BarTalk June 1999
Volume 11, Number 3

Reflections of a first-time juror

by Ted Coombs

The letter arrived in the mail marked ‘Office of The Sheriff’. “Yikes, are they coming to take my furniture away for some unknown and unpaid debt?” was my first thought. I opened the letter with some trepidation and read my first jury summons. With mixed feelings I attended the selection and, after six groups of 20 citizens stood before the five lawyers, one red seat remained vacant in the jury box. The charges were first degree murder and robbery. The last seat in the box ended up as mine.

I have to admit, my impressions of the Canadian legal system were somewhat jaded to begin with. With little first hand experience in the courts, I was as willing as the next person to laugh at a lawyer joke, or to condemn them for feeding off the growing litigious nature that seems to be so popular amongst Canadians in the ‘90s.

Perhaps it was the media influence of our great neighbor to the south that had shaped my perceptions of the legal system. But, I wasn’t the only one. Even a few of ‘Vancouver’s Finest’ called to testify in the case referred to the Judge as the Americanized ‘Your Honor’ instead of ‘My Lady’. That gave the Court a solemn chuckle. As well, the Canadian Court seemed so much more respectful and, yes I hesitate to say it—polite than anything I’ve seen on ‘Judge Judy’.

Respect seemed to be the key word defining our system. Firstly, to the accused who really is considered innocent until proven...you know the rest. Secondly, but just as equally, to the victim whose death, in this case a store clerk in the seedier side of town, triggered the great wheels of justice into action and sparked the tireless effort of many not to let this crime go unaccounted.

While the trial grew from three weeks to three months I wondered about the growing cost to the taxpayer. Perhaps from the outside I might have viewed this as a lavish waste and the result of lawyers drawing out the proceedings for their own benefit. From the inside, I had a different take. The huge expense seemed more like a testament to our society’s highest values, and that human life is sacred no matter who you are.

As for the lawyers. Well, I’m a school teacher, and I’ll never complain again about the increasing volume of paperwork needed to do student report cards and the overtime caused for three months a year. I couldn’t believe how hard these people worked. While the Court Clerk listened to the tape of the proceedings and adjusted recording levels, the Judge and the lawyers seemed to be writing down every word of the entire three months’ testimony while simultaneously monitoring and shaping the proceedings.

Then after the jury was dismissed for the day, the Court had to review their notes and prepare their examinations, cross examinations, and who knows what else. As the weeks passed the binders of legal size paper grew. It was my observation that these hardworking professionals deserve our respect. By the way, I know what I’ll do if I ever need a superlative criminal lawyer. I’ll ask one or two friendly Provincial Deputy Sheriffs I got to know over the course of the trial. These silent sentinels hold quite the ashkenasic record of lawyers’ performances. Their eyes might be closed, but they’re not sleepin’!

With no written manual for jurors, it was the Judge and the Sheriffs whose verbal instruction guided our actions with regard to court protocol and what was expected of a juror. For Gillian Guess, a written manual wouldn’t have been a bad idea; things may have turned out differently there. Unlike Gillian, my experience within the court system increased my respect for the institution and those who work within it.

Ted Coombs is a Vancouver school teacher who served on a jury in 1998/1999.

This article was published in the June 1999 issue of BarTalk and is subject to the copyright by the British Columbia Branch of the Canadian Bar Association, 2005, all rights reserved.