Day after day, we sat in the jury room or court room getting to know one another. There were cliques, friendships, antipathies. Some people got along better than others. Some people stayed out of the frey: they read their newspapers, their books, steered clear of the conversation.
We shared snacks: M&M Peanut, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Charleston Chews, Gummy Bears. I brough macaroons from the Farmer’s Market, someone else brought cheddar cheese and crackers.
We found out things about eachother: family, friends, career, sketchy life history. Some revealed more, some revealed less.
The Viet Nam Vet never spoke. The Candy Lady regaled us with stories, opinions, jokes. Church Lady played the daughter of Dad, writing him Father’s Day cards and asking why he left her mother. It was a joke that played itself out. The Tardy Juror irritated everyone. I thought it might get nasty but it never did. She was defensive at first, but finally apologetic. The Color Coordinated Juror was probably the biggest mystery with her scowling face and world class attitude. But even she was endearing in her way.
Here are some short snapshots of the people I spent the last week with:
The Candy Lady, a good humored, pretty-faced African-American nurse who brought candy nearly every day. She was easy going but a common sense force to be reckoned with.
Saint Lucia, was a whip-smart, petite mother of three, with a gentle manner that was a real asset to the jury during the last hour or so of contention.
Church Lady, was a funny and thoughtful Hispanic woman, who distributed postcards about the Billy Graham event in Flushing Meadow Park, made endless jokes about Dad, and definitely had a serious side.
The Tardy Juror, wore knee-length shorts, fancy flip flops, and stylish lingerie tops and arrived late every single day. While initially defensive and irksome, she turned out to be clear-headed and efficient when it came to the deliberations. Though initially reluctant, she handled her forman’s duties with aplomb.
The Color Coordinated Juror, was an African-American woman with a scowl on her face. In a different colored outfit every day, she looked alternately pissed off or like something wasn’t going right with her life. On the last day, she became quite animated and appealing, regaling the jury with a hilarious story about winning $10,000 at a Paradise Island casino.
Dad, a WASPy juror from Park Slope was so-named because he was observed early on writing checks to his college age children. The Church Lady wrote him a Father’s Day card on Monday that said: "Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I would have gotten you a real card but you need to raise my allowance." Candy Lady declared that Dad would make a good president.
The Math Teacher, was an African man who dressed neatly in well-pressed clothing. He spoke little and his accent difficult to understood. But he took copious notes in the courtroom and revealed himself to be a very close listener to the trial during deliberation.
The Caterer from Guayana spoke in an uninflected, lilting way that was hard to follow but quite musical. She works as a housekeeper in a Manhattan hotel but has a catering business on the side. This week she is making cod cakes and special stews for a weekend wedding. She brought her own homemade hot sauce and special snacks for us all to share.
Mama was the oldest juror, a grey-haired Caribbean woman, who spent much of the week reading the newspaper and making brief comments about the news or the fact that the court was keeping us waiting. A registered nurse, she walked with a walker and exuded a quiet, sturdy wisdom.
Cool Girl, a white girl in the entertainment biz, was in the midst of a break up and wore black high-top sneakers and boutique clothes. She listened closely to everyone’s conversations, adding her two cents in a Deborah Winger voice every now and again.
The Academic, a small man with big eyes, was a college instructor and PHD candidate in psychology. He spent the week reading Phillip Roth’s American Pastorale, adding his comments every so often with an amused smile. His clarity and intelligence turned him into a leader during the deliberation process.
The College Kid, had a long, handsome face and thoughtful eyes. He was plugged into his CD Walkman whenever we were out of the courtroom. He was Alternate #1.
With his Fu Manchu mustache and serious face, the Viet Nam Vet stared out the window at the Mariott Hotel, looking either annoyed or bored. He was Alternate #2.
I finally looked, really looked, at the fancy, fixed-up yard on Third Street. It wasn’t so bad. I mean, for me, to see it. I think I handled it well. By that I mean I didn’t start sobbing or throw rocks at their elegant trees. 
