Juries and Jury Duty: What is it like to be a juror?

I’ll answer based on my one experience as a juror; it was enlightening for future work. I was selected just as I was beginning my first year of law school.

The defendant was charged with driving under the influence of alcohol. He blew a .23, about three times the legal limit today. Then, in 1979, the limit was .10, but unlike today, it was not a presumption of guilt. The prosecutor had to prove his erratic driving was the result of being intoxicated. The test was nothing more than a piece of evidence, not the determining factor.

The prosecutor was a young man with a belligerent attitude. The defense attorney was an older man with a balding head and graying beard. Unlike the prosecutor, he looked gentlemanly and distinguished. From working in the clerk of the court’s office, I knew both.

For about six hours, we listened to testimony. The breathalyzer test was explained in a way that was understandable. The defendant took the stand in his own defense. He had been visiting his girlfriend in Akron and was going home to the Youngstown area. His drive required him to pass through our county at about 2:30 a.m. He admitted drinking but attributed his poor driving to being tired.

The prosecutor smirked and questioned him to the point of ridicule. The defense attorney remained the calm professional we, the jury, perceived him to be.

After closing arguments, which were better than the trial in highlighting the contrasting styles of the attorneys, we retired to the jury room. I lived in a somewhat small but growing rural county. One of the jurors was from my hometown. We numbered six, all with varying backgrounds. We introduced ourselves with a little background statement to get to know each other. Because I was in law school, I was selected as a jury foreman.

Not much of a reason to be selected foreman, and it didn’t carry much weight. But it did give me a certain privilege, it seems. I suggested an immediate vote without much discussion to gauge where we were. It was something I’d seen in a movie(12 Angry Men), and I thought we were already unanimous. It had to be discussed, though, and the discussion really turned to our thoughts on the case, which means it initially failed.

The opening shot came from the man I knew from where I grew up. He didn’t like the reliance on the machine the prosecutor thought so important. To him, it was like our jobs weren’t important. Our decision was being made for us by the result of a test, not for him and a couple more chimed in to support this view. It opened the door to the defendant driving erratically to being tired, not because he was under the influence of alcohol. We knew the defendant’s entire day from his testimony before beginning his roughly hour drive home.

It was not explicitly stated, but we knew what it was like to drink. We also knew it could be tiring driving that time of night regardless of drinking. The story was plausible and created doubt, but something more important was becoming apparent.

The jurors spoke of the demeanor, not of the defendant but the prosecutor. Frankly, he wasn’t liked. The defense attorney was, though. That, and not liking machines, made the outcome of the vote inevitable.

We marched back into the courtroom in an hour, maybe a little less. My real duty as the foreman was to announce the verdict after the judge reviewed it. Our finding of not guilty was met with an angry outburst from the prosecutor as he stood and walked out of the courtroom before it was over.

The judge then thanked us. Now it was over, pretty much. The defense attorney and his client stood. The attorney thanked us for our time and consideration on behalf of his client, calling him by name. His client nodded his assent. Now we were finished.

So, as far as the cartoon, we found the defendant not guilty in significant part because of the arrogance of the prosecutor. Se La Vie, as we say here.

The Gadsden flag is a historical symbol of American patriotism. This flag features a coiled rattlesnake set against a yellow background, ready to strike. Beneath the rattlesnake are the words “Don’t Tread on Me.”

The rattlesnake was chosen for America’s readiness to defend itself against any threat. The flag has been described as the “most popular symbol of the American Revolution.” Today, groups and individuals often use it to express a strong commitment to personal liberty and limited government intervention.

The flag has been co-opted by groups and countries that did not have the original intent of it in mind. The flag is named for Christopher Gadsden, a delegate from South Carolina to the

Gadsden flag

Continental Congress who designed the flag in 1775. But it was Ben Franklin, who had designed a rattlesnake symbol in 1754, that best described it.

In December 1775, Franklin published an essay in the Pennsylvania Journal under the pseudonym “American Guesser,” in which he suggested that the rattlesnake was a good symbol of the American spirit and its valuation for vigilance, assertiveness, individualism, unity, and liberty.

I love resurrecting this from time to time, with slight modifications. First, it has an important message; second, it’s a cute picture of me.

So many times, I’ve warned people about what they post on social media and always used a sample pic. Innocently taken pictures posted to social media sometimes come back to haunt you in a custody case.

That said, I found this picture of me when I was four. I have one of my dad’s cigars in my mouth, which is not good to do in today’s world. My fingers look a little close to the wall outlet, too. The bad thing is, I’ve smoked almost ever since-not good. Of course, I blame my parents as kids do. But I did quit about a few years ago, but that’s not important to this.

We didn’t call it Child Protective Services (CPS) back in those days, but be warned, had CPS, as it exists now, come out after someone reported this, think about it. It would have found we didn’t have heat except for the gas stove in the living room, and sometimes, when it was freezing cold, my mom would light up the gas stove in the kitchen and leave it open in an attempt to bake me. No way to heat a roughly 700-square-foot home, that’s for sure.

Plus, when another child was born, I lost my bedroom, and my parents stuck me in a non-bedroom off the living room that felt during the winter like 34 degrees.

My shirt is buttoned to the top to choke me, and my pants were bought to fit two or three years, which meant I tripped over my pant legs in the beginning until they turned into flood pants. My pants went from a danger hazard to a showing of neglect. I don’t understand why my hair has a skunk look to it. At that age, I was platinum blond.

Yep, someone would have lost custody, or I would have ended up in a series of foster homes for sure. I lucked out. My parents were good, though not perfect. We couldn’t afford certain things, like heat. Well, we had heat; it just didn’t warm the house or my bedroom. Plus, what kid that age doesn’t smoke, right? The point is that innocent and cute things can get turned around.

Seriously, though, be careful about what you post. If you’re on the other side of a case, social media is the first place I will check you out.