowd used to “holding it” for hours on end.) There is more room on a fully loaded 747  – and more bathrooms – than there were in that courtroom and at least the airplane has some modicum of a padded seat. (Yet again, my mind suggests to me that there are regulations about numbers of toilets and numbers of people  but this time I controlled myself and did not look it up. Fatigue.)

Our pews were straight out of Puritan New England…solid wood, narrow, and tilted forward so you had to brace yourself to keep from falling out. Of course, one would have had to figure out how to fall out since we were so close together that you would flop up against the poor fool in front of you should you do so.

I was tempted to get up and do jumping jacks, but I remembered the lecture about inappropriate behavior and controlled the urge.

The Wait

In the meantime, the 100 questionnaires were collected and we were instructed to either 1) wait in-situ  or 2) go to lunch but be back by 1:30 or be fined while the data on them was tabulated by hand. (I began to wonder if they made up some of their operating capital through Jury Duty fines…unkind of me I know…) We were not allowed to eat anything in the courtroom, so although I did not relish (pun intended) climbing up and down those stupid stairs again, I really did not want to have a low sugar episode, so I went downstairs to my car and ate my packed tuna fish sandwich lunch.

It was a nice day, so I didn’t mind sitting in the sun reading yet another Sherlock Holmes mystery while I waited.

Then back up to hear the “verdict” on jury duty.

Release

While I couldn’t bring myself to commit perjury on the questionnaire to make sure I was excused (Do you think women should be allowed to own guns? At least women might think before they pulled the trigger. Is there ever a circumstance under which it is legal to kill someone who is attacking you? So many variables, so little time to consider them…but maybe? Yes/No/Sometimes?) I did answer truthfully about having Diabetes and needing to eat regularly and being unable to find disabled parking and having to climb those granite stairs.

So I silently thanked Lady Justice and fled the scene as my name was read during the first group of excused jurors.

Freedom!

I should have been relieved – and on one level I was. I do not think I would have done very well surviving the courtroom environment. But I do think I would have been a good choice as a juror, and I felt somewhat guilty that a medical condition that any reasonable PUBLIC BUILDING should have been able to accommodate was the reason I was excused.

I felt that my freedom from jury duty was somehow in direct opposition to my freedom to live in a country where we can be tried by a jury of our peers. Peers in Belfast, Maine seem to be defined by anyone who does not need to park within a half mile of the court building, can go hours without eating or peeing, and can climb 10 inch stairs four times a day – five days a week.

While I cogitated on those conflicting observations I ran up against the woman in crutches. She had also been excused (any idiot would have excused her BEFORE making her climb up the stairs, but who am I to judge?).

She was hesitating at the top of the afore-mentioned glorious stairway which from her position now at the top of them must have looked like Tuckerman’s Ravine in New Hampshire, sans snow.

Her rescuers had not been excused and there was no one to help her down.

Stymied in my attempt to do Jury Duty, I opted instead for common courtesy.

“Hey, I’ll go down right in front of you. You can do it one at a time, as slow as you want and I will be in your way if you should fall.”

She smiled her thanks and we made our slow way back down to the main floor and the impossible-to-open-while-managing-crutches door.

“Thank God that’s over,” she said once outside and on the sidewalk. ”Oh, and thank you!” she added over her shoulder as an afterthought.

I was perfectly happy to be that kind of an afterthought. It added at least a little bit of purpose to my wasted day.

Time heals all wounds, unless you pick at them.

Shaun Alexander

I have always been a scab picker…