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 The longest
wait By Bill Heltzel and Ann Belser When you walked through that door out there marked 'Room 318, Juror Assignment Room,' you entered my twilight zone, so to speak,'' Tom Rakaczky, criminal jury program supervisor, told a roomful of prospective criminal court jurors. It was 8:52 a.m., and the punctual jurors had been there for at least 22 minutes, waiting quietly. It was a skill to which they would grow accustomed as the day wore on. ''What you're doing right now is more than likely what you'll be doing the rest of the day . . . sitting and waiting and wondering,'' Rakaczky told them. ''But by waiting, you are serving.'' There are two assignment rooms, one for criminal courts and one for civil courts. Once inside, people are required to stay until picked for a jury, dismissed for lunch or sent home. On this day, about 90 prospective jurors in the Criminal Division read, stared, chatted, knitted, napped, smoked or just waited. Their most momentous decision would be where to go for lunch. That was not unusual. On average, only 25 percent of the 30,000-plus jurors who show up in a given year will actually serve on a jury. Rakaczky told jurors that deciding how many people to summon on a given day was guesswork. In an later interview, he said that if he erred in his guesses, ''I would rather have more people than not enough.'' Rakaczky also told jurors that one reason they waited a lot was that defendants frequently demanded a jury trial at the last minute. ''That is another right -- another big right. The right to change your mind,'' Rakaczky said. At times, juror workdays mirror those of some judges. On this day, no jurors were questioned or empaneled in the morning. Jurors were dismissed at 11:30 a.m. for a two-hour lunch break. They returned, and still nothing happened. Juror Laura Novotny, 22, of Plum, summarized her feelings about jury duty in three words: ''Waste of time.'' ''If this were a corporation and we had a product to get out, we would not survive,'' said juror Anna Harrison, 55, of Wexford. At 3 p.m., Rakaczky announced that he was sending everyone home. ''The cases that were pending are still pending, but you have done your duty,'' he said to the crowd. Not so fast. The telephone rang. ''Tom, it's Judge [Lawrence] O'Toole's,'' reported Margaret Cangelier, a jury room clerk. The judge needed a jury. ''You didn't go fast enough,'' a juror scolded Rakaczky. The jurors waited another hour while a panel of 35 was questioned for possible service in a burglary/assault case. ''I can't see how you can sit here all day and then have that [a case called]. I just think there has to be a better way,'' said juror candidate Rich Hohley, 31, of Overbrook. ''Guess what?'' Rakaczky announced shortly after 4. ''He pled guilty!'' The jurors cheered before departing. More quiet days Other days monitored by the Post-Gazette were busier, but not much. One day, 167 jurors were called and 117 showed up. Two juries of 12 members and two alternates were picked before 11 a.m., and nothing happened the rest of the day. The jurors who were not chosen got two hours for lunch and went home at 3:15 p.m. On another, 125 were summoned and 77 showed up. Two juries were picked. One was for an assault, and picking the panel took less than 30 minutes. The other, a homicide case, stretched for several hours. At mid-afternoon, juror Vaughn Norman, 41, of Bethel Park, a custodian for the Bethel Park School District, assessed jury service with his hairdresser and fellow juror, Darcy Smith, 27, of Bethel Park. Smith: ''They've got to find a different system.'' Norman: ''I thought the Constitution said something about a speedy trial. . . .'' On a fourth day monitored by Post-Gazette reporters, 155 were summoned, 99 showed up, and three juries were chosen. The work day was over by 3:15 p.m. About 100 showed on a fifth day, and two juries emerged. A summary: five days, 483 prospective jurors, only 108 of whom [plus a handful of alternates] would actually serve. Immaculate departure Many of his fellow juror candidates instantly recognized him when he walked into the room at 10:45 a.m., a sheepish smile on his face and a summons in his hand. Franco Harris, the former Steeler running back, may have been late for his jury duty, but he didn't get a scolding. Rakaczky, the jury room supervisor, told him, ''You're stayin' for a while.'' Harris signed autographs on subpoena envelopes and waited with the other 100 candidates. But by early afternoon, he had shown the elusiveness that put him in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. He was gone. What happened? ''Somebody asked me to let him go, and I did,'' Rakaczky told a reporter. ''Who?'' ''I'm not telling you.'' Where there's smoke A prospective juror, looking distressed, approached Rakaczky. Rakaczky spoke quietly to her. Then, irritation in his voice, he called out: ''If the cigarette smoke is bothering anyone, come right up here.'' Five people walked to the front of the room and were taken into an office. Rakaczky asked whether any of them had a doctor's note stating that smoke was harmful to them. ''Have you ever heard of the U.S. surgeon general?'' one elderly man asked sarcastically. The jury assignment room is separated into smoking and nonsmoking areas. But as jurors enter and exit the smoking room, blue clouds belch out into the nonsmoking area. Everyone gets a dose of smoke. After talking with the five, Rakaczky, still appearing agitated, exited his office and announced: ''This young lady wants to go because the cigarette smoke's bothering her. Anyone else?'' Three people seized the offer.
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