Jury Duty

Recently, for the first time in my life, I had to report to the county courthouse for jury duty¹. I wasn’t selected for the final jury, but I still spent two days participating in the selection process.

It may surprise you to know that movies and TV don’t dwell on the boring parts of jury duty. There were some truly boring stretches. But even the boring parts are interesting in their own way².

The Summons

I received the usual summons postcard. I’d been summoned for jury duty, reporting to the Linn County courthouse on Monday and Tuesday, March 4 and 5, for a term of one trial. I was required to fill out a questionnaire online. I was further instructed to call after 5PM on Friday, March 1, to find out if I’d need to report.

When I called, I was not required to report on Monday. But I was instructed to call after 5PM on Monday, March 4, to find out if I’d need to report Tuesday.

I forgot to call Monday night.

My brain had reasoned that if there was no trial Monday, there wouldn’t be one Tuesday, either.

Tuesday

Tuesday morning, I noticed the reminder on my phone. I figured I’d call, check the box, and be able to work.³

“If your juror number is between 1 and 261, you are required to report…”

I got a little excited. I’d never had to report!

I also got a little annoyed. I’d need to miss work—oh, I should tell my colleagues I’d be missing work—and that annual check-up I had scheduled—oh, geez, and that eye exam I had scheduled in the afternoon.⁴

So I swapped my jeans and tshirt for a button-down and slacks, grabbed a book, and headed off to the courthouse, arriving about 8:30AM.

The potential jurors checked in, were given a sheet of instructions to read, and a 20-minute orientation video to watch on our own devices⁵. There was not a designated room for the jurors to sit in. Instead, we sat on benches, folding chairs, or at giant law-library tables in the lobby area of the courthouse. It seemed a bit odd that a hundred or so of us were all watching the same video, separately, in the same room.

After the orientation video was done, we waited. About 9:30, someone⁶ called the roll. For some reason, about half the group got sent downstairs, but those left on the main level weren’t told why. And then we waited again. Most of us sat. Some had brought books, and read. Some stood. Some paced. A few talked and made friends. Some alternated between sitting and standing, reading and talking, pacing and waiting. Eventually, several of us started walking laps around the lobby.

Around 11:30, we had another roll call. After roll call finished, we headed up to the 4th floor and were sent into a courtroom. The group that had been sent downstairs re-joined us there. As we filed in, we saw several people seated at the tables up front. The court attendant called out about 30 names of potential jurors to be seated in the jury box and the first few rows of benches. I was not in that group.

Once we’d finally been organized and seated, the court attendant exited the court, presumably stepped into the judge’s chambers to tell him we were ready, and re-entered the courtroom to announce that “court is now in session”, and to tell us to “all rise”. The judge entered, had us sit, and gave us a speech about jury trials, the Constitution, the duty and privilege of serving on a jury—all good stuff.

Then it was down to the business of this particular trial. The judge informed us that “this is trial for murder, in the first degree.” Even though everyone was quiet and well-behaved, I felt people straightening up a bit, paying a bit closer attention.⁷

With our attention focused, the judge swore us in.⁸ Then the lawyers for both sides introduced themselves, and began the process of selecting jurors, known as voir dire.

I was surprised that voir dire was more conversational than it is typically depicted on TV. It’s also much longer. The prosecution went first, and instead of just firing questions at us (e.g., “Juror #1, how much do you believe cops?”), they started by providing information.

Surprisingly, the first information provided was a summary of the case to be tried. It was something along the lines of “have any of you read or seen news about the murder allegedly committed on St. Patrick’s Day, 2023, at Cocktails & Company in Marion, by Duval Walker Jr.?” Around a dozen folks had—and stacking surprises, they were not immediately dismissed. They were asked for their names.

The second information provided was the names of the lawyers around the tables. That information set up the next question: whether any of the prospective jurors knew any of the individuals involved in the trial: the attorneys, the defendant, the judge, the court attendant. Nobody did.

By this point, it was getting close to 12:30. The judge read us a long, detailed “admonition”, which I would summarize as “don’t talk to anyone about the case, and don’t get information about this case outside this courtroom.”

And we were released for lunch.

That felt weird. My first instinct was to tell my wife… my second instinct to tell colleagues… my third to tell friends… tell them all “hey! I’m a potential juror for a murder trial!” But I didn’t tell anyone. I moseyed down the street to a cafe for a delicious and filling bowl of soup. I also made the mistake of finishing my book over lunch.

About 1:30, the prospective jurors were ushered back into the courtroom. There were at least a hundred of us, and probably closer to 150. Once we were seated, we were informed that the lawyers and the judge needed to individually question the jurors with knowledge of the case. We were also informed that the courtroom next door had opened up, so we could wait there. So we all shuffled over to the next courtroom and sat. And waited. And every 5-10 minutes, the court attendant would enter and say “Can I get John Doe?”. And then the court attendant would usher John Doe over to the “real” courtroom to answer a few questions while the rest of us sat.

Some of us chatted with the folks next to us. Some played on our phones.⁹ Some tried to sleep. Some wished we’d brought another book. Some read the books they weren’t done with yet. I stood for a while, and even paced a bit in a five-foot space. As the clock ticked, there was speculation in the group about how long we’d stay, when the courthouse closed, how many prospective jurors were coming back¹⁰, if we’d have to report tomorrow, how many days we’d need to report… Someone in the group remembered seeing that the courthouse closed at 4:30PM.

About 4:25PM, the whole group was told to migrate back to the real courtroom. The judge reminded us not to talk about the case with anyone.

Then the court attendant read a list of four names. My name was #3 on that list.

The judge announced that everyone in the jury pool was required to report at 9:30AM the next day. I dutifully wrote 9:30AM in my pocket notebook. The four names on that list, though, were required to report at 9:00AM. I crossed off 9:30AM and wrote 9:00AM underneath. The four of us were moved up from the general jury pool to the “top 34”.

The “top 34” isn’t quite as competitive as it sounds. After all, the names were all assigned. But the “top 34” are a subset of the full jury pool that allows the attorneys to focus their voir dire questioning. The remainder of the pool remains in case individuals from the top 34 are dismissed¹¹.

With that, we were reminded of the admonition, told that all we could tell anyone is “I am a prospective juror for a criminal trial”, and sent home for the day. Again, that felt weird.

Wednesday

After I arrived outside the courtroom on Wednesday morning, I checked in with the court attendant. He told me he’d recognized me. I wasn’t quite sure whether that was good or not.

I was the third of the four new members of the top 34, so I was the third to go in for individual questioning.

I took my seat in the front row of the jury box.

The judge opened by saying “Good morning. Before these folks ask you a few questions, I’d like to start with one of my own. How do you pronounce your last name?” Once I told him¹², he informed me that none of them had gotten it right. That exchange seemed a lot more relaxed, casual, and human than I’d have expected—especially with the defendant sitting at the defense table.

The questions they asked were basic (Q: “Have you seen any news about the events of this case?” A: “It’s possible I stumbled across headlines at the time, but don’t recall any facts or having read any articles.” Q: “Your juror questionnaire notes that you were once a victim of a minor theft. Will that affect your ability to consider the facts of this case?” A: “No.” Q: “The defendant in this case is a Black man. Will that affect your ability to decide this case on the facts?” A: “No.”), and I was back to a comfy chair the hallway in about five minutes.

About 9:30, after a hundred-plus of my fellow potential jurors had arrived in the hallway outside the courtroom, the court attendant called the roll. I didn’t get called, presumably because I’d already checked in. Was not being mentioned during roll call worth that extra half hour? Probably not.

With the roll called, we were again ushered into the courtroom and the top 34 were seated by number. I was number 31.

The judge welcomed us back for day two. Someone—likely the judge, but it could have been one of the attorneys—said that things were likely to move faster today than yesterday, and that yesterday was necessary preliminary work. Then the judge asked if anyone in the top 34 had seen news about the case since yesterday.

Four people raised their hands. Four! I was really truly astonished. After the judge’s repeated admonition, four of the top 34 had seen news about the case.

The judge decided to take those four back to chambers with the attorneys, one potential juror at a time, to ask questions. While he did, he turned on white noise so we wouldn’t be able to hear what was being said. He warned us in advance that it was a little annoying, but that it was better than having to send us all out and then back in. He was right, both about the white noise being annoying, and that it was better than another mass migration.¹³

All four finished their questioning and were returned to their places in the top 34. That surprised me a bit. I had expected that people who were unable to stay away from news overnight would be dismissed. But I don’t know what they’d seen—maybe it was just headlines, or a story that the trial was about to start.

As we resumed, and the judge was handing voir dire questioning over to the prosecution, someone’s phone rang. Loudly. And kept ringing. The judge calmly told us we all needed to have our phones off.

The questioning surprised me.

The topics and content of the questions started by sounding like an Introduction to Civics class: questions about jury trials, and how we felt about being on a jury, and that kind of thing. Some of the questions were the things you might see on TV (“Mr. Smith, what do you do for a living?”), but a lot were not (“Who is happy to be here today?”).

It was fascinating to watch the questions turn into a bit of a (very formally-facilitated) group discussion. (“Mr. Smith, what would you say the duty of a juror is?” might be followed up with “Ms. Jones, how do you feel about what Mr. Smith just said?”)

It seemed to me that the attorneys were intentionally focusing on a group of about 20 potential jurors. Those 20 got most of the questions. I was not in that group of 20. It also seemed like the attorneys would occasionally decide that a potential juror was not a good fit, and would then start ignoring that juror as a target for later questions. This makes sense—the total jury only needs to be 12 plus alternates, so investing too much time into poor-fit jurors seems like a waste.

Another aspect of the questioning that surprised me was that often, a line of questioning would be prefaced by information or scenarios. There was information about jury service, or the attorneys themselves, or a now-entertaining anecdote about the time the defense attorney’s car broke down.

One particular line of questioning that got me thinking at the time had to do with the definition of “self-defense”, and what would qualify. The defense attorney set up a couple of scenarios, such as a housewife that had been a victim of domestic violence and feared her husband was about to attack her again: would it be okay for her to use her cast iron skillet and take the first swing? Aside from it being an interesting thought experiment, I guessed it had something to do with the case.¹⁴

Another interesting theme of questioning had to do with what I think of as “questions of law”. These are questions like “what is the role of the judge in this trial?” or “What do the words ‘premeditated’ and ‘deliberate’ mean to you?”¹⁵ I was surprised that the attorneys were asking these questions (after all, in a trial, I assume the part of the law that defines what “premeditated” or “murder in the first degree” means would be provided to the jury). As I pondered, I think these questions may have been partly to filter out people who are completely unable to accept authority (e.g., the judge question), and partly to evaluate how potential jurors processed and discussed information (the “premeditated” question had a lot of asking one juror to follow up on another juror’s answer).

Less surprising were some questions that seemed directly focused on reasoning ability. One example was along the lines of “if to prove a crime, the prosecution needs to prove parts A, B, and C, what would you decide if they proved just A and B?”¹⁶

Also unsurprising—if somewhat tedious—were the questions about what the defense needs to prove. You see, in the USA, the prosecution needs to prove¹⁷ the defendant committed the crime. The defense does not need to prove anything. If the prosecution has not proven the case, the defense could skip presenting any argument and doing so should not lead to a guilty verdict.¹⁸ The defense attorney spent quite a bit of time on that point. I think the prosecution may have, as well, come to think of it.

To summarize what surprised me about the way voir dire played out:

• The questioning was designed to educate potential jurors as much as filter them
• The questioning involved potential jurors responding to things other potential jurors had said
• Questions were often prefaced with information and/or scenarios; they weren’t just questions
• Some of the questions were about things that seemed like things we should have just been told
• Questioning was not evenly distributed across the jury pool or even top 34

Lunch on Wednesday was at LP Street Food. I saw a couple of other potential jurors there. I read my (new!) book instead of talking with them, mindful of the judge’s admonition not to talk to anyone, even each other, about the case. And very mindful of the fact that about all we had in common was the case. My lunch was quite good.

About 3:45PM on Wednesday, the defense finished up their questioning (I believe the phrase both sides used was “pass for cause”, but I might have mis-heard). The court attendant brought a clipboard with a list of juror names to the attorneys, and they began passing it back and forth (via the court attendant). I got the impression that each side got to cross off one juror per pass.

It was a bit after 4PM when they finished passing the clipboard. The court attendant called out the names on the list, and 12 jurors and two (?) alternates took their place in the jury box. I was not on that list. The judge asked the attorneys to confirm this was the jury they intended to select. As the attorneys double-checked, the judge told the jurors that sometimes a mistake gets made, and a wrong juror slips through. In this case, the attorneys confirmed.

The judge then thanked all of the jurors that weren’t selected. He made a special point of thanking the ones that were not in the top 34. They hadn’t had to answer questions, and he knew it seemed like they didn’t do any good by being there. He went on to explain that there are rules about the size of the pool jurors need to be drawn from for serious cases, and that their presence was still important. I think I believe him.

With that, those of us that weren’t selected were dismissed. We said goodbye to any acquaintances we’d made on our way out. It was a warm spring-feeling day. It didn’t quite feel like the last day of school, but there was a note of that energy as we dispersed from the courthouse, making our separate ways home.

1. I’ve been summoned three times. This was the first time I’ve had to report. [↩]
2. Especially in the “way” of not having to experience them, and just be told about them! [↩]
3. Being able to work would be great. My department was rolling out a policy change, and a peer manager was going to announce his resignation. It’d be a really, really good day to be able to work. [↩]
4. And some part of me wonders if it’s somehow “my fault” that I had to report. Is leaving appointments scheduled for a possible jury duty day a sign of hubris? Was I tempting the universe? [↩]
5. Which, naturally, I watched at 2x. [↩]
6. Possibly a “court attendant”, which is the new term for what used to be called the “bailiff”. Or it could have been another court employee. [↩]
7. In some ways, it seems wild that murder trials get the same citizen jurors as any other trial. They don’t even let us practice with a trial for shoplifting or arson or light treason! [↩]
8. I don’t recall the exact text of the oath. It was a bit different than the standard witness “tell the truth, the whole, truth, and nothing but the truth” oath I’ve seen on TV. It was tailored to jury service. [↩]
9. This despite the warnings outside the courtroom about phones and other similar devices not being allowed. I suspect the warnings have more to do with recording court proceedings, and there were no actual court proceedings where we waited. [↩]
10. Most of them came back. [↩]
11. I assume this is the reason, anyway. I’m speculating. Believe it or not, I don’t know the full voir dire procedures for the state of Iowa. [↩]
12. It’s a Dutch name, so the “ch” is pronounced like a “k”. “Skowt-in” gets reasonably close. “Scout’n” is also reasonably close. [↩]
13. The sound did sound a lot like white noise, but (being aware of the signs posted about phone use, and my somewhat more visible place in the top 34) I did not pull out my phone to verify that the spectrum looked like white noise. It could have been a different “color” of noise. [↩]
14. Upon my release from jury duty, I promptly looked up articles about the case. The line of questioning was super relevant. The defendant is alleged to have been in a fight with the victim, the two were separated, and then the defendant re-engaged with a gun. [↩]
15. As someone who tends to do well with language, this part of the discussion made me sad. One person said, essentially, “premeditated is when you think about it before, but deliberate is when you don’t.” [↩]
16. The correct answer is “not guilty”. [↩]
17. beyond a reasonable doubt in a criminal case [↩]
18. Whether doing so would be a wise strategy is a whole different discussion. [↩]