Minutes after our last trial (elder abuse) reached a verdict, we got word that we were being sent another one. Because we were occupied most of the morning with taking the verdict in our earlier case (not guilty), we didn’t get started with picking the jury on our 2nd case until the afternoon. I went out at 1:30p into the front hallway of the courtroom to take roll and do my introductory song and dance. When it was time for these jurors to go into the jury room, 34 jurors filed past me trudging into the courtroom, and the last one, a 30-something bespectacled white male dressed neatly in a short-sleeved blue button-down shirt and khaki pants, met my eyes, smiled, and thanked me for holding the door open.

During initial background interview of these jurors, that man answered the usual questions (area of residence; occupation; marital status; occupation of spouse if married and of children if adults; prior jury experience) like this:

THE COURT: Juror number 12, if you could please answer the questions, sir.
PROSPECTIVE JUROR NO. 12: Yes, Your Honor.
I live in Long Beach.
I am a force and budget manager.
I am wonderfully married.
My wife is a children’s pastor.
My daughter is a minor.
And I have two little Foster boys, too.
THE COURT: All right.
PROSPECTIVE JUROR NO. 12: Prior jury experience, last one was in Long Beach. No. It was in o — sorry. It was in — I can’t think of it. It starts with a C.
THE COURT: Compton.
PROSPECTIVE JUROR NO. 12: Compton. Thank you.
THE COURT: All right.
PROSPECTIVE JUROR NO. 12: In Compton. It was a criminal case and a verdict was reached.
THE COURT: Do you remember what the charges were in that case?
PROSPECTIVE JUROR NO. 12: Yeah. It was — it was — I don’t know what you would call it. Stopping for prostitution.

Who can’t remember Compton? People not in this state or country have heard of Compton, the infamous capital of gang warfare, police scandals and racial violence. And “wonderfully married,” surrounded by his kids and foster kids, skipping and holding hands in a circle surrounding Juror 12 singing “For he’s a jolly good daddy” while his wife brings out freshly made pie that everyone can enjoy when she reads them bible stories by the fireplace. This guy has a great life.

Ya know, you can always tell when someone has a good home life. This guy glows, as with my family law reference judge down the hall, who once told me in his very comfortably decorated chambers surrounded by photos of grinning spouse and children that being married to the right person is wonderful — it’s like a great date that doesn’t have to end.