The bright side of jury duty

Laurent d’Entremont



Early morning on most weekdays, I meet with the boys at the local coffee house for my daily cup of green tea. I enjoy sipping this, but enjoy even more yarning with the fishermen who consider me one of them.

Recently, a friend from my school days told me of doing jury duty in Yarmouth. It seemed the accused had been driving under the influence resulting in a very unfortunate accident causing a passenger to later die of injuries sustained in that accident.

This was a very serious case, however, it reminded me of doing jury duty a good 15 years earlier. The case that I served on was not so severe and even had a touch of humor, although not for the accused.

I loved every minute of serving on this jury. After the judge had selected 12 people who could not find 12 good excuses to not be there, he gave his instructions and what to expect. He told us about two young men who had broken into a construction shed and who stole some equipment designed for cleaning septic tanks, of all things. This pair, knowing that the police were hot on their trail, hid the equipments in the woods and called the owner to pick it up. Not too serious a crime, but they had broken the law, gotten caught and now justice had to be served.



One of the boys, who pleaded guilty, had spent some time behind bars. His friend, who pleaded not guilty, was now in hot water, so to speak. They both testified with two totally different stories and they were so convincing that I believed both of them.

The judge invited the one who had served time to tell his side of the story, and he made an entrance that I will never forget. This man’s attire was not making a fashion statement in the least as he walked across the courtroom with his heavy, unlaced, mud-splattered work boots with laces flip-flopping with every step and his well-worn leather jacket had a gaping hole on the shoulder, likely the result of leaning too close to an exhaust pipe aboard a lobster boat.

Yet, he was a lovable guy who told the judge and jury that he and his friend had broken into this businessman’s shed and loaded heavy equipments into the back of his pickup truck. This equipment, he said, was too heavy for just one man to handle. His friend, also under oath, told a different story. According to him, he had drunk a case of beer and a pint of whisky, was completely passed out on the passenger side of the truck and was in no shape to steal anything.

Hearing two different stories was the easy part for us. Now we had to separate the truth from the stretched-out truth.



The jury was sent to the jury room where we argued, agreed and disagreed for two days, ate too much food and drank too much coffee, or, in my case, green tea. We laughed a lot, one woman cried, but 12 people could not agree on one solution. Was the guy really drunk? Not according to the driver, but if he had consumed what he said he had, there was no question about it; he was lucky to be alive.

In the long run, it seemed that the guy who had spent nights in the “Crowbar Hotel” had nothing to gain or lose by not telling the truth. No one was going to get hung, no matter what, so we considered his story the most credible. The other lad was found guilty and given a light sentence of spending weekends in lockup and doing so many hours of community work.



The judge thanked us and said he felt our decision was the right one. I have often wondered since, though, if the accused considered himself in real trouble when he realized that his future was hanging in the hands of 12 people who were not smart enough to get out of jury duty.




laudent@hotmail.com