Clara shortridge foltz criminal justice center jury duty

Last week I reported for jury duty at the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center in downtown Los Angeles. Right after lunch, my name was called to sit in the jury box and be interviewed by the judge to see if I would be an impartial juror on a felony case. The first question he asked me was what I did for a living. I responded that I am a documentary filmmaker, currently working on a film about Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans in an innovative Veterans Court as a special project of the web series "In Their Boots" (www.intheirboots.com).

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Can I wear jeans to jury duty MN?
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He was curious about the Veterans Court and I explained to him that it is set up as a treatment court to address the problems of PTSD and substance abuse among veterans who have returned home and been charged with crimes. One of the major differences between a Veterans Court and a typical felony court is that the veteran clients avoid incarceration in exchange for a guilty plea and a commitment to follow a rigorous 18 month treatment plan. I told the judge that this model has changed my views of the most effective ways to address criminal behavior. In the treatment court model, community agencies and the legal system work together to provide accountability and targeted resources for offenders rather than incarceration. I have seen the success stories of these veterans firsthand and I voiced my belief that treatment courts are a more effective way to promote public safety than incarceration. Not to mention the fact that they are far more cost-effective than putting people in prison.

The judge thanked me for my honesty, and I was the first person dismissed by the prosecutor via peremptory challenge. I hope someday that our criminal justice system will accommodate prospective jurors like me who favor rehabilitation over incarceration. Until then, I've got an surefire excuse to avoid jury duty every time.

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“The waiting is the hardest part,” sang Tom Petty and the

Heartbreakers, and based on my recent week of jury service, I can

attest that it’s true. Now that the ordeal is over, my only hope is

that my time spent in our justice system is illustrated by a

different soundtrack: "... And Justice for All,” by Metallica.

Although I’m a huge fan of our democratic process, and the idea

that every citizen should enthusiastically embrace the idea of jury

service, I have to be honest: I wriggled my way out of it the first

two times I was called to serve this year. The first request was for

early March, when I needed to complete a couple of company projects

and couldn’t risk being away from the office for a week or perhaps

more. So I asked to be excused.

The second time, a week in late May, was when I was to be on my

honeymoon in Italy. So I asked to be excused again, reasoning that if

I was refused, the odds of officials tracking me down in Florence,

wresting me away from my new bride and bringing me back to do my jury

duty were pretty long. The upside: If they went to all that trouble,

it would be choice fodder for a future column. But I was excused the

second time, too.

On No. 3, you get no breaks. When that third set of information

comes, it doesn’t even have a space for writing an excuse. You’re in

the starting lineup that week, period. You call the Sunday night

before your first scheduled day of service (in my case, July 21), and

see if your group is supposed to report. So I called, and wonder of

wonders, I had to be at the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice

Center, corner of Broadway and Temple, downtown Los Angeles, at 7:45

the next morning. I was off to L.A. Superior Court.

Having heard any number of jury-service stories from friends and

colleagues, my expectations were decidedly low. I presumed I’d check

in, sit around for a full day reading TIME magazine and NFL 2003

season previews -- or, God help me, watching whatever

dysfunctional-family talk-show mess was on in the jury waiting room

-- go home and call again that night, only to be told I wouldn’t be

needed the next day, or on any other day that week. I’d just get my

certificate of service in the mail and be taken off the list for

another year.

No such luck.

The second pool of 39 potential jurors was announced at 10 a.m.

Monday, and my number -- the jailhouse-sounding K2695 -- was called.

So up we went to the 13th floor, where eventually we were called into

Room 139 (it’s a courtroom) and told we were jury candidates for an

armed-robbery case.

Mind you, I thought this was all very exciting. First, we got to

wear these really cool -- OK, kind of dorky, but cool in a “look how

special I am” way -- badges that announced we were JURORS, which in

the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center is like wearing a

neon sign on your forehead that reads, “Talk to me at your own risk.”

No defense attorney, prosecutor, judge, clerk, bailiff or random

law-enforcement officer will say a word to jurors or potential jurors

for fear of a mistrial being declared due to inappropriate contact,

whether you’re a juror in their case or in a case nine floors away.

And since 95% of the people who have any reason to be in the Clara

Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center are defense attorneys,

prosecutors, judges, clerks, bailiffs and random law enforcement

officers, it makes for some pretty quiet elevator rides, with

everyone staring at the digital readout clicking off floors, praying

they don’t sneeze, reflexively say, “Excuse me,” and have a mistrial

called.

Nevertheless, there was more than a little tension in the air as

the 39 of us sat there in Room 139, getting a crash course in how

jury selection works courtesy of Ronni McLaren, the judge. After a

few remarks from the assistant district attorney on the case, as well

as the defense attorney -- who mostly was interested in stressing

that it wasn’t his job, but the prosecution’s, to prove anything --

we began voir dire, a phrase that has as its root the Latin words

verus (true) and dicere (to say). It is, literally, a truth-telling

exercise for potential jurors, as the judge, defense and prosecution

try to find a group that will best meet their needs.

And my, what interesting truths came out.

Next week: Colorful tales, “Survivor” meets the courtroom, and the

quest for justice.

* JEFF KEATING is editor of the News-Press and its sister

publication, the Burbank Leader. Reach him at 637-3234, or by e-mail

at .

Can I wear jeans to jury duty MN?

Please dress appropriately for court. Shorts, hats, halter or tank tops and jeans with tears are not acceptable courtroom attire. The courtrooms can be quite cool, so dress accordingly.

Where can I park for jury duty in Los Angeles?

Parking is available at 213 S. Spring St., Los Angeles, CA 90012 at the Los Angeles Times Parking Structure, between 2nd and 3rd Street. Please note: there are two entrances to this parking structure, one on Spring St (between 2nd St and 3rd St) and one on Broadway (between 2nd St and 3rd St).