The Tribulations of Trials

This column originally appeared on November 16, 2008

There is a dirty little secret that we here at the Chester County Justice Center keep to ourselves, but one that I am afraid I can no longer contain. With the hope that my disclosure will not anger any of those in the criminal justice system that I pal around with -- to use a recent catchy urban slang phrase meaning, “having met once at a cocktail party” – I find myself wanting to come clean and share this confidence with you readers.

Trials are boring.

I have to tell you this because I’m tired of the lying. I’m tired of the deceit. I’m tired of agreeing with people who stop me in the street and ask, “Did you see that robbery trial the other day? Goodness, that must have been a thrill!” I’ve nodded and smiled and mumbled that it was the most excitement I’ve had since the Phillies won, when actually I’m thinking of my dentist saying, “Now this root canal may take a little time.”

Trials drag on too long, even when they are over the same day they start. Trials mean seemingly endless hours of sitting on uncomfortable pews and trying to strain an inch of drama out of whether the purse was in the woman’s left hand or right hand. Trials get in the way of a good story, as has often been said of the truth. Trials are, in their very essence, trials -- i.e., a state of pain or anguish that tests patience, endurance, or belief. (Thanks, Webster.)

I’m sorry to have to tell you this because I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking trials are the antithesis of boring. You’re guessing trials are to boring as McCain is to winner. “Trials are the most exciting, tense, mysterious, sexy thing to occur in the American jurisprudence orbit since the Magna Carta! I love trials! I’d watch them all day if I could. Give me your job!” you say.

Buster, you don’t want my job. The job you think I have is the one you dream of while sitting on the divan while watching one of the actors on “Law & Order” cross-examine Paris Hilton, the ne where you get all tingly as Atticus Finch delivers his summation to the jury in “To Kill a Mockingbird,” or tear up as Denzel Washington puts the screws to Jason Robards in “Philadelphia.” You want the job where you’re scribbling furiously as Tom Cruse tells Jack Nicholson he wants the truth and Nicholson howls, “You can’t handle the truth!”

You don’t want my job, because my job is scribbling lazily as a bright, motivated, articulate assistant district attorney asks Witness A if he or she can identify the contents of a manila folder labeled Commonwealth Exhibit 21-A and the witness drawls, “Yes, it’s a photograph taken of an empty parking lot with a White Castle sign in the background.” Thank you, sir. Now if you can turn your attention to the envelope that’s been marked as Commonwealth’s Exhibit 21-B…

The fun comes when one of the attorneys appearing in a courtroom decides he’s going to act like he or she is playing an attorney on television. “It’s acting!” you can almost hear them exclaim. They wave their arms and roll their eyes and speak directly to the jury during a witness’s testimony and ask questions like, “Do you remember where you were on the night of the 22nd?” They make things lively for about 15 minutes, until the judge in the case looks up at them and says, “Counsel, will you please turn off your television set?” Then, it’s Return to BoringTown.

Give me a plea bargain any day. You get the facts in brief, a quick recitation of the defendants sorrow for having run over the neighbor’s rose bushes, and if you are lucky, the judge will give the defendant a colorful lecture that makes for the kind of snappy copy that editors love.

For example, last week I heard a judge ask a DUI defendant step back from the lectern and look at the ground. What did he see? “My sneakers,” the defendant replied. “That’s right. And that’s the only transportation you’re going to have for the next two years, do you understand?” the judge said. Copy boy!

Meanwhile, down the hall the witness in the trial was being directed to look at the envelope containing Commonwealth’s Exhibit 33-C. It was a Mars candy bar wrapper, slightly torn.