Of Jury Duty and Small Towns...

“The General Assembly hereby declares the public policy of this State to be that jury service is the solemn obligation of all qualified citizens, and that excuses from the discharge of this responsibility should be granted only for reasons of compelling personal hardship or because requiring service would be contrary to the public welfare, health, or safety.”

Thus speaks the North Carolina General Statutes. Early in the month of July, soon after returning from cruising the country, I received, for my first time, juror summons. Failure to respond as directed results in being held ‘in contempt of court’ and a 50 dollar fine. The summons is actually a directive of the court and is no different in severity from a subpoena. It is a ‘solemn obligation of all qualified citizens,’ and according to the instructional video I was shown we do not ‘have to’ but we ‘get to’ take part in Jury ‘service’. We should not look at is as ‘duty’ but as ‘privilege’, etc., a way to take part in the great judicial system of our country. In the overall scheme of things, having seen some of the rest of the world, there is truth to that outlook as we still have the best thing going here. It is hard, though, to maintain that perspective when I am scheduled to leave in twenty-one days, making each day precious to me, and an entire week is consumed by the uncertainty of being on jury duty.

Uncertainty well describes the experience thus far. My first day was yesterday, Monday, and I arrived early to the affair, joining approximately forty other would-be jurors in waiting to discover whether or not we would be used. It was mostly harmless and comprised of patient waiting, something I accomplished all the more easily by losing myself in a book I brought (that is called ‘planning ahead’). After about an hour and a half the judge determined that we were not needed for that day and that we should return in the morning. Upon checking a recording at the courthouse via telephone I discovered that even that has changed and that I should check the recording again this evening about tomorrow (Wednesday).

The difficulty I am having is that I want to make plans with people this week but am restricted from doing such as I can’t be sure what each of my days will look like. I might be selected and strapped to a trial and thus unavailable for socializing, and then I might not. It is like being on hold with technical service, name the company, for a week. You can’t really leave the phone because the representative might answer at any minute, but so far you’ve been at it long enough to begin to singing along with the looped hold music.

In spite of my grouching I am intrigued by this whole process. Sitting on a jury is something I cannot claim to have done and after considering the situation I determined that that is something I want to change. Even as I sat there in the courtroom I was taken by the official stature displayed and the regal judicial 1970’s styling of the courtroom. I wanted to be on the team. Just for a week though.

Occasionally I glanced up from my reading and in doing so discovered the true nature of jury duty. In my small town and county it is not as much ‘judicial’ as it is ‘social.’ Going in for my ‘solemn obligation’ I suspected that I would encounter people that I knew, and, from the numerous warm greetings I observed others taking part in, I figured that I was not the only one bringing such ideas to the day. I recognized half of the forty people there. Of those twenty or so, there were only a handful that I had had personal encounters with, but in that group were folks that I consider friends and during moments when reading was not viable I was free to catch up a bit with them.

Even as I experienced the phenomena of the small town, I was reading about it in my book. E.B. White, the celebrated essayist and author of such classics as ‘Charlotte’s Web’ and ‘Stuart Little’, had this to say:

“On the day before Thanksgiving, toward the end of the afternoon, having motored all day, I arrived home, and lit a fire in the living room. The birch logs took hold briskly. About three minutes later, not to be outdone, the chimney itself caught fire. I became aware of this development rather slowly…I phoned the Fire Department as a matter of routine, dialing a number I had once forehandedly printed in large figures on the edge of the shelf in the telephone closet, so that I would be able to read it without my glasses. (We keep our phone in a closet here, as you might confine a puppy that isn’t fully house-trained)…
My call was answered promptly, but I had no sooner hung up than I observed that the fire appeared to be out, having exhausted itself, so I called back to cancel the run, and was told that the Department would like to come anyway. In the country, one excuse is as good as another for a bit of fun, and just because a fire has grown cold is no reason for a fireman’s spirits to sag. In a very short time, the loud, cheerful apparatus, its red signal light blinking rapturously, careened into the driveway, and the living room filled rapidly with my fire-fighting friends.
My fire chief is also my barber, so I was naturally glad to see him. And he had with him a robust accomplice who had recently been up on my roof installing a new wooden gutter, dry and ready to receive the first sparks from a chimney fire, so I was glad to see him. And there was still a third fire-eater, and everyone was glad to see everyone else, as near as I could make out, and we all poked about learnedly in the chimney for a while, and then the Department left.”

The excerpt is taken from “Points of My Compass” and the chapter entitled, “Home-Coming”. As I read those words for the first time in that courtroom, surrounded by hearty handshakes and the affable conversation of friends in a small town, I laughed, knowing that I was also included in this affectionate mixture and that this week just might promise to be an experience that I will enjoy and remember. After all, how can you not when surrounded by the cart-boy from Wal-Mart, the father-in-law of a former employer, the librarian, former Franks-A-Million customers, co-members of church, and a collection of other good-natured citizens of this fine county. I rest my case.