This is not my usual short story of fiction, nor is it really an essay per se, but it is a true account of an experience I had over twenty years ago. I was encouraged to write about it by a fellow writer here on Substack. Someone that I greatly admire, and he is no stranger to a lot of you. So, in the end, this is all his fault. Blame Jim Cummings. Seriously though, this experience was so powerful, so intriguing and meaningful to me in so many ways, I will struggle to do it justice. It’s also been a long time. Some details are not exact but other memories are crystal clear. Nonetheless I will make every attempt at accuracy.
Part One
On a fine sunny April day, I was walking back up the driveway towards the house, while shuffling through the mail that had just been delivered. The sender address on one envelope caught my attention immediately. It had a seal and logo. It demanded attention. Before I even opened it there was a sense of dread in the back of my mind. My pace to get back in the house quickened.
When I did open it, sitting at the dining room table, I saw that it was an official notification of possible Jury Duty. I had served jury duty once before in the past but it had been a county court situation and it hadn’t really amounted to much.
This though, this was different. As I kept reading the letter, it became very clear, very fast that this was a call to report for the selection procedure for a Federal Grand Jury. I’m no legal beagle, far from it, and my knowledge at that point about grand juries was limited at best. What knowledge I did have, told me that if selected, it could result in a major disruption of my job and private life for an extended period of time.
I was in my mid-forties at the time and my career had taken an upturn in the previous five years. I had finally reached an executive level position that for years I had worked very hard to reach within my company. I traveled frequently, I was responsible for accounts and customers all across North America, with a very real potential for International growth. This news was not good. Not good at all.
So, I would be lying if I said I didn’t entertain some thoughts of somehow dodging this, or quickly scheming how I could get myself excused by some sort of technicality. Maybe, just maybe, I would simply luck out and not be chosen.
It wasn’t as if I was not a believer in good citizenship, duty of contributing to society and appreciative of the state and country that I was and I am, so fortunate to live in. I am all of those things and I like to think I’m a fairly conscientious person. My reason for not wanting anything to do with this jury duty was none of that, what it was, was pure selfishness and not wanting to be inconvenienced. Simple as that.
So good old-fashioned guilt, accompanied by that annoying ‘do the right thing’ voice in my head, won out in the end as it so often does.
Two dread-filled weeks later and feeling as if I was reporting to my own sentencing hearing I stood looking up from the base of a very long set of limestone steps to the location specified, on said date, and a half an hour early to boot.
As a side note, I’m early to nearly everything, it's just a personal curse/habit handed down and drilled into me during my upbringing. My Marine Corps dad always told me ‘if you have to be somewhere at 1:00pm and you get there at 1:00 on the dot, you’re late.’ So yeah, there’s that.
I had left straight from my office at noon and drove the forty-five minutes to this busy downtown address in this major Texas city. I’m being purposely vague here because I’m not real crazy about sharing some of the details. This was years ago, right? Yes. Does it really matter anymore? No, probably not. Are there other reasons? Yes, and we’ll leave it there.
Anyway, I was nervous and I rarely am. I was also in a somewhat foul mood for having to do this whole thing and I’m usually not that guy either, but I sure was that day. I was there though, so I can remember thinking to myself, let’s just do this thing. Just get it over with and hopefully they won’t pick me.
What I was staring up at was a towering, stately, intimidating - yet gorgeous old courthouse, built in the mid 1800’s. It was constructed out of pink granite and glowing white limestone. On each side of that grand set of steps there were two very large flags gently flapping in a soft breeze, the U.S. flag and the Lonestar Texas state flag of the same red white and blue colors.
After topping those steps, I entered the lobby area and looked around to get my bearings. More stairways and many hallways leading off to the left and right. Looking down at the letter and instructions I had received, I proceeded to the lobby desk and signed in, then made my way to the main courtroom as directed. The lobby floor was gleaming marble, ornately carved dark wood was everywhere and straight ahead were two huge doors in both width and height, standing open.
When I walked through those doors, I was greeted by an enormous cavernous courtroom and it nearly took my breath away. More dark wood, impossibly big and tall windows that showcased the Victorian architecture. The ceiling of the courtroom was domed and easily more than two stories high. Magnificently designed suspended lights hung down and lit the room in a soft but sufficient light. There were rows and rows of wooden, padded bench seats forming the public gallery. At the front of the courtroom, was the raised judge's podium or ‘bench’ area.
There was a uniformed officer who directed me to have a seat anywhere I wanted, and I chose a row near the back of the room. A strategy of mine from way back. Quick to sit and quick to leave. There were only a few people sitting in there already but only a sprinkling, just a handful of people, maybe twenty at the most.
The courtroom steadily filled though in the next few minutes, and it kept filling. I remember thinking damn, somebody shut the door, because this is already going to take forever. There was easily over a hundred people in the room, probably a hundred and fifty. How the hell were they going to thin this crowd down and then finally whittle it down more to a jury of what 12 or 15 people? I didn’t know the exact size of a grand jury, but c’mon. I started to realize the jury pool size was a reflection of how big of a deal this was.
At the appointed hour a small group filed into the courtroom from a side entry. They stopped in front of the elevated bench and faced the crowd. I believe there may have been 4 or 5 of them. They held microphones and introduced themselves, welcomed everyone, and thanked them for attending.
One of them introduced himself as the U.S. District Attorney for Northern Texas. He looked very young, but he carried himself with an easy manner, both in casual body movements and his even, clear speech. I’ve always been a studier of people in general and there was no doubt he was very sharp, very smart and more importantly, extremely relaxed. Especially in these circumstances, with such a large group of people filled with individuals (like me) who didn’t really want to be here.
Two others were introduced as Assistant D.A. 's and there were one or two clerical people. They explained the procedure of selection and how we would be asked as a group, questions about our willingness to participate, reasons for excusal, reasons to disqualify ourselves, etc. The D.A. finished with the importance of this proceeding. The need to have a grand jury that was committed to upholding the legal guidelines and willing to accept the responsibilities of a federal grand jurist. The thinning process began with a series of questions and instructions to ‘raise your hand if this applies to you’.
It got serious real quick. I can’t remember the exact questions, but they were designed to allow people the opportunity to be excused. The questions weren’t specific enough to alienate people or embarrass anyone but they were specific enough. Religious conflicts, personal beliefs, current involvement in legal proceedings, job endangerment concerns, moral issues, citizenship issues, and on and on.
I was amazed at how easy it was, and would have been for me, to just raise my hand and be gone. The cold honest truth was that the D.A. didn’t want individuals, who didn’t want, to participate in the justice system. He didn’t want attendance issues, refusals to judge others, or impartiality problems to arise later and so he gave every opportunity possible for people to leave. It made sense to me what he was doing.
I saw people exiting that were relieved, people that were smiling and even chuckling to themselves. Certainly games, and the system, were being played. I remember thinking how many were being truthful and how many were just bailing out. It made me angry and at the same time made me think of my own selfish thoughts but in a strange way, it made me want to continue. Made me thankful that I didn’t end up following my initial impulse to just walk out claiming some sort of issue.
The room was starting to empty out in a big way with each question asked and the thought occurred to me that what if everybody walked out? What if no one participated? I’m no civic hero or model citizen, but on that day it became clear to me that if you really care about how things work, and how our system works, you have to care enough and get involved - not just when it's convenient.
Is our system perfect? Hell no, of course not. Does true justice always prevail? No, certainly not. Is there a better way, a better system, a better process to governing? By all things considered and by all manner of measurement, I say no. I’ve been all over this world and it’s just me talking here, but I say no.
When the dust finally settled, and the light started to fade in those big windows, it was very late in the afternoon. There was a final group of potential grand jurors still seated and I still can’t believe that I was one of them. Considering my poor attitude going into this, it was a damn miracle, but I had experienced something totally unexpected. I had a change of heart and of mind that day.
It was well past five, but we still weren’t done. What remained of the original jury pool, I’m guessing the number at fifteen but I honestly can’t remember the exact count, was separated into three groups. The D.A. and the two Assistant conducted very brief interviews with each of us.
Not only questions, but a clarification of what would be expected, guidelines of protocol, behavior and confidentiality, expectations and rules that left no room for variance. The official swearing procedure and so forth. From one of the other two small groups, one last person abruptly got up and walked out. Everyone watched him go.
I was in the D.A. 's group and when he had talked to each of us semi-privately, we were given further instructions as a group of the actual process and when the first session would be. Contact information was confirmed yet again and he thanked us for the long day as well as agreeing to take part in this crucial piece of the judicial process. We all got up and started to leave as did the other two small groups.
The D.A. walked in my direction and held a finger up, asking if I might have a moment. Although his face was calm and his easy smile was present, his eyes were laser focused and dead serious. I recall having a totally nonsensical thought that I was in some sort of trouble, what I had no idea, but this couldn’t be good. My mind raced and I felt guilty of some long-forgotten offense.
He must have sensed this and smiled bigger, shaking his head no. “I don’t have an old warrant for your arrest, but I have one more thing I need to know.”
I smiled back, trying very hard to match his calm and probably failing a little. I’m a good actor and can play a part when I need to, but this was a whole new level of game right here. “Okay, sure, what do you need to know?”
“Well, I want you to serve as foreman of this federal grand jury. Is that something you’d be willing to do?”
End of Part 1
Great place to end part one. I served on five trial juries, but was never a foreman.
Just read part 1 and 2. Thanks for sharing this, Jim. I'm sorry you have to live with the details of that crime, but I'm glad you were part of the jury--foreman at that!