“You are hereby summoned…”
A Greene County Georgia resident’s tale of the transformative power of serving on a jury.
“You are hereby summoned”…four simple words that have the power to create feelings of dread when one receives the single page notice of jury duty demanding you show up at the courthouse on a specific day and time. The government does not ask or invite…it demands. Most people immediately rush to think of a way to get out of this civic duty…let’s face it, it’s an interruption of our daily schedule, it is by its nature a forced immersion into a group of complete strangers and it doesn’t pay well. My summons required me to appear the Monday after Thanksgiving, which admittedly, kind of tainted my enjoyment of the holiday.
As the daughter of an Augusta, GA lawyer who practiced for over 60 years until the age of 93, I was well versed on “how to get out” of serving. Typically just informing the court that my father was an attorney worked. The last time I was summoned to jury duty was in 2003 when I lived in New York City. Needless to say, the “experience” of jury duty was quite different in downtown Manhattan versus downtown Greensboro, Georgia. The courthouses alone were strikingly different…the NYC courthouse is the famous backdrop for thousands of episodes of “Law & Order” and quite intimidating. The building’s mass and scale give it the appearance of a temple with broad set of steps sweeping up from Foley Square to a massive Corinthian colonnade covering most of the front of the courthouse, topped by an elaborate 140-foot-long triangular pediment of thirteen figures carved in bas relief from granite. The pediment by prominent sculptor Frederick Warren Allen includes three statues: Law, Truth, and Equity. A frieze bears the inscription “The True Administration of Justice is the Firmest Pillar of Good Government”, a quotation taken from a letter written by George Washington to Attorney General Edmund Randolph on September 28, 1789 (1). While not as imposing as its Yankee cousin, the Greene County Courthouse sits prominently in the heart of Greensboro. It was built in 1849 and features a Greek revival style architecture with prominent white columns and a Confederate Monument on the front lawn (you won’t see that in Manhattan!) It features one main courtroom on the 2nd floor (which is accessed via a set of very old, squeaky stairs) with high ceilings, a functionless fireplace, poor acoustics and that musty smell of an antique store. I loved it. As a Southern gal, this was small town Georgia at its best. Local legend has it that a long-standing judge remains resolute to keep courthouse modernization at bay “as long as he’s alive.”
In writing this article, I hope to convey my experience and how it literally provided a memory, which I will always treasure. Yes, I’m still talking about jury duty. I also hope it will cast a positive light on an otherwise dreaded experience and remind us all of the beauty of our justice system that we often take for granted.
My first day of service was 11/27/17. Yes, the Monday morning right after Thanksgiving. I was still suffering from a bit of a food coma, but showed up early at 8:45AM and sat patiently on the very uncomfortable wooden benches waiting for my name to be called. Unlike New York City where you wait among hundreds of people, the Greene County courtroom had around 75 people reflecting the true demographic diversity of our county.
On that note, I should underscore this diversity…since it was sort of “man-made” in origin…that man being Mercer Reynolds. Mercer was a wildly successful, politically connected entrepreneur who had served as a US ambassador and campaign finance chairman for his friend George W. Bush, raising a record $270 million. Another “local legend” is that Mercer built a massive home next door to his on Lake Oconee and “sold” it to George Bush for $1.00. This excerpt from a May 25, 2011 Atlanta Journal article by J. Scott Trubey and Bill Torpy says it best:
“The Reynolds family’s Greene County roots stretch for generations. Mercer Reynolds’ grandfather, Mercer Sr., developed a process to solidify cottonseed oil for transport and became rich. By the 1930s, the family had assembled more than 10,000 acres of yellow pine timberland.
When Georgia Power dammed the Oconee River in 1979, creating a 19,000-acre reservoir, the Reynolds found themselves with miles of lakefront property. In the 1980s, the family — longtime leaders in Greene County business and civic affairs — founded a development company named after their grandfather’s hunting lodge, Linger Longer. Soon, the high-end Reynolds Plantation — headed by Reynolds and his cousin, Jamie Reynolds — was born.
Mercer, who at the time lived in Cincinnati, acted as the vision guy, Jamie, a Greensboro resident, was the local face of the operation.
Mercer, despite his grand plans, kept things relatively conservative at Linger Longer. That trait helped him in investment banking and building one of the South’s premier residential enclaves. But, fresh off the success of luring a Ritz-Carlton there in 2002, the developer pushed to add more amenities and banks were eager to lend to such a respected firm.
As America’s lust for luxury swelled into the mid-2000s, Linger Longer Development took on about $200 million in new loans to fund land purchases, golf course construction and lot development.”(2)
This luxury residential development attracted buyers largely representing the “upper 1%” from around the country. This infusion of wealthy residents dramatically shifted the otherwise sleepy community of Greene County and its small-town Southern demographics to a new (and very interesting) level. This was reflected in the group of residents summoned that morning for jury duty.
Our judge was Brenda Trammell, who has a reputation as a fierce litigator and one of the top divorce lawyers in the state. The female members of our jury loved how she “blinged up” her otherwise boring black robe with striking necklaces and jewelry. She reminded me a lot of my mother (who was referred to during my Augusta childhood as “the warden”) — an attractive blonde, smart as a whip, an obvious witty sense of humor coupled with an extremely firm management style in her courtroom. I would describe her as someone “you’d like to have a drink with.” She should run for President — she’d have my vote.
The first case was a divorce — the jury was called and selected — I was not called for that one although after watching the couple involved in the lawsuit (whose courtroom interaction resembled two magnets repelling each other), I kind of wanted to know more about their story. But that was not my fate.
The second case was one involving a suit against the city of Greensboro involving residential property mistreatment by the county. My name was called. I quickly ran through the potential questions they might ask so I could avoid being selected. The attorney for the defendant (representing the city) was the epitome of the Southern good old boy including a very prodigious belly which would evoke fear in any restaurant owner offering an “all you can eat buffet.” When I reflect on one of the questions he asked during voir dire, it’s now apparent how I could have dodged the jury bullet. He asked us with a face that looked like he smelled a dead fish who had just ingested a rotten egg, “Are any of you tree-huggers, fans of the EPA or pro-environment groups?” In the south, admitting that in a public forum would give you an automatic scarlet letter. We all shook our heads in unison…no way would we be a part of that liberal group of crazies! Bingo, we just earned our place on the jury.
The trial began after the judge issued her admonitions to us. The case involved two elderly African American brothers (the Plaintiffs) who were life-long residents of Greene County. The brothers, Tony and Flenard Rowland, had been tangled up in four years of legal action against the city (the Defendant) over damage done to their property from a re-routing of water and sewage pipes “upstream” from their homes. This “re-routing” was part of an improvement project funded by a federal grant to address water flooding in a housing project which was located up from the Rowland’s property. This “improvement” project created a plumbing “joint” under the main road and unfortunately redirected both storm and sewage pipe flow right onto the Rowland’s property as the waters made their way to the ultimate destination of Town Creek. Oddly enough, one of the gentlemen, Tony Rowland, had worked for the city as the water department supervisor for over 30 years. You could tell from his presence and testimony that he was a hard-working, loyal city employee who literally did all the “dirty work” with the county’s water and sewage systems. He knew where every city pipe was located; it’s condition and how to fix it. It was well-known among locals that if you couldn’t get help calling 911, you called Tony…he would show up regardless of time or weather conditions to help the citizens of the community. Tony and his brother, Flenard, owned a little over 6 acres — part of which was located next to Town Creek. They were very proud of their property and testified how much it meant to their families — both children and grandchildren. Before the “city improvement” project, their land was a lush haven with old trees, and rolling, green grounds. After the city’s plumbing was re-routed, their land was saturated in standing sewer water and debris — including the insects and snakes that come along with those odious conditions.
The Rowland brothers had a warm, almost elegant presence. They both came to court each day dapperly dressed complete with suits, ties and polished shoes. Their demeanor was calm and soulful. Flenard had to use a cane to walk and had a harder time getting around the courtroom. I couldn’t help but think about what these two gentlemen had endured over the last four years. I admired their resilience and attitude — it had to be incredibly hard on both of them.
The Rowland’s attorney was Chandra Jones, a scrappy female lawyer who was literally a one-woman show…no “team”, assistant or secretary…just Ms. Jones. She was small in size but packed a punch. Her relentless examination of witnesses and paperwork often exhausted and frustrated us every time she said, “I now ask you to refer to Exhibit….” but in the end, she was doing her job and doing it well even though the content was boring as hell…that wasn’t her fault. She didn’t have the luxury of the defendant, which included two attorneys and their support staff.
We learned this case had been appealed numerous times and the city was already proven guilty. Our task as the jury was to evaluate damages, determine the amount if proven valid and award the Plaintiff. Even though we all knew the city was guilty, we all felt as if the entire case was being (painstakingly) retried for our benefit. To say this endless testimony was boring and monotonous is a huge understatement — unless you are a civil engineer or hydraulics groupie. Given our proximity to Georgia Tech — there could be a few!
We sat through four long days listening to witnesses, their cross-examination, the reading of reams of government grant paperwork and legal documents, viewing flood plain maps, FEMA documents, video and photographs…it was beyond exhaustive. I woke up each morning with a sense of dread knowing that the next 8–9 hours would be spent hearing volumes of exhibits and bureaucratic finger-pointing.
Oddly enough, the collective opinion of the jury was formed on the first day when the attorney for the Defendant (the aforementioned “good ole boy”) opened his mouth — literally. He drew a crude map of the area on a large white pad propped on an easel. He highlighted the area in question along with the location of the Rowland’s property. As he pointed out the manner of the water flow from “upstream” down to the Rowland’s land, he stated that “a smart man would buy property on elevated land and a stupid man would buy below that” — immediately painting the Rowlands as less than intelligent men. This was followed by his rude discrediting of Tony Rowland’s experience working as a supervisor for the water department for 30+ years. He categorized it as “not having any formal degree or civil engineering experience” and that “operating a backhoe does not make you an expert”. You see, street-smart and experience-rich Tony Rowland had warned the city prior to the water system “improvements” that the flow would not be optimal. He recommended to the city that instead of creating a “joint” in the water and sewage lines (effectively forcing the water to make a right turn), they should instead use the ditches running along the road to install straight piping all the way down to Town Creek. You’d think it’d be common sense, right? But we all know government actions rarely reflect common sense.
The composition of the jurors was very interesting. As someone who worked in marketing for over 30 years, I’m always fascinated by demographics and consumer behavior. Our group was comprised of 14 people (12 jurors plus 2 alternates); there were 6 men (two of whom were alternates) and 6 women — 9 were Caucasian and 5 were African American. The ages ranged from early 20’s to early 70’s and the socio-economic diversity was wide ranging as well. You had the rich guys who played on the private golf courses and the groundskeeper who cut that very grass…quite the cross-section. I was very impressed by each of the jurors — all showed up on time and prepared regardless of work schedules (we had one night shift employee), children or any other “life” situation. I also found the positive nature of the group to be inspiring — some would bring in doughnuts, candy and snacks for everyone while others would automatically put on a fresh pot of coffee in the jury room and offer to serve the others. The room had an “old school” automatic drip coffee machine, the powdered additives and only one instrument with which to stir your beverage — a plastic fork –, which everyone passed, around the room each day. I was living a John Grisham novel.
The one thing that was apparent with the entire group — we all were kind, fair and good people who wanted to do the right thing. As much as we complained about the boring case content and the piles of exhibits that awaited us each day, we all listened carefully, took notes and made the best of our situation. We all got along as a team — sharing laughs, life experiences and our observations. We also had what I refer to as our wonderful “characters.” One was a middle-aged white guy who had lived in Greensboro his entire life — he was our “local expert and sage” — he knew the city’s skeletons and where their closets were. He knew everyone from our “local celebrity” — Mr. C. of local television commercial fame to the high school football coach. We had 2 younger black guys who always gave us a laugh everyday — their sense of humor was priceless. We had a local pastor in his 70’s who the team nicknamed “Rev” (short for Reverend) who ended up being named our jury foreman — by a unanimous, immediate vote. We had several younger women who had endless energy, optimism and generosity. We had some old souls too — the quiet ones who were very wise and patient. Add to that a few “country club” men and you get a truly diverse cross section of America. We could not have asked for a better mix of personalities and backgrounds.
On the afternoon of Day Four, the attorneys finished their summations and we were provided deliberation instructions from our kick-ass lady judge. We eagerly retreated to the jury room (minus our two alternate jurors who were placed in an adjacent room) — we all wanted to wrap things up and have this be our last day of service. As I stated earlier, we had all pretty much made up our minds that the Rowland brothers would be awarded damages on Day One — it was now up to us to determine what and how much.
Our much-loved foreman “Rev,” asked if he could start our deliberations with a prayer, which the group openly welcomed, and we bowed our heads. His moving words asking God for guidance were so powerful I got goose bumps. Admittedly, having been raised as a Catholic, you get accustomed to uniform, memorized prayers — so when you hear the creativity of a “custom” prayer so elegantly phrased and delivered, you’re impressed, inspired and moved. We had all noticed during the week that when witnesses were sworn in, there was no longer a Bible present on which the left hand would be placed. We also noticed that the final words of swearing-in verbiage “so help me God” had become optional. No one in the jury pool was overtly “religious” even though we were in the heart of the Southern Bible Belt — but everyone shared a spiritualty and respect for beliefs. I have to say in a world where the removal of all things “God” or “Christian” seems to be our new social standard; I found it refreshing to know that we all didn’t agree with the “politically correct masses” who seek to sanitize the existence of any religious history. Amen.
As we began discussing what damages would be awarded to the Rowland’s, it was seemingly easy and without disagreement. We gave each brother compensation for the depreciated value of their property due to city water damage. We also awarded them compensation for every item they listed on their property that was lost or damaged. With this line item, we spent a good bit of time on identifying the value of each item such as trees, lawn equipment, HVAC systems, etc. Many of the jurors could provide exact values either from personal experience or profession. An exhaustive list was compiled with a value for each item. We agreed to pay all legal expenses incurred by the Rowland’s attorney who had worked for years on contingency.
Finally we arrived at awarding Punitive Damages. This amount was the one where we had the most personal discretion versus placing a value on a riding mower. I knew we couldn’t be reckless and award millions even though we wanted to. I had given this a lot of thought over the course of the 4-day period and wanted to share my opinion as soon as the discussion of this item started. I started by reminding the group that this case had gone on for over four years — more than 1500 days. I asked the team to think about what “value” they might place on having a clean, welcoming residence to come home to every day.
Having a home, which provides a sanctuary from the stresses of work or life in general is something most of us take for granted. Think about how much our home provides a mental reset each day, a place to relax, enjoy family and interests whether it be gardening, cooking or just watching television. Consider the Rowlands, who for over four years lived with sitting sewer drainage, snakes, insects, flooding, debris and mud…their grandkids could no longer play on the land as they once did and just getting in and out of their front doors was a challenge.
We tried to be realistic while knowing deep down, putting a daily rate or value on this would be priceless. In the end, we awarded Tony punitive damages of $100,000 since his property was on higher ground and had suffered less destruction than his brother Flenard. We awarded Flenard $150,000. So, if you do the math, it was still not excessive in terms of daily “value” over the course of 1500 days — Tony’s came to about $67 per day and Flenard’s was around $100 per day. We all collectively agreed on all damages, the “Rev” completed the verdict paperwork, signed and dated it.
By now, everyone in the small room was buzzing with energy…we were literally changing the lives of two good people who had suffered for years due to government negligence, greed and bureaucracy. “Rev” handed the paperwork to the bailiff and we waited to be called into the courtroom.
The moment came and we filed into the seats we had used all week. The judge did her thing after reading our verdict and handed the paperwork to the court clerk who would “publish” — or read out loud our verdict. As I looked over at the frail Rowland brothers, I felt overcome with emotion, as did my fellow jurors — some were beginning to sob before the verdict was read. I could feel I was getting “cry face” — you know that contorted expression when you’re trying to push back tears but can’t — the creased forehead and quivering chin. I kept saying to myself “be tough” but inside I was mush.
Ms. Jones took the hand of Tony Rowland who then took his brother Flenard’s hand as they waited for the verdict. As soon as they heard the words that we had ruled in their favor, it was as if an emotional balloon burst. The brothers and Ms. Jones were now suffering from “cry face” along with me. Where’s a Kleenex when you need it? Then the clerk got to the “good part” — how much we were awarding them for damages. It was a cascading effect as each line item was read starting with property depreciation amounts (we gave them everything they asked for per the expert witness who was an appraiser); this was followed by the value of all the damages on their property from trees to gardening tools, culminating with Punitive Damages which caused an elated visceral reaction that I will never forget. In all, the total was around $400,000. We had changed lives and done a really good thing. By now, most of the jury was choked up or weeping. The judge thanked us for our service and reminded us of one very important thing: how much our service on the jury was the foundation of a fair and just government. Oh yeah, it was also wonderful to see the face of the city’s attorney (you know, large good ole boy) as the verdict was read…I don’t think he saw that coming — which made the moment even more priceless.
As we left the courtroom, each of us shook the hands of the Rowland brothers and they tearfully thanked us for our verdict. I was joined by one of the alternate jurors as I walked out…he eagerly asked me “how we came up with such a large amount” (side note — he was thrilled with our verdict). I explained the arduous process we went through to determine each amount and explained how we attempted to put a “value” on each of the 1500+ days the Rowlands lived without the sanctuary a home provides. When I explained it that way, he agreed that it didn’t seem that much after all. As we left the courthouse we said our goodbyes to fellow jurors and shared our joy with what we had just accomplished. It felt so good. I wish I could bottle that amazing feeling each of us had and send it along with every jury summons mailed every day. I feel certain if I could do that, not only would people not attempt to dodge jury duty — they would look forward to it.
Jurors are given the privilege of having a direct role in the administration of justice — it is a true “connection” to our Constitution. It is an essential part of America’s system of checks and balances. You never know when you may need the services of a jury to decide your fate. To quote Thomas Jefferson, “I consider trial by jury as the only anchor yet imagined by man by which a government can be held to the principles of its constitution.” As I finish writing this article, I am still overcome with emotion…and yes, tears are rolling down my cheeks. As my Mother says, tears are a good thing — especially those of joy. I encourage everyone to view jury duty as an opportunity to create a memory that you will always treasure — I know I have. Amen.
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Sources:
(1) Wikipedia; specifically: Ben Zimmer, When Typos are Set in Stone, Visual Thesaurus (February 18, 2009).
“New York County Courthouse Pediment, New York Supreme Court, abt 1924” on the Frederick Warren Allen website
Paul Goldberger, The City Observed: New York: A Guide to the Architecture of Manhattan. New York: Vintage Books, 1979, p. 34. ISBN 0–394–72916–1
New York State Supreme Court Building, New York City Department of Citywide Administrative Services (accessed September 27, 2015).
(2) J. Scott Trubey, Bill Torpy “At Reynolds Plantation, a vision comes together, then falls apart”, Atlanta Journal Constitution, (May 25, 2011).
