Unreasonable Doubt III: Pak Up Your Worries

For Mr. Pak to avoid conviction, he needed to fling offal on his soon-to-be-ex-wife's version of events.  (I'm jumping around a bit here.) Thus at one point on a long Thursday afternoon the defendant took another swipe at the Mrs.

Note: This is not Mr. Pak's hand but only a representation.

He described how his loon wife had run into the master bedroom one night and locked the door so as to freely smoke cigarettes and ululate. Concerned, as always, Mr. Pak attempted to open the bedroom door. When it wouldn't yield, he used a chopstick to try and pick the lock.

I glanced at the judge. She had been growing steadily peeved at Mr. Pak's rambling testimony coupled with the inability of his attorney to break up the narrative by asking a question every so often. Something about the chopstick testimony made the judge appear ready to unleash an epic facepalm. In a voice tighter than old slacks, she called for a sidebar.

Standing up to stretch, I realized my instincts over the years had been correct. Jury duty was a thankless snore-fest to be avoided. How did I end up here? I'd served my country in time of war. I was honorably discharged. I paid more taxes than G.E. I'd even reported for jury duty. Many people don't even do that.

And this was my thanks.

Whatever was said in the side-bar seemed to work. The defense hustled up, the city attorney cross-examined and suddenly it was time to go home. Outside Dept. 46, we the jury talked about Friday; how this could all be wrapped up by tomorrow afternoon; how no one wanted to return on Monday. There was confidence that we could zip through seven counts using reason and the evidence and testimony presented in court.

But mostly there was the fervent desire to avoid deliberating Monday.

Back in 1987 on my very first jury panel there were three primary types of jurors: the unemployed (me), retirees and postal workers. (The postal workers were jovial, delighted to be there on full pay.)  It was easy for most people to get out of jury duty and that's what most people did.

All that changed after O.J.

Following Mr. Simpson's 1995 acquittal,  the courts became a lot more fussy. You couldn't shine them on so easily. They cast a wide net and drew in people who'd have skipped service years ago such as independent contractors who weren't paid for jury duty.

Not really our jury or even close.

 Among our 12 jurors and two alternates were:

A Hollywood crime scene tour guide.

Financial planner.

Model as well as commercial and voice actress.

Actress who worked a day job at a spiritual book shop.

Photographer and video director.

Government worker who wanted to break into the music industry.

Retiree.

Personal assistant to a big star (unnamed.)

Banquet planner for an expensive Santa Monica hotel.

Microwave electrical specialist at Jet Propulsion Labs.

Former music industry guy who now worked in business.

Regular guy who worked in business.

Underemployed writer. (me)

A very quiet woman.

 Friday morning, there was a Korean-speaking detective who rebutted Mr. Pak's statement that no one in LAPD explained anything to him in Korean. Mr. Pak was cross-examined more by the city attorney. Then there were closing statements.

The city attorney went first and...talked...very...slowly...and deliberately as if speaking to special needs children or state senators. I figured she was putting on the verbal brakes so the translator could more easily mutter in Korean. She spoke of the victim's straight-forward testimony coupled with physical evidence and witnesses that supported Mrs. Pak's contention that she had been beaten, smothered and intimidated by her husband. But the slowed down speech wasn't winning the People any jury points.

After lunch, the defense attorney summed up his case—the sockless Mr. Pak was the victim of a cocaine-crazed wild woman, an ululator of the first rank. Displaying fire and passion, the attorney might have made a greater impact had he fluidly completed his sentences. The spirit was willing but the diction was weak.

Then came jury instructions. We were given copies but the judge read them anyway. Each count contained certain elements that had to be met for a guilty verdict. Otherwise, acquit. All verdicts had to be unanimous. I jotted a few notes on my form, confident we'd wrap this baby up and maybe—just maybe—get a jump on Friday traffic.

Finally we were ordered forth into the jury room to deliberate. There were two heavy wooden tables placed together so that all twelve of us could fit around. The bailiff deposited the evidence in the center of the tables. Out the window behind us we had a view of the old Hall of Justice, empty now because it needed earthquake retrofitting or else tearing down so that a friend of the mayor could build something.

On the wall was a buzzer and instructions:

Buzz Once - Summon the bailiff.

Buzz Twice - Verdict.

Buzz Thrice - Door Jammed Due to Chopstick in Lock. (Actually, it was for emergencies.)

Several jurors nominated the banquet planner as foreman. She was quickly elected. A bright, friendly woman, I believe she got the job because she knew every one's first name.

Selecting the foreman proved the easiest vote we'd take.

Next: Judge Not and Ye Shall Not Go Home

Images: Learner's Dictionary & Pro Commerce