Lately, as a way to pass time on longer car trips, I have been listening to true-crime podcasts.
Yesterday, I tuned in to an episode about jury misconduct. One famous incident discussed on the program occurred in Essex, England, in 1995. A man named Stephen Young was accused of murdering a young couple during a botched robbery. While the jury was sequestered during the trial, four jurors were getting impatient with the time and inconvenience of a court case, so they decided to cut to the chase. Instead of relying on pesky courtroom details like witness testimonials, DNA evidence and statements from the victims’ next of kin to help make a decision, these jurors met in the hotel’s restaurant, broke out an Ouija board one man had smuggled into his room, and summoned up the murdered victims to ask them who committed the dirty deed.
The dearly departed, who apparently had plenty of time on their hands, were more than happy to spill the beans. The couple named Young as the culprit, and he was sentenced to life in prison. When word got out that the jurors used otherworldly means to decide Young’s fate, the accused was granted a new trial. A short time later, the defendant was again found guilty by a jury which used more conventional methods to render a decision.
My own experience with this legal process was much less dramatic. Ten years ago, I received an invitation in the mail to join 11 of my peers to sit on a jury. I was in equal parts surprised to learn people actually got called to perform this task and also that I had 11 peers in Washington County.
I decided to go to the courthouse on the assigned date because I was curious about the process and, more importantly, the letter said I would be subject to a $500 fine if I didn’t show up.
When I arrived, I joined 50 other citizens in a big room. We were called one at a time for the “voir dire” process, where the attorneys asked questions to ensure we would be impartial jurors. “Did you cheat when playing board games as a child?” “Have you ever driven a getaway car in the commission of a robbery?” “Do you believe crime pays?”
Once chosen for the jury, we went to the courtroom and met the judge. The gentleman whose case we were going to try had been accused of violating a pre-established court order and impeding the work of a law enforcement officer. This individual had decided to represent himself in the proceedings, which the judge explained was the man’s right as a citizen. The judge said the defendant was to be presumed innocent, and that it was the state’s responsibility to prove his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.
The judge was really big on this presumed innocent thing. In fact, for the next eight hours, everything was “alleged” this and “allegedly” that. “The alleged assailant performed an alleged crime on the alleged victim at allegedly 5:50 p.m. on Alleged Street in the town of Allegedly, Vermont.” I was starting to understand the concept of innocent until proven guilty … allegedly.
We listened to the facts as presented by the prosecutor, the defendant and witnesses for each side. Finally, the judge said it was time to retire to the jury room to decide the case. But first, he was going to appoint a jury “foreman.”
One thing I was sure of beyond a reasonable doubt: I wanted to be jury foreman. Unfortunately, before I could stick my hand in the air and scream “pick me!” the judge gave the designation to juror number 7.
In the jury room, the foreman asked the bailiff if we could have some coffee delivered. I suggested he ask for sandwiches and beer, but the foreman ignored me. Clearly, his newfound power had gone to his head.
Next, we the jury debated. We reread the judge’s instructions and debated some more. I didn’t see any Ouija boards; however, during one break in the action, I noticed two jurors playing hangman to kill time.
Eventually, we arrived at a verdict and were escorted back into the courtroom, where Mr. Bigshot Foreman did all of the talking.
“How does the jury find the defendant on the first count?” asked the judge.
“And how does the jury find the defendant on the second count?”
“Not guilty, your honor.”
And then we were done; our civic duty complete.
All in all, I found serving on the jury to be an interesting experience, and I will certainly do it again if I ever have the opportunity. Assuming, of course, I don’t have an alleged conflict. And they let me bring my Magic 8 Ball.
Mark S. Albury lives in Northfield Falls.
