My Verdict on Jury Duty in NYC

Last month, I had the displeasure of being summoned to the Manhattan Civil Courthouse for jury duty.


My Dad as well as my colleagues were astonished that my presence would be required after scarcely year in the city. What had I done to warrant such ignominious treatment?


Jury summons are not unfamiliar to me. Indeed, during my 18½ years in Boston I was thrice summoned for jury duty. Twice I underwent voir dire but was not selected for jury duty. In the latter case, I asked to be excused because I was scheduled to undergo an endoscopy early the following week which would have likely conflicted with the trial. Fortunately, I was excused. The final time I was summoned, my appearance was cancelled as no cases were scheduled for the day in question. All in all, other than having to be in court by 8 a.m., these experiences were relatively painless. The same cannot be said for New York City.


When it comes to jury duty, there are significant differences between Massachusetts and New York. In the Bay State, when summoned, one can delay one's service up to one year. In the Empire State, one can only delay one's service from 2 to 6 months. If I chose this route then chances are I would have been summoned again in the dead of winter. So I decided the bite the bullet and get it out of the way.


I made a point of taking the subway down to Lower Manhattan a few days before my appearance. Unlike Midtown or the Upper West Side, Lower Manhattan is not on a grid. Indeed, it reminds me of downtown Boston only on a far larger scale. I'm glad I did this because if I hadn't I surely would have ended up at 1 World Trade Center instead of 111 Centre Street.


In Boston, when jurors were gathered into a room we were addressed in person by judge. In NYC, when jurors are gathered in a room we must watch a UHF quality TV featuring a short film on the importance of jury duty narrated by Nightline co-anchor Byron Pitts. The grainy quality of the film made it look like a hostage video and I think Pitts wanted to be there about as much as we did.


In Boston, we had frequent breaks between the long silences. In NYC, one must be ready to be summoned at any moment. You can go to the bathroom and sign out, but if your name is called and you miss it then you do so at your own risk. In Boston, there were cafeterias where one could buy tasty food at a reasonable price. In NYC, there are no cafeterias and you're stuck with a vending machine dispensing junk food. Fortunately, given my idiosyncratic diet, I brought my own stock of non-dairy protein bars and mushroom based jerky. They served me well. While my appetite was satiated, my ears were subject to unpleasant noises. As I mentioned, in Boston, there was silence. In NYC, the female Indian court clerk felt the need to talk constantly. She sounded like an aspiring DJ who had failed to find a job in radio on account of an annoying voice.


After nearly two hours of disorientation, I was among a group of prospective jurors summoned to a panel across the road at the New York County Criminal Court on 100 Centre Street. The court officers gave us yellow cards so we could bypass security. We proceeded to the 13th floor and escorted into a courtroom. The case in question was one where the defendant was accused of child sexual assault. Obviously a disturbing accusation, but as the judge presiding over the case stated it is only an accusation. Nevertheless this proved a difficult situation for a lot of prospective jurors who disclosed they or members of their family had been sexually assaulted with some breaking down in tears. Needless to say these prospective jurors were excused from the case as was the one prospective female juror who stated those accused of sexual assault weren't entitled to the presumption of innocence.


I was summoned the jury box and questioned at length by the judge as to, among other things, where I was from, where I went to school, with whom did I live and where did I get my news. The last question was particularly interesting because a lot of people said The New York Times and NPR. I wonder if the judge would have dismissed a juror if he or she had said Fox News or Breitbart. But no one made such a disclosure.


The judge gave two minutes apiece to the ADA and defense attorneys to pose their questions. While the ADA was conducting voir dire I had placed my hand under my chin as is my want and she immediately questioned this behavior. I assured her that it was merely a personal habit rather than a reflection of my ability to determine the facts of the case fairly. For his part, the defense attorney asked me to clarify my work with children. I had disclosed that I worked for Massachusetts child abuse hotline run by what was then known as DSS in 2000 and 2001. At the conclusion of voir dire, we were all asked to leave the room to, as the judge put it, "talk about you behind your backs." I'm sure there was plenty of talk about me as I was not among the jurors selected.


There was good news and bad news. The good news is that I had 90 minutes for lunch and I had a nice walk around Chinatown. The bad news was that I had to return to the jury room at 111 Centre Street. In Massachusetts, once you are excused from a jury panel then you are done with your jury service. Not so in NYC. Indeed, one can be kept up to three days before being excused assuming you haven't been selected.


Upon my return, I saw that my phone & iPad were running low on battery life. Fortunately, there was a side room for that convenience. At 3 p.m., another jury panel was convened but my name was not called. Ditto for an hour later. The clerk then said anyone who hadn't been called for the 4 p.m. panel to report to her. Two of us approached. It turns out the court officers had lost our jury ballots. So we had to give her our jury IDs and join the 4 p.m. panel.


Unlike the 11 a.m. panel, the court officers did not give us yellow cards. Security at 100 Centre Street was furious with the court officers and a shouting match ensued. After words were exchanged, security let us in but severely admonished the court officers.


Once again we proceeded to the 13th floor to another courtroom. Another criminal case. Thankfully not another child sexual assault, but rather theft and possession of stolen goods. No sooner than we took our seats, the judge dismissed us for the day and told us to report to the courtroom at 9:45 a.m. the following day.


At the appointed time the 13th floor was jammed full of people from both the 3 p.m. and 4 p.m. panel from the previous day. One of the court officers (an older gentleman who was overseeing the 3 p.m. panel) castigated jurors for not listening to the judge and told them to stop asking him questions to which they already knew the answer. There was a younger, taller court officer who repeatedly demanded people make way for him as he proceeded up and down the hall. "You have to make way for me!!! You have to make way for me!!! There are plenty of seats!!!" There weren't any. These court officers clearly enjoy what little authority they have and the exercise thereof.


Court did not convene until 10:15 a.m. Once again, I was selected to go into the jury box. Unlike the older white female judge who questioned each juror individually, this white middle aged judge had us answer his questions from a laminated handout. This judge also gave the ADA and defense attorneys 15 minutes apiece to conduct their respective voir dire. The young Asian ADA asked me a question but the older German accented defense attorney thankfully did not. The defense attorney made a point of saying, "I don't need to put on a case. I can sit on my ass if I want, but I won't." A bit much arrogance for my liking. However, the judge was annoyed with the ADA who not only went over his allotted time but twice asked to extend his time.


As with the previous days, the courtroom was cleared so the judge and attorneys could talk behind our backs. Yet another half hour passed. Shortly after re-entering the courtroom, I exited after being excluded from my second jury panel in less than 24 hours. Those of us not selected were told to go up two floors to another jury room. Upon entry there was no one there. So we just sat and waited.


After an hour, a female African American clerk entered the room apparently having returned from lunch and was shocked to see us there. We explained that we had been excused from a jury panel an hour earlier. Fortunately, she had the most sense if anyone I had encountered in a day and a half there because she excused us from our obligations, printed us our proof of service and sent us on our way. She said, "We'll see you in four years, but I won't because I'll be retired by then." It was 1:30 p.m. on a Friday and I had the rest of the day to myself.


It was said over and again that trial by jury is the cornerstone of our democracy. But if I were ever appeared in court as a defendant I think I'd prefer a bench trial. I didn't have much interaction with the other prospective jurors. I don't like to bother people and invade their space. In any case, I got the very strong sense they didn't want to be there anymore than anyone else and had other things to do. As such, do I really want to put my fate into the hands of someone who is in a hurry to get to a Yankees game?


What soured me the most was the lack of professionalism among the court officers. They treated us as criminals, not as law abiding citizens. Needless to say, I am not looking forward to having to go back in four years time. This is, of course, assuming that I am still living in New York City by then.