The Silken Tent My Letter to the World September, 1999

My first hour that third day was spent indulging in pleasant conversation and really good sticky buns* with some people I knew from my "real life" -- the mother of a favorite student, an acquaintance from my high school days. At one point the judge whose courtroom was just above the eating area of the assembly room sent word that we breakfasters were getting a little loud. It had
begun to rain -- the Hurricane Floyd effects that would dominate our weather for the next three days -- and the resulting clamminess of the air seemed to permeate the furniture, the carpet, and my very bones. Two more panels were taken away for a voir dire, and by lunchtime I once again found myself confined to a panel seat, waiting.

Just before 2:00 my panel was taken down some stairs and seated for voir dire in a case involving a charge of indecent assault and indecent exposure. At one table sat a young woman in a tailored black suit, her long hair caught back with a gold headband. At the other table were a man in his fifties, also in a beautifully tailored suit, and a man in his forties with curly hair that needed a trim. This man was wearing twill slacks and a blue cotton shirt. His collar was open and his sleeves were rolled up, exposing brawny arms that had obviously lifted their share of heavy loads.

In the spectator area of the courtroom, behind the young woman's table, we could see what appeared to be a family -- a middle-aged couple and girl in her late teens. The man had his arm around the girl, who was clutching a crumpled tissue. Behind the other table sat a row of boys in their late teens and a woman with stringy blonde hair and a troubled look.

It was not hard to figure out who was the accused and who was the accuser.

The young woman in the black suit was the assistant district attorney who would be leading the prosecution. She briefly outlined the case -- a woman we'll call Tammy (the "girl" described above), who was 18 at the time (June of 1998), says that the defendant ("Larry") invited her to come to his home for a swim and to discuss some problems she was having with her ex-boyfriend, an employee of Larry's who had broken up with Tammy some four months before.

When she arrived that night (some time after 10:00), she says  there was a brief discussion of the boyfriend problems, and then a swim, during which the man removed his clothing and demanded that she have sex with him. When she refused, he tried to force her, removing part of her bathing suit and restraining her in the pool. After a brief struggle, he let her go. Once back in her car, she called the ex-boyfriend while driving to his house, where she told him she'd been assaulted. Eventually, they called her mother, went to the mother's house, and then called the police.

This incident had taken place in a small, isolated community in the northern part of the county, about 25 miles from the capital city where the courtroom is situated. When the district attorney asked if  there were any prospective jurors who knew the parties involved or who had read or heard anything about the case, some four or five people responded and were immediately excused.

The district attorney warned us that some of the testimony would be emotional and that it would contain words and probe ideas of a sexual nature. Anyone who might be sufficiently distracted by this so as to have difficulty absorbing the testimony was asked to remove himself from the array. She then asked us to examine our deeply held religious or moral convictions and try to
determine if these posed an impediment to impartiality. Finally, she asked if there was anyone who had ever been a victim of sexual assault or abuse, or had a close family member or friend who had been so victimized, or was or knew someone who had been accused of a similar crime, and who believed that this would prevent him or her from rendering a judgment based on the facts alone in this case.

One does not live 52 years and spend 30 of those years working in the public school system without somehow falling into one of those categories. I knew that what was about to transpire was a "she said -- he said" case, that each side would present the same facts in a fashion that suited their purpose, and that judgment would ultimately have to come as much from examining the heart as it would from examining the evidence. I knew that I could remove myself from this difficult situation simply by raising my hand. I also knew that removing myself would put me back in that big study hall on a plane going nowhere.

In this kind of situation, one is not afforded the luxury of time to deliberate, to lay out one's choices and examine the implications. I had to decide quickly. I knew that if I went back into the jury pool, I would very likely have to sit in waiting mode for at least another day. And I believed that, in all honesty, I could not recuse myself from this case. My education, the work I've done on my own issues in this arena, and my faith in the God I follow to guide me no matter how thorny the
dilemma led me to believe that I could listen, and understand, and decide in a fashion the law demands. And so I remained silent.

After voir dire is concluded, the opposing attorneys engage in a what seems like a ritual exchange. The prospective jurors' names are printed in the order drawn on a list. Those who have been excused for cause are crossed off by the court clerk, and the attorneys then exercise their peremptory challenges, first one, then the other, passing the paper across the space
between their tables, studying it, and then drawing a straight line through a name with their gold Cross pens.

The attorneys are provided with an information sheet from each juror containing answers to certain personal questions such as age, family status, occupation, hobbies. During the selection process they consult the sheets, look us over, whisper to their clients, look back at the sheets.

I had given my age as 52, my life situation as married and living with husband and fourteen-year-old daughter, my occupation as "free-lance writer with interest in memoir and autobiography," and my former occupation as teacher of 11th grade English. Evidently neither attorney found these characteristics troubling, or maybe they were just less troubling than the facts they knew
about other prospective jurors. At any rate, by 4:15 that afternoon, they had concluded their selection process, and I was instructed to report at 8:30 the next morning as a member of this jury to begin hearing the facts in the case of a Sunday night in June gone terribly wrong.

* "Sticky Buns" are also sometimes referred to as "Philadelphia Sticky Buns." They are cinnamon rolls covered with a thick sugar syrup, with or without pecans, but best with. I can send you a recipe if you like.