Virginia Lawyers Weekly

I’m not exactly sure what the odds of being selected for jury duty are in one’s lifetime. I know people twice my age who never have been called, yet I’ve been called twice now in the eight years I’ve been eligible – for both state and federal court.

It seems that after going through all the trouble, I could at least see a trial all the way through. But no such luck.

I received my first jury duty summons a year and a half ago from the Chesterfield County Circuit Court. It may have been my affiliation with Virginia Lawyers Weekly. Or it could have been that the civil trial stemmed from a car accident with facts eerily similar to one I had been involved in a few months earlier. Either way, I was not chosen to sit for the trial.

But my number came up again, and I got the jury duty letter this past fall – this time from the U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia, Richmond Division.

I was notified to report on Dec. 4 at 9 a.m. Dec. 4 to the Spottswood W. Robinson III and Robert R. Merhige Jr. U.S. Courthouse.

From Virginia Lawyers Weekly’s downtown Richmond office, it was a three-and-a-half block walk to the brand new courthouse, which had opened its doors less than two months prior. I had witnessed its three-year construction, I attended its ribbon cutting ceremony, and now I could finally observe the courthouse in full action.

The trial was held on the top floor, in a courtroom that sat along a hallway overlooking the building’s six-story atrium. The room was bright, spacious and well-equipped for the 21st century trial. Flat-screen TVs were mounted on each wall and even the counsel tables had computer screens. The décor was modern and elegant: walnut paneling, custom-designed furniture and sleek leather seats, which appeared a lot more comfortable than the wooden benches along the back of the room that we the jurors now occupied.

The case involved the possession of a firearm by a convicted felon, with Judge Henry Hudson presiding. I was familiar with Judge Hudson from seeing his name in media coverage of certain high-profile cases, and also week to week in the court documents that pass through our office.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but the judge immediately made the jurors at ease with his pleasant, friendly demeanor (although sources inform me that this doesn’t necessarily extend to criminal defendants who appear before him).

To begin the voir dire process, Judge Hudson asked prospective jurors a series of yes-or-no questions relating to the case. It was a quiet, orderly procedure and the instructions were simple: raise your hand and speak promptly, clearly and only when spoken to.

I used the question and answer session to get a better look at the jury panel. There were about 36 of us total, clearly more women than men, mostly middle-aged. Only 12 would ultimately go on to serve.

One juror was a kitchen worker for a regional jail.

Another was a former cop who now worked as an investigator for a local law firm.

Once the questions starting turning more personal, we discovered that three of the jury members had lost family members to homicide.

And one woman had a former son-in-law who was currently set to stand trial for the very same crime as the defendant.

Then of course, there was me: an editor for a legal newspaper, hoping to get the rare chance to participate in the judicial process, rather than just observe it.

Until it came time to reveal my connection to Virginia Lawyers Weekly, I hadn’t been nervous. But once I found myself standing for questioning before a federal judge, the intimidation factor started to set in.

Do I really need to speak up? After all, he never specifically asked if anyone worked for the media. But will I get in trouble if I don’t tell the court about my ties to the legal field? And do I address Judge Hudson as “your honor,” or is that just something they do on TV for dramatic effect?

But I took a deep breath, stood up and explained my position with the paper and the type of law-related information I handle on a daily basis.

“Well, I imagine you probably process more legal documents than even the lawyers here,” Judge Hudson quipped, and my apprehension was quickly put to rest.

Soon after, the questioning was over and both attorneys approached the bench, their voices drowned out by the static noise that poured from the courtroom speakers. It was time to start choosing the jurors.

Slips of paper with each juror’s number were placed into a bowl and 12 were drawn at random to sit in the jury box. Each of these juror numbers was attached along the left side of a clipboard, which was then passed between the two attorneys. If either side wanted to challenge a potential juror, the attorney moved the corresponding slip of paper to the right.

People whose names were called returned to their original seats, while those not called were locked in as part of the jury. More numbers were drawn at random to fill the empty seats, and the process began all over again.

I couldn’t help but be surprised that in such an electronically equipped courtroom, the lawyers used such a simple method to pick and choose their jurors.

Meanwhile, the selection process dragged out, and all I could do was sit in uneasy silence as each juror’s fate was decided. Would the future of an alleged criminal rest in my hands? Or would I simply return to work and go about my day?

Three new groups of people were called to the box before both parties were satisfied with the jury.

Among those struck were the law firm investigator and individuals whose family members had been involved in violent crimes. The corrections worker, surprisingly, remained for the trial.

But in a rather anticlimactic end to my jury duty service, my number never got drawn. I never even had a chance to be evaluated from the jury box.

I’ll never quite know if, had my number been drawn, I would have survived the selection process. Nor can I predict how soon, if at all, I’ll return for jury duty.

Will I ever get the opportunity to sit on a jury?

Perhaps the third time’s the charm.

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