Jury duty is a civic obligation that a vast majority of Americans will never have to satisfy. Either they’ll never get summoned, they’ll get rejected as jurors or they will find a way out of serving.
Daily Record staff writer David Chapman was summoned recently and here’s his daily log.
by David Chapman
Staff Writer
Day 1
As I sat in the first floor courtroom with over 100 others in dead silence, I thought I could hear the heartbeats of those around me.
Several weeks prior, I had received the first-class piece of mail which informed me to report to the Courthouse for jury duty at 8:30 a.m. on Aug. 11.
The gathered group had been through informational videos extolling the virtues of the court system and being selected as a juror since arriving. It was the first step when we arrived, but now we were all waiting to hear our fates as to where we’d end up.
Around 11:30 a.m., a bailiff announced the first group’s judge, courtroom, time and type of trial.
I was not included in the first group, but wanted to be – they were excused for an hour long lunch and I had no cash for vending machines during our earlier breaks.
Shortly after, the bailiff announced the second jury panel of 42.
“Judge Mark Mahon, Courtroom 7,” he said. “Criminal.”
The last word kept resonating in my head until I heard my name, snapped back to reality and blurted out that I was present.
Unfortunately for my group, there was no time for lunch and we were led to the second floor and asked to form a line according to our given number.
Informed I was Juror No. 6, I took my place in line and was escorted into the courtroom and seated on the front row of benches before five standing individuals – John Kalinowski and Theresa Simek of the State Attorney’s Office, defense attorneys Dale Carson and Shannon Padgett and the defendant, Antonio Simmons.
We were informed Simmons was being tried for second degree murder in the death of James Brigham during an incident that occurred in September 2007. No hard details were given at that point, but we were notified a gun was used.
The prosecutors said it was the State’s duty to prove the offense was murder in the second degree of Brigham. The defense said it would prove Simmons acted in self defense during the altercation and was not guilty.
One by one, each of us was instructed to stand and speak, filling in the blanks of a questionnaire regarding our background: name, marital status, place of employment, type of employment, area of town where we reside and any children we might have.
Then the panel questions and discussion began.
Did we know Circuit Court Judge Mark Mahon? The prosecutors? The defense attorneys? Simmons, Brigham or any of the witnesses they had named? How many of us owned guns? Could the group handle graphic evidence? Did any of us hold any form of prejudice or bias? Were we aware of a rift between the black community and law enforcement officers?
Some people spoke up, knowing with the “right” answers they would be dismissed. Most didn’t.
After a couple of hours of grilling, we were thanked for our time and sent into the hallway until the jury selection was complete.
Some stood in silence, some shook their head, most chatted nervously.
Minutes went by until a bailiff stepped out, began reading off seven names and broke the news.
Through small cheers and sighs of relief from the others, I heard my name: I had been selected to be on the jury for the State of Florida vs. Antonio J. Simmons.
Day 2
The courts provide a jury shuttle that transports jurors from their cars in the parking lot next to the Arena to the Courthouse and back.
For me, it wasn’t until the 5-minute ride to the Courthouse that the reality of being selected for a murder trial – given the violent crime problem the City is facing – began to hit hard.
Our jury was a diverse group of ages, professions, race and gender.
Five men and two women: a chef, nurse, student, colonel, student and father, a mother and myself.
The trial began at 1 p.m., but everyone arrived early and waited in the second floor foyer – no one wanted to be the potential fly in the judicial ointment – and when the time came, the bailiff led us into the door of Courtroom 7.
“Jurors entering the courtroom,” he announced.
Like the day before, nearly everyone stood as we made our way to our seats, located to the left of Mahon and the witness stand.
The eyes of Mahon, the prosecution, defense, defendant, bailiffs and trial onlookers were fixated upon us. Admittedly, I was a little anxious being part of the center of attention.
After having a seat, Mahon thanked us for being there and went over a few ground rules of trial procedure and juror dos and don’ts.
The point he hammered home (in an appreciative and yet stern manner) first and foremost was for the jury to not discuss the trial with anyone. That meant friends, family, coworkers, fellow jurors, nuns, mimes on the street, our pets – anyone or anything.
Doing so could influence our decision before all evidence was presented and render an unfair trial.
Of course, when you tell someone you’ve actually been selected for a jury, they want to know details. Everyone asks. Most people understand when you decline, though.
Other than the no-discussion rule, we weren’t to watch or read the news or perform any investigation on our own. Again, doing so might influence our decision.
Opening arguments from both sides began and weren’t to be used as evidence. Instead, they were to be a summary of each party’s case.
Each juror was issued a yellow notepad to take notes for their personal use. I ended up taking many, out of habit. They couldn’t be shared and were to be destroyed following the trial.
Following opening arguments, the State was first to proceed and called several witnesses during the day – some more believable than others – through which it began to set a timeline, the scene and explain potential motives.
Mahon was very juror-friendly and offered stretch breaks following each witness. His caring demeanor would be an ongoing attribute through the trial.
Breaks usually consisted of five- to 15-minute intervals of sitting around the back jury room, located directly to the right of the jury seats and behind the courtroom, chatting about our lives. The room is perhaps 16-by-12 with a large table, padded chairs, clean-enough restrooms, a mini-refrigerator, coffee maker (this would be critical) and microwave.
Around 5:30 p.m., after hours of witnesses, examinations, cross examination, breaks, note taking and emotion, there were no more witnesses for the day.
With nothing left for the day, Mahon dismissed the jury for the day with the always-present reminder to not discuss the trial with anyone.
With the jurors on board, we made a silent trip back to our vehicles knowing that tomorrow would be a long day.
Day 3
Going back to the Courthouse for the 1 p.m. start time, one thing stuck out: I didn’t realize how exhausting a trial could be, both mentally and physically.
You take notes, hang on every word a witness says and look at body language and mannerisms because as the judge and attorneys tell you, it’s your job. And you don’t want to take a chance on getting anything wrong – lives, families, careers are on the line.
The jury had heard from a bailiff that if things went according to schedule, the trial could wrap up as early as Thursday, Aug. 14.
But the first day was cut short due to the shortage of witnesses, which meant more had to be packed into the next two days.
We soon discovered today was, in fact, a full lineup.
Homicide detectives, an evidence technician, the medical examiner and more crime scene witnesses were on tap to share their accounts, opinions and expertise on the situation.
For nearly an hour the court watched the initial interrogation video taken after Simmons was apprehended by U.S. Marshals in Texas months after the incident.
It was interesting to see how aggressive and tension filled (on both parties’ sides) the interrogation room on the tape was compared to the now quiet, serene courtroom.
In the lengthy video, Simmons, with a defensive tone, tells the story of a dice game gone wrong. He was robbed, fled and heard shots fired behind him.
The officers didn’t buy the story, which Simmons later admitted was false, and were aggressive in their questioning for the truth.
Back in the courtroom and merely yards apart, the lead homicide detective and Simmons sat in silence watching the video with the rest of us.
There wasn’t any body language to read on either – the detective didn’t flinch, while Simmons looked contemplative.
During jury selection, the attorneys on both sides noted that there would be graphic pictures and if anyone was to be unable to see such evidence then they should raise their hands.
No one did at the time.
I’ve seen enough slasher films and gory movies in my time, but the medical examiner’s pictures were reality and not for the faint of heart. Though I am sure medical examiners and police have seen much, much worse happen to murder victims, the level of realism and detail each picture presented could turn an unprepared juror’s stomach.
Today while on break, there wasn’t much said in the juror’s room. A lot of coffee, but not much chatter.
“This has definitely been an experience,” said one of the jurors, which was the closest thing to discussing the trial that was spoken aloud.
The hours and witnesses went on and the evidence was accumulating until about 6:30 p.m., when Mahon informed the court that there were no more witnesses for the day and released everyone.
Day 4
I’ve heard that court time usually runs a little different than real time.
Our 1:15 p.m. start time ended up beginning around 2:30 p.m. due to Mahon’s morning case running long.
I wasn’t upset. Surprisingly, the other jurors weren’t angry, either. I think everyone knew it was just a part of the process.
So we just sat outside in the foyer, while our bailiff made jokes that elicited a few smiles until they informed us it was time to go.
After entering the courtroom and having a seat, Mahon asked the State for more witnesses.
But the State had none, meaning it was the defense’s turn.
It ended up calling on just a few witnesses, including one the State had already called upon during the first day of the trial, and the defendant.
Witnesses with the defense went much quicker – just a couple questions were asked and answered for each – and before I knew it the defense had rested its case.
It was shortly after 4 p.m. when Mahon said the court had a small scheduling problem on its hands that was to be decided by the jury.
Closing arguments, discussion of the law between Mahon and the attorneys, explanation of the law and jury deliberation still had to take place.
The jury could decide to work through the night or come back at 7 a.m. the next day to finish up. The one thing Mahon didn’t want, he said, was for everything but the jury deliberation to take place that night, which would mean we’d have all night alone to think about the trial.
Mahon also noted that the court’s “dirty little secret” was that they would provide the jury dinner, too, if we elected to work through the night.
He left us to decide in the back jury room and there were no real arguments — it would be a long night, but it’d be finished. Not because of the food, mind you, but because everyone had to get back to something the next day.
With the decision made, Mahon issued a break until 6 p.m. (which would eventually turn into 6:30 p.m.) for dinner and give the attorneys and judge time to go over the applicable laws of the trial.
The jury was again dismissed to the back room and handed menus from a “Pizza ‘n Things” take-out restaurant. It mainly consisted of Italian dishes, but strangely, it also had a barbecue plate.
Three pizzas, two barbecue plates and two stromboli later, we were fed but the two who ordered the barbecue plates probably wish they had chosen something different. The stromboli wasn’t bad, but the two barbecue plates weren’t eaten.
Back from break and in our seats, the State presented its closing argument in a slideshow presentation followed by the defense’s closing argument.
Mahon then handed out a 23-page printout and read through each of the trial’s applicable laws and criteria for each of the possible verdicts, which took roughly 30 minutes.
With packets in hand and explanations galore, it was time to head to the back room for a chance to go over the trial with each other for the first time.
Only six of us would make it in, though. Mahon announced the name of the alternate juror, who left the rest of us before we departed. He did stay to hear the verdict, but I’d have felt cheated.
Inside the room, first thing was first – somebody made the coffee.
Then, what seemed like 10 minutes ended up taking over a couple hours.
There were no heated arguments.
Everyone was involved and everyone was on the same page and not because they had to be swayed.
Piece by piece we dissected the physical evidence, the witness testimony, the law and how it applied. We looked at every possible angle, every possible verdict to see how it weighed against the evidence — and truth be told, it was only the evidence that helped us make our decisions.
The decision was unanimous.
We decided to have a few minutes to go over things by ourselves in silence, just to make sure we weren’t missing anything. We owed it to everyone involved to cover our bases.
Nothing changed.
“Are we ready?” someone asked.
All nodded and indicated they were and the nurse, elected as the jury foreman, rang the buzzer.
Minutes later, the stage was set and my heart was pounding. We knew it was the correct verdict but it was still nerve wracking. I remember staring straight ahead and listening to the woman who swore in each witness as she read off the verdict.
Heart still thumping, the only words I remembered were the most pertinent:
“Guilty of murder in the second degree, use of a firearm.”
We were then thanked for our time and duty then dismissed without much fanfare.
The pots of coffee and nerves kept me awake through most of the night.
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