Capitoli XXXIX XL

È il giorno in cui deve essere scelta la giuria. Verranno estratti a sorte alcuni tra i

tanti possibili candidati, dopodichè gli avvocati faranno le loro proposte.

La scena è incentrata su Nevin Dark, un ipotetico giurato, il primo ad essere

estratto.

Entro la fine della mattinata l'estrazione è conclusa e, nel pomeriggio, dopo i

colloqui in privato nello studio di Atlee con ogni giurato, la giuria è scelta.

A bailiff came to life and yelled, "All rise for the court. The Chancery Court of the Twenty-Fifth Judicial District of Mississipi, the Honorable Reuben V. Atlee presiding." Judge Atlee appeared from the rear and assumed the bench while the crowd jumped to its feet.

"Please be seated," he said. [...]

The courtroom had two sections, right and left of a center aisle, and each section had ten long benches that held about ten people each. Since the courtroom was at fully capacity, Judge Atlee asked the rest of the spectators to please rise and clear out the first four rows to his left. This took a few minutes as people shuffled and stumbled and shoved about, uncertain where to go. Most stood along the walls. He reached into the plastic bin, extracted a name, and called out, "Mr Nevin Dark." Nevin's heart skipped a beat, but he stood and said, "Yes sir."

"Good morning, Mr Dark. Would you please sit over here on the first row, far to the left, and we'll refer to you as Juror Number One for the time being."

"Certainly." [...]

Number Two was Tracy McMillen, a secretary, white female, age thirty-one. Judge Atlee took his time unfolding the scrapts of paper, studying the names, trying to pronounce them perfectly, allowing each to assume a new position. When the first row was filled, they moved to the second with Juror Number Eleven, one Sherry Benton, the first black to be called forth.

It took an hour to seat the first fifty. When they were in place, Judge Atlee excused to the others and said they should remain on standby until further notice. Some of them left, but most stayed where they were and became part of the audience.

"Let's recess for fifteen minutes," the judge said [...]

After the recess, the lawyers were allowed to move their chairs around to the other sides of their tables so they could stare at the panel while the panel stared right back. Judge Atlee assumed the bench without the ritual of “Please rise for the court” and began with a concise statement of the case. He said he expected the trial to last three or four days and that he certainly planned to be finished by Friday afternoon. He introduced the lawyers, all of them, but not the paralegals. Jake was alone, facing an army.

Judge Atlee explained that he would cover a few areas that had to be discussed, then he would allow the attorneys to question and probe. He began with health— anyone sick, facing treatment, or unable to sit and listen for long periods of time? One lady stood and said her husband was in the hospital in Tupelo and she needed to be there. “You are excused,” Judge Atlee said with great compassion, and she hustled out of the courtroom. Number twenty-nine, gone. Number forty had a herniated disk that had flared up over the weekend and he claimed to be in considerable pain. He was taking painkillers that made him quite drowsy. “You are excused,” Judge Atlee said.

He seemed perfectly willing to excuse anyone with a legitimate concern, but this proved not to be the case. When he asked about conflicts with work, a gentleman wearing a coat and a tie stood and said he simply could not be away from the office. He was a district manager for a company that made steel buildings, and was

clearly an executive taken with his own importance. He even hinted he might lose his job. Judge Atlee’s lecture on civic responsibility lasted five minutes and scorched the gentleman. He ended with “If you lose your job, Mr. Crawford, let me know. I’ll subpoena your boss, put him on the stand here, and, well, he’ll have a bad day.”

Mr. Crawford sat down, thoroughly chastised and humiliated. There were no more efforts to skip jury duty on account of work. Judge Atlee then moved to the next issue on his checklist—prior jury service. Several said they had served before, three in state court and two in federal. Nothing about those experiences would alter their ability to deliberate in the case at hand.

Nine people claimed to know Jake Brigance. Four were former clients and they were excused. Two ladies attended the same church but felt as though that fact would not influence their judgment. They were not excused. A distant relative was. Carla’s schoolteacher friend said she knew Jake well and was too close for any objectivity. She was excused. The last was a high school pal from Karaway who admitted he hadn’t seen Jake in ten years. He was left on the panel, to be dealt with later.

Each lawyer was introduced again, with the same questions. No one knew Wade Lanier, Lester Chilcott, Zack Zeitler, or Joe Bradley Hunt, but then they were out- of-town lawyers.

Judge Atlee said, “Now, moving along, the last will and testament in question was written by a man named Seth Hubbard, now deceased, of course. Did any of you know him personally?” Two hands were timidly lifted. A man stood and said he had grown up in the Palmyra area of the county and had known Seth when they were quite a bit younger.

“How old are you, sir?” Judge Atlee asked. “Sixty-nine.”

“You know you can claim an exemption from service if you’re above the age of sixty-five, right?”

“Yes sir, but I don’t have to, do I?”

“Oh no. If you want to serve, that’s admirable. Thank you.”

A woman stood and said she had once worked at a lumber yard owned by Seth Hubbard, but it would not be a problem. Judge Atlee gave the names of Seth’s two wives and asked if anyone knew them. A woman said her older sister had been

friends with the first wife, but that had been a long time ago. Herschel Hubbard and Ramona Hubbard Dafoe were asked to stand. They smiled awkwardly at the judge and the jurors, then sat down. Methodically, Judge Atlee asked the panel if anyone knew them. A few hands went up, all belonging to old classmates from Clanton High. Judge Atlee asked each one a series of questions. All claimed to know little about the case and to be unaffected by what little knowledge they possessed.

Tedium set in as Judge Atlee went through page after page of questions. By noon, twelve of the fifty had been dismissed, all of them white. Of the thirty-eight remaining, eleven were black, not a single one of whom had lifted a hand.

[...]

At 1:30, when all thirty-eight were accounted for, Judge Atlee appeared from the rear and said, “Good afternoon.” He went on to explain that he would now continue with the selection of the jury, and he planned to do so in a manner that was somewhat unusual. Each juror would be asked to step into his chambers to be quizzed by the lawyers in private.

Jake had made this request because he assumed the jurors, as a group, knew more about the case than they were willing to admit. By grilling them in private, he was confident he could elicit more thorough responses. Wade Lanier did not object. Judge Atlee said, “Mr. Nevin Dark, would you join us in my chambers, please?” A bailiff showed him the way, and Nevin nervously walked past the bench, through a door, down a short hallway, and into a rather small room where everyone was waiting. A court reporter sat ready to transcribe every word. Judge Atlee occupied one end of the table and the lawyers crowded around the rest of it.

“Please remember that you’re under oath, Mr. Dark,” Judge Atlee said. “Of course.”

Jake Brigance flashed him an earnest smile and said, “Some of these questions might be kind of personal, Mr. Dark, and if you don’t want to answer them, that’s fine. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Do you currently have a last will and testament?” “I do.”

“Who prepared it?”

“Barney Suggs, a lawyer in Karaway.” “And your wife?”

“Yes, we signed them at the same time, in Mr. Suggs’s office, about three years ago.”

Without asking the specifics of their wills, Jake nibbled around the edges of the willmaking process. What prompted them to prepare their wills? Do their children know what’s in the wills? How often have they changed their wills? Did they name each other as executor of their wills? Have they ever inherited anything from another will? Did he, Nevin Dark, believe a person should have the right to leave his property to anyone? To a non– family member? To charity? To a friend or employee? To cut out family members who may have fallen out of favor? Had either Mr. Dark or his wife ever considered changing their wills to exclude a person currently named as a beneficiary?

And so on. When Jake finished, Wade Lanier asked a series of questions about drugs and painkillers. Nevin Dark said he’d used them only sparingly, but his wife was a breast cancer survivor and at one time had relied on some strong medications for pain. He could not remember their names. Lanier showed genuine concern for this woman he’d never met, and poked and prodded enough to convey the message that strong painkillers taken by very sick people often cause a lapse in rational thinking. The seed was skillfully planted.

Judge Atlee was watching the clock, and after ten minutes he called time. Nevin returned to the courtroom, where everyone stared at him. Juror Number Two, Tracy McMillen, was waiting in a chair by the bench, and was quickly led to the back room, where she faced the same questioning.

[...]

It was almost 6:30 when Juror Number Thirty-eight left chambers and returned to the courtroom. Judge Atlee, showing remarkable energy, rubbed his hands together and said, “Gentlemen, let’s finish this job now so we can start fresh with the opening statements in the morning. Agreed?”

Jake said, “Judge, I’d like to renew my motion for a change of venue. Now that we’ve interviewed the first thirty-eight jurors, it is apparent that, as a whole, this panel knows far too much about this case. Almost every juror was willing to admit he or she had heard something about it. This is quite unusual in a civil case.”

“Quite the contrary, Jake,” Judge Atlee said. “I thought they answered the questions well. Sure they’ve heard about the case, but almost all of them claimed to be able to keep an open mind.”

“I agree, Judge,” Wade Lanier said. “With a few exceptions, I’m impressed with the panel.”

“Motion is overruled, Jake.”

“No surprise,” Jake mumbled, just loud enough to be heard. “Now, can we pick our jury?”

“I’m ready,” Jake said.

“Let’s go,” replied Wade Lanier.

“Very well. I’m dismissing jurors number three, four, seven, nine, fifteen, eighteen, and twenty-four for cause. Any discussion?”

Slowly, Lanier said, “Yes, Your Honor, why number fifteen?”

“He said he knew the Roston family and was deeply saddened by the deaths of their two sons. I suspect he holds a grudge against anyone with the last name of Lang.” “He said he did not, Your Honor,” Lanier argued.

“Of course that’s what he said. I just don’t believe him. He’s excused for cause. Anyone else?”

Jake shook his head no. Lanier was angry but said nothing. Judge Atlee pressed on, “Each side has four peremptory challenges. Mr. Brigance, you must present the first twelve.”

Jake nervously scanned his notes, then slowly said, “Okay, we’ll take numbers one, two, five, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen, sixteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty-one, and twentytwo.” There was a long pause as everyone in the room looked at their charts and made notes. Finally, Judge Atlee said, “So you struck six, thirteen, twenty, and twenty-three, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you ready, Mr. Lanier?”

“Just a second, Judge,” Lanier said as he huddled with Lester Chilcott. They whispered for a while, obviously in disagreement. Jake listened hard but could not decipher anything. He kept his eyes on his notes, on his chosen twelve, knowing he could not keep them all.

“Gentlemen,” Judge Atlee said.

“Yes sir,” Lanier said slowly. “We’ll strike numbers five, sixteen, twenty-five, and twentyseven.”

The air left the room again as every lawyer and the judge struck names from makeshift charts and moved the higher numbers up the ladder. Judge Atlee said,

“So, it looks like our jury will consist of numbers one, two, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-six, and twenty- eight. Does everyone concur?”

The lawyers shook their heads in agreement without taking their eyes from their legal pads. Ten whites, two blacks. Eight women, four men. Half had wills, half did not. Three had college degrees; seven finished high school; two did not. Median age of forty-nine, with two women in their twenties, a pleasant surprise for Jake. Overall he was pleased. On the other side of the table, Wade Lanier was too. The truth was that Judge Atlee did a fine job of eliminating those who might possibly begin deliberations with preconceived notions or prejudices. On paper, it appeared as if the extremists were gone, and the trial was left in the hands of twelve people who appeared to be open-minded.

“Let’s pick a couple of alternates,” His Honor said.

At 7:00 p.m., the new jurors gathered in the jury room and got themselves organized, according to Judge Atlee’s instructions. Because he had been the first one selected, the first name called, the first to be seated, and because he gave every indication of being an amicable type with an easy smile and kind word to all, Mr. Nevin Dark was elected foreman of the jury.

It had been a very long day, but an exciting one. As he drove home, he found himself eager to chat with his wife over a late dinner and tell her everything. Judge Atlee had warned them against discussing the case with each other, but he didn’t say a word about spouses.

Una guardia annunciò a voce alta: "In piedi, entra la corte di cancelleria del venticinquesimo distretto giudiziario del Mississippi, presieduta dall'onorevole Reuben V. Atlee". Il giudice Atlee comparve da dietro e prese possesso del banco, mentre la folla scattava in piedi.

"Seduti prego" disse il giudice. [...]

L'aula era divisa in due parti da un passaggio centrale, e ogni parte aveva dieci lunghe panche ognuna delle quali poteva ospitare una decina di persone. Poichè l'aula era piena al massimo della capienza, il giudice Atlee chiese per favore agli spettatori di alzarsi e di lasciare libere le prime quattro file alla sua sinistra. L'operazione richiese alcuni minuti, con gente che si trascinava, inciampava e

spingeva, incerta su dove andare. La maggior parte rimase in piedi lungo le pareti. Il giudice infilò la mano nel contenitore di plastica,estrasse un foglietto e chiamò: "Mr Nevin Dark."

Nevin sentì il cuore mancare un battito, ma si alzò e disse: "Si, signore".

"Buon giorno, Mr Dark. Per favore, si sieda nella prima fila, all'estrema sinistra. Per il momento ci riferiremo a lei come giurato numero uno."

"Certo." [...]

Il giurato numero due era Tracy McMillen, segretaria, bianca,trentun anni. Il giudice Atlee procedeva con calma ad aprire i foglietti, studiava i nomi, cercava di pronunciarli correttamente e indicava a ciascuno la sua posizione. Quando la prima fila fu piena, passarono alla seconda con il giurato numero undici, tale Sherry Benton, il primo nero a essere chiamato.

Occorse un'ora per far sedere i primi cinquanta. Quando tutti furono a posto, il giudice Atlee si scusò con gli altri e li informò che sarebbero dovuti rimanere a disposizione fino a ulteriore avviso. Alcuni di loro uscirono, ma per la maggior parte restarono in aula e divennero parte del pubblico.

"Quindici minuti di sospensione" decretò il giudice. [...]

Dopo la sospensione, agli avvocati fu concesso di spostare le sedie sull'altro lato del tavolo in modo da poter guardare i candidati alla giuria mentre i candidati guardavano loro. Il giudice Atlee riprese posto al banco senza il rituale del "In piedi, entra la corte" e cominciò con una succinta presentazione della causa. Si aspettava, disse, che il processo sarebbe durato tre o quattro giorni e contava di arrivare alla conclusione venerdì pomeriggio. Presentò gli avvocati, tutti quanti, ma non i paralegali. Jake era solo di fronte a un esercito.

Il giudice Atlee spiegò che avrebbe dovuto chiarire alcuni aspetti, dopo di che avrebbe consentito agli avvocati di fare domande e di indagare. Cominciò con la salute: qualcuno era indisposto, seguiva una cura, non era in grado di stare seduto e ascoltare per lunghi periodi? Una donna si alzò per dire che suo marito era a Tupelo in ospedale e doveva stargli accanto. “Lei è esentata,” dichiarò con grande sensibilità il giudice Atlee, e la donna uscì dall'aula. Numero ventinove, via. Il numero quaranta soffriva di ernia del disco, peggiorata nel corso della settimana, e sostenne di stare molto male. Prendeva analgesici che inducevano sonnolenza. “Lei

è esentato,” disse il giudice Atlee.

Pareva assolutamente disposto a esentare chiunque avesse una motivazione plausibile, ma in breve dimostrò che non era così. Quando chiese di eventuali problemi con il lavoro, un uomo in giacca e cravatta si alzò e disse semplicemente di non poter stare lontano dall'ufficio. Era direttore di ziona in una ditta che costruiva edifici in acciaio, un dirigente tutto preso dalla propria importanza. Accennò anche al fatto che avrebbe potuto essere licenziato. La ramanzina del giudice Atlee sulla responsabilità civica durò cinque minuti e si abbattè sul malcapitato. Il giudice concluse con “Se perde il lavoro, Mr Crawford, me lo faccia sapere. Citerò in giudizio il suo capo, lo porterò qui alla sbarra e, be', gli farò passare un brutto quarto d'ora.”

Mr Crawford si sedette, mortificato. Non ci furono altri tentativi di evitare l'onere, adducendo il lavoro come scusa. Il giudice Atlee passò allora all'argomento seguente nel suo elenco: precedenti come giurato. Alcuni dichiararono di avere già fatto parte di una giuria, tre in corti distrettuali e due in corti federali. Niente nella precedente esperienza avrebbe alterato la loro capacità di deliberare nella causa in