The Trial: His Peers, and Mine

It took all day to seat 12 plus alternates, and the judge chastised prospects putting self above duty: "I don't believe you. I don't want a liar in my jury or my courtroom. Get out." Others were excused for legitimate reasons.

In the end, Poke got a jury of his peers. There was the retired white teacher who became our forewoman. The black fireman who'd been met with slurs and bricks when his school bus arrived in Charlestown in 1975 (he's never been back). A middle-aged plumber type who'd been arrested as a young man. "That was a long time ago. Have a seat," said the judge.

One woman lived in a project, like Poke. Another walked in Boston's annual March for Peace. I briefly fantasized the youngest woman would make things more interesting. Then she proved to not be that interesting.

Together with the rest, we took our responsibility seriously.

Continue: Witnesses of Various Worth

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