Juror #12

By C.J. Hirschfield

On a chilly day in January, the potential jury pool at the Alameda County Courthouse in downtown Oakland started out with what looked to be more than 150 people. Many were let go with hardship excuses; a good number needed to postpone their duty and were assigned later dates. I had already postponed once; summer is not a time when the boss at Children’s Fairyland can get away.

Alameda County Courthouse, 1225 Fallon St., Oakland

I’m old enough to have been required to take a civics course in high school, and I really do believe, as I’d been taught, that jurors are key to the administration of justice. So there I was, still kinda hoping I wouldn’t be called. When we were asked on a questionnaire whether we knew any lawyers, and I honestly answered that I’m married to one, I thought I might be disqualified. But no – I became juror number 12 in a civil case that was expected to last for five whole weeks. (One young lady literally threw some kind of fit in her quest to be excused—tears, muscle spasms and histrionics. It worked.)

I’m not going to say it was easy. My Fairyland work week is Tuesday through Saturday, with Mondays off. Jury duty was Monday through Friday. That meant that for five weeks I was in effect working a six-day week.

The good news was that court was typically in session only from 8:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m., allowing me to race back to Fairyland each afternoon. I was also lucky in that I could walk to and from the courthouse. Some of my fellow other jurors commuted from Livermore, Pleasanton, Dublin, and Berkeley; they needed to be at the courthouse no later than 7:30 a.m. to find parking. They were an impressive group of people—smart, of all ages, committed to their public service, and with great senses of humor, which comes in handy after five weeks of controlled confinement.

Courtroom in Oakland's county courthouse. According to a 2015 KPIX story, 68 percent of potential Alameda County jurors fail to show up. 

We started with four alternates, but with it being cold and flu season, we ended up with just one. None of us knew what would happen if our ranks fell below 12. Mistrial? Luckily, we lasted as 13 until the alternate was finally dismissed after closing arguments.

We were issued pads of paper for note-taking, and ultimately heard from 37 witnesses. The case involved an injury, and it took an emotional toll on all of us. Not being able to discuss the case at all with anyone, or use electronic means for research, was not easy. I found myself thinking about the complexities of the case even when I was away from the courthouse.

Scene from "12 Angry Men" (1957). Our deliberations were considerably calmer.

Our judge was smart, respectful, and calm. Our deputy clerk – who called us in and out of the jury room, answered many questions, was not a 49ers fan, and brought us the information we needed when we were in deliberation – was a delightful man.

During deliberations, my fellow jurors made timelines and tacked them to the walls, asked thoughtful questions, examined pieces of evidence and calmly listened to one another’s points of view.

And in the end, we reached a verdict.

Once freed from service, we walked to the nearby Lake Chalet restaurant, where we raised our glasses and talked about the case. We also exchanged email addresses. Yes, we really liked each other.

In many ways, jury duty was a real pain. I had to return emails at 5 a.m. and often in the evenings as well. Working six days in a row had me frazzled, and I’m still playing catch-up.

But here’s what I tell people: I wouldn’t want to find myself in front of a jury, and I wouldn’t want anyone I know to be in that position either. If it were to happen, though, I would hope to look out and see a group of folks as smart and committed as the nice people I got to spend time – lots and lots of time – with. 

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C.J. Hirschfield has served for 17 years as executive director of Children’s Fairyland, where she is charged with the overall operation of the nation’s oldest storybook theme park.