The ACLU may not be suing Trump's Executive Order on "Religious Liberty," which I mentioned this morning -- but an atheist group, Freedom from Religion Foundation is.  

As I noted earlier, one of the features of the Executive Order is to order more lenient enforcement of the Johnson Amendment, which has prohibitions against tax-exempt organizations from involvement in political campaigning.  Among other things, this not only would blur the First Amendment diving line protection between Church and State, but also would create wiggle room for "dark money" political donations.

The lawsuit claims that the Executive Order provides a selective benefit to religious organizations without any substantive risk to their tax-exempt status.

You may have started to see TV spots on behalf of the Freedom from Religion Foundation, since they've begun airing nationally within the past month or so, with Ron Reagan, Jr. appearing as their spokesman.

A few friends have asked me what I thought about the Neil Gorsuch nomination for the Supreme Court.  My answer was immediate.  He should not be approved.  But not because I don't agree with his politics or think he's unqualified or that he's too conservative or any ruminative reason..  It's far more basic.  I don't think he should have even been nominated.

To be clear, it's not that I don't think think Neil Gorsuch personally should have been nominated -- I don't think anyone should have been nominated by Trump.  Unless it was Merrick Garland -- again.

I think what the Senate Republicans during the last year of the Obama presidency -- not only not voting on Judge Garland, but not even agreeing to meet with him -- was perhaps the most constitutional disaster in my lifetime, if not the history of the United States, something that will change the fabric of the country for at least the next decade, if not many decades longer.  And I don't say that as hyperbole.  The U.S. Constitution gives the president the duty to nominate a Justice when there's an opening.  It doesn't say, "Unless there's more than two years left in his term."  It doesn't say unless he's a lame duck.  It doesn't say unless he's in a different party than the majority of the Senate.  It says the president nominates a Justice to the Supreme Court when there's an opening.  That's it.  End of story.

Republicans kept saying that it was "for the voters to decide" who the next Supreme Court nominee would be.  Well, first of all, no, that's not true.  It's for the president to decide who he'll nominate, and for the Senate to vote on it.  But even IF Republicans actually believed that (which they don't, not for a second, because I'll bet every nickel I own that if it was a Republican president nominating someone, the Republican Senate would have been voted on and approved that person), even IF Republicans believed what they were trying desperately to convince others even as their souls shriveled...the the voters did decide.  When the public voted for Barack Obama to be president, they voted on letting him nominate whoever he wanted to at any moment in his four-year term.  That's it.  End of story.

(Some Republicans tried to point to the non-binding "Biden Rule," but that was used under completely different circumstances.  And it wasn't even actually a rule.)

The Republican coup-like action was all the more disingenuous given that the Justice who's death left the opening, Anthony Scalia, was probably the most-strict "originalist" in the history of the Supreme Court, someone who likely would have lashed out at "reinterpreting" the Constitution to remove the president's right to nominate a Justice at any time there was an opening.  

If there literally wasn't time to conduct a fair, full investigation and hearing, I would understand that, the nature of reality and all.  But that wasn't ever the GOP argument -- nor could it be.  There was over a year left in Barack Obama's presidency.  That's a massively long time.  Merrick Garland was highly qualified, he'd been approved by the Senate for his federal seat on the bench, Republicans had spoken highly of him previously, and he should have been voted on.  And approved.

It wasn't just shameful what Republicans did, it was -- as I said -- the worst constitutional disaster in my lifetime, maybe in the history of the United States.

From my perspective, any Republican nominated by Trump for the Supreme Court should be turned down because I believe it is an illegitimate nomination.  Same thing, for the time being, as long as there's a Republican in the White House.  If that means no ninth Justice until the next Democrat is elected president -- however long (or short...) that is -- so be it.  That's harsh, but not even a blip on the Harshness Scale considering what Republicans did to Merrick Garland's nomination.  It's not likely to happen, I know, but it's still what I believe is right and proper.

What makes what the Republican's ghastly action even worse, which is a remarkable concept, is that I don't know how they fix the imbalance that the Republicans created.  The negative impact of what they did will take decades to fully play itself out, and even then it has lasting negative consequence

A friend suggested a solution.  Let senators agree to split the next two Supreme Court nominations -- the first one would go to Republicans and Trump, and for the next opening the Democrats would get to pick.  I said I thought it was a swell idea in concept, but a ridiculous, unworkable fantasy in practicality.  Republicans would never give the next pick to Democrats, and Democrats would never trust Republicans to keep their promise (nor should they trust them, given the GOP action last year) at the next opening..

I did offer an alternative, though.  The only one I could live with.  Mind you, it's not practical and wouldn't ever be agreed to, but it's the only way I can see the deeply-problematic situation being resolved -- other than waiting, which is my actual choice.  (And even "waiting" has problems since, for all I know, Republicans would try to block that again.)  What I suggested was a tweak to his suggestion -- I said the Senate should wait until there were two openings.  At that point, the Republicans and Democrats would each get a nomination.  And voted on jointly.  Mind you, a) I don't know how Democrats would decide on a nominee, and b) this won't ever happen, but that's the only way out of this utter constitutional disaster that was caused by Republican. At least my friend thought it was a good improvement on his idea...

But in lieu of that, as things stand, I don't believe that Neil Gorsuch should be approved for the Supreme Court.  And you may hold on to this article and re-read it if there's a next time when Trump nominates someone.  That's it.  End of story.

​The first two parts of this tale covered the plaintiff and defense each making their case in a two-week trial for which I sat on the jury at Santa Monica Superior Court.  The admirable Judge Lawrence Cho on the bench.  To quickly summarize, the case concerns a woman who was sitting on a chair bought at Cost Plus which broke.  She suffered broken bones, had two surgeries, a great many doctors’ appointments and physical therapy, and claimed to be suffering from CRPS (Complex Regional Pain Syndrome), a rare, but known debilitating and incurable form of chronic pain.  Cost Plus admits liability, but its two expert witnesses found no evidence of CRPS.  You can read Part One here, and Part Two here. 

                                                                    Part Three 
                                           The Jury Tries to Make Sense of It All
 
After that weekend of pondering, and after listening to the final arguments and having time to think about it all, as I went into the deliberation room in the late afternoon, I’d come to the conclusion that I did believe the plaintiff’s side as more likely.  Especially since there only had to be that 51% standard.  And ultimately that’s what the judge’s instructions were.  This is not a case where we must find “beyond a reasonable doubt,” nor do we need a unanimous verdict.  As a civil trial, it only has to be nine jurors out of 12, and the standard is what we believe to be “most likely.”
 
We didn’t go into the jury room until 3 PM, so it would be a short first day because we leave at 4:30.  Getting settled took a little bit of social maneuvering, but one member volunteered to by the foreman, and off we went.  (I had decided early on that I didn’t want to do it, for several reason, so I was fine with the choice.  My only hope was that we’d stay focused.)  .During the initial discussion, a couple of us suggested an early vote to see who felt that at least some form of chronic pain was involved here, or if the defendant was faking it.  And it was all 12 votes that there some form of pain, and not a scam.  I had felt it was extremely important to take this vote, because it meant that whenever people questioned her “character” or specific uncertain details (which both came up from a few jurors), we could point to the vote that we unanimously agreed this was not a scam, no matter what you thought of her character or if you couldn’t explain every single detail.  It was a good theory, and did help.  But not as much as I’d thought.
 
We also took a vote to find out at the start how many people felt strongly that CRPS was involved (“strongly” because the operative word) – which was critical, because it would impact our later decision on future monetary payments.  And five jurors voted that they believed it was.  I was one of those.  And I was pleased to see that the doctor did, too, as well as a couple of the other jurors I particularly respected.  This didn’t mean the other seven didn’t think CRPS was involved, just that some might not be sure yet that it was likely.
 
Before leaving for the day, we spent most of the time trying to focus on a similar, but importantly different question of did we, as a jury, believe that CRPS was “likely” involved and caused by a trauma.  That didn’t mean the direct breaking of the chair, though.  As we were instructed by the judge – and as I and some others pointed out – if the CRPS was caused by either of the two surgeries, the defendant was still liable:  because the second surgery was required to fix the first surgery, and the first surgery was necessary because of the chair trauma.
 
I also made a case at this point which the jury foreman said helped convince him that CRPS was “likely” involved.  (That 51% standard.)  The short version of my position was that the defense had two expert witnesses.  And the second of those witnesses had made clear that he believed the plaintiff was scamming.  But as I pointed out, we as a jury had unanimously decided she was not scamming.  And that meant we had to throw out his expert testimony as being without substance.  In fact, after saying that, most everyone jumped in and vocally agreed that his testimony was dismal.
 
We took a final vote for the day about this, how many jurors felt it likely that CRPS was involved in at least some way.  The vote was 8-4.  That was quite a bit up from the initial 5 who “strongly” believe it, though still one short of the 9 needed to vote her the large damages she’s asking.  However, there was a lot of discussion to go, so it would be interesting to see what thinking people did overnight.
 
And that lead to the interesting final day.
 
Interesting not just for the deliberation, but because arriving at the courthouse in the morning, the place was surrounded by police officers, the area blocked off, police cars all over the front lawn and helicopters overhead.  It turned out that a distraught man whose wife worked at the court drove his pick-up onto the front lawn, holding a knife to his throat and threatening to kill himself.  Eventually, he was gotten out of his vehicle – whether by Taser or not wasn’t clear – and taken to a nearby ambulance.  We eventually were able to enter the building and taken into the jury room an hour late.
 
It was a fascinating day, complete with a couple of sort of “twists.”  Not in the dramatic, third-act story sense, but more of unexpected perspective.
 
Overall, for the most part, I found the discussion very thoughtful.  Most people (eight of the 12) thought that the plaintiff did have some form of CRPS, and everyone felt she had chronic pain, even if it wasn’t CRPS. 
 
So, what we did was go through the entire Life Plan and its associated costs…line-by-line.  That was 34 items in all, covering medical care treatments, prescriptions, home care needs and much more.  Some items were reasonably quick to deal with, other were very long, thoughtful discussions.  Quite a few of the Life Plan requests were dismissed entirely, most of the others were cut to lower levels.  Only a handful were kept at the full total.
 
It was all dealt with a good amount of impressive thought.  In fact, at the end of deliberation, after everything was all decided, I commented that though I didn’t agree at all with many of the results, I was impressed by the serious thought that went into it all.
 
And so I was.  But therein lies the first “twist.”  There’s more later.
 
It was a smart, thoughtful jury.  And I voted for three of the four questions we had to answer.  (Past and future medical costs, and past and future non-medical, better known as “pain and suffering.”)  But was we sat back in the courtroom for the decision to be announced, I was disappointed with what we decided.  It’s not that it was unfair.  It was eminently fair.  It’s that I think the perspective was narrow, and the plaintiff who eight of us had decided actually had CRPS and who all of us had decided had at least some sort of chronic pain got short shrift when it came time awarding her meaningful awards for the damage done to her.
 
Let’s head back into the jury room.
 
There were about four of us who generally sided with high awards.  And three jurors were in the middle.  Two others shifted back in forth, though leaned towards uncertain if her needs were at the level being asked.  That left three jurors who were pretty adamant the whole time about not awarding her much.
 
Again, this is fine in general theory.  It’s a mix of people all brining their own subjective thoughts to deciding.  But remember:  all 12 had agreed she had some sort of chronic pain, largely for the rest of her life.  And a full eight jurors (just one short of the nine needed for a decision) had agreed that she had CRPS, an incurable, debilitating condition.  Yet that seemed to get ignored when it came to award her money for that lifetime pain.
 
And it meant, with three people largely against awarding much at all, with two always on the fence, that it became very difficult to get the nine votes needed for each item, in order to compensate the payment needed for lifetime care, as well as pain and suffering.
 
The problem too was that there were several people still questioning her “character,” wondering if she was perhaps being greedy or shouldn’t have file a lawsuit so fast (it was maybe nine months, which isn’t all that fast after an accident and surgery) or exaggerating her symptoms.  Alas, I sat between two of them, so it was sort of like stereo indignation.
 
Some of the questioning of her “character” came from wondering about several of her actions if she “really was in so bad shape.”  It’s understandable to wonder, but a bit inflexible in trying to accept that people act in many different ways than we ourselves might think, especially when in pain – sometimes, for instance, a person living in pain might do something we find unlikely simply because they have a need to feel normal or get some pleasure in life – and inflexible too in not ignoring, as was continually reminded, that the pain was not horrific 100% of the time, but had some ebbs and flows.  And I also have the sense that for some of this questioning her “character,” it might have come from the plaintiff simply looking really grumpy, almost disdainful the whole trial and not especially warm and “likeable.”  (This wasn’t ever mentioned during deliberation, and I could be absolutely, totally, completely wrong, but it’s how the constant distrust came across.  Wondering is one thing, but having constant distrust is another.)  Well, sure, the reality is that she did look grumpy.  Really grumpy and almost curmudgeonly.  Maybe even “untrustworthy.”  But then…she was in debilitating pain and had been for three years!  And was facing it for the rest of her life.  I think most people would look really grumpy.  The problem this caused, as I said, is that you needed nine votes for every decision we made, so having three people pre-disposed to say “no” to so many things – and a couple other jurors always on the fence – meant it was an uphill battle the whole time for those of us who felt her illness was very real, very agonizing most of the time, and something that she would face for the next 40 years.
 
(To be clear, these three and the few others were all very diligent, paid thorough attention and were well-spoken in expressing their opposition.  It’s just that they were so dead-set by default on so many issues that the plaintiff didn’t deserve much, if sometimes anything, that those of us arguing for more compensation were always arguing “down” from our awards, or giving in completely on lost-causes issues, which ultimately had ramifications.)
 
I also was a bit bothered that some of the decision-making got to the level of medical micro-management.  It was absolutely our right to do so.  And the process of deciding each line item was very thoughtful, and it all got a full airing.  But we weren’t there as her attending physicians providing her medical care.  We were jurors.  And no matter how fair and thoughtful our deliberation of such things were, I thought it went uncomfortably much too far.  In trying to be fair, we were pushed around the bend.  Into a land we had little reason or qualifications to be.  At one point, we decided which treatment she should be paid for, even though she and her doctors had preferred the other.  Yes, we had the right.  But how small to use it?
 
Some of the argument was that at a certain point later in her life she would be on assisted living and gets some of those medical costs covered anyway.  It’s an understandable argument.  It also took far too much for granted.  Because we didn’t know what extra care she would nonetheless need.  And much of the argument was that the plaintiff didn’t make a case that a specific treatment or medication was necessary – but our standard should have been that the defense didn’t make a case that it wasn’t.
 
And so we reached decisions on the two questions of medical care.  The total being asked for about $4.6 million.  We settled on about $1.1 million.  That’s a lot of money.  But it’s over 40 years.  So, as big as the number sounds in bulk, it works out to paying medical costs of about $25,000 a year.  For someone with a crushing disability and high medical needs, who we had decided unanimously had some form of chronic paused caused by a trauma the defendant admitted liability for.  And it’s a cut of 85% of what was being asked, -- much of which will likely still have to be paid, even if some of the jury questioned it.
 
That left us deciding on pain and suffering.
 
She was asking for a lot.  About $3.75 million for past needs and future.  But again, it’s for quality of life over 40 years.  And as much as it is – and it’s a lot – only the day before, ESPN reporter Erin Andrews received $55 million in her lawsuit for being spied on with surreptitious naked photos released.  The two cases are not remotely the same.  And we could argue which is worse – such horrible invasion of privacy, or a life-impacting debilitating injury.  They’re both terrible.  The point, though, was that awarding $3.75 million isn’t the HUGE, in the stratosphere figure it seemed, when looked at in full perspective.  (And yes, I brought this up.)
 
It was another sense of perspective that came into play when one juror brought up the very small limits in California for pain and suffering in medical malpractice, just $250,000, while noting that those limits are generally considered unfair.  And that became our base for discussion.
 
Alas.
 
The problems with this are many.  For starters, that paltry limit is absolutely considered unfair.  Even the person who brought it up made that clear.  Additionally, this wasn’t a medical malpractice case.  Third, to repeat, this wasn’t a medical malpractice case.  Fourth, there are other awards that juries can make in those instances that far exceed that limit, though for medical costs.  Fifth, this paltry $250,000 limit was set in 1975 and hasn’t been adjusted by one nickel for inflation in 40 years!  And fifth, again, this wasn’t a medical malpractice case!!  And finally, sixth, it’s critical to understand that this low-ball $250,000 limit (for medical malpractice) came about from an agreement made (40 years ago) in a bill written by the insurance companies to limit their own costs.  It had nothing to do with fairness, what it right and protecting victims.  If a botched surgery resulted in you losing your leg for the rest of your life, all you can get in California for pain and suffering is…$250,000.  For any real, actual pain and suffering you may have, whatever it is, for a lifetime, the most you can get in California is (say it together) $250,000.  That’s because the insurance companies wrote the bill.  And the added huge problem with this is, because the limit is so low, many people who have suffered massive pain and suffering – deaths of family members, loss of limbs, debilitating lifetime handicaps and more – can’t even get into court because the amount is so tiny that it’s far too low for a lawyer to take on the case, since they work on contingency.  It’s a horrific law on many levels.  Created by insurance companies to protect their bottom line.  Yet as bad as the law is, it’s only about medical practice.  It had absolutely zero (nothing) to do with our case.  But…it became the base of our discussion.
 
Several of us in the “upside” group wanted to give the plaintiff up to $2 million.  One wanted to give the full amount, $3.75 million.  But so many others only wanted to give that $500,000 basement, or perhaps maybe up to $750,000.  One juror wasn’t crazy about giving anything – zero for 40 years of chronic pain and suffering we’d agreed existed – but begrudgingly agreed that $300,000 would be fair.  Keep in mind, when we do math again, that as much as $750,000 sounds like a ton of money – and is – it works out to less than $19,000 a year for quality of life.
 
After a lot of back-and-forth (a lot) and trying to be flexible, those of us who wanted to award multiple millions dropped down to $1 million – for 40 years of pain and suffering.  The others edged up for $750,000 to $900,000.  And there we were stuck.  Eight votes for $900,000.  Four for $1 million.
 
Again, remember:  if anyone thinks all this is way too much money, a) you didn’t hear the evidence from acclaimed attending physicians or know how enfeebling her incurable chronic pain is, and b) these were all jurors who had unanimously agreed she had chronic pain, eight of whom agreed she had the incurable, and worse CRPS.
 
There was one other hurdle that I don’t think several jurors could ever get past.  I got the sense from what was said by these few that although they fully accepted there were debilitating injuries, lifelong treatment, and devastated quality of life, they simply had a hard time awarding so much money to someone who, in the end, “fell off a chair.”  The problem is – the cause was unfortunately simple, but the results were crushing.  As Shakespeare wrote, for want of a nail, the war was ultimately lost.  Yes, she did just fall off a chair.  But as a result, the rest of her life was pounded.

 
I tried hard to make a case for raising that $900,000 amount to $1 million, saying that the increase only worked to a piddling $2,500 a year.  For improving a person’s quality of life.  For allowing someone with a lifetime disability an extra touch of comfort to move on in the world.  But they wouldn’t budge.  And as much as $1 million was my bottom limit, I finally got fed up and offered a compromise.  I would come down to $950,000 and vote for that, making it the required nine jurors, if the other eight would agree to go up $50,000.  I just figured, much as it was below my limit which was far below what I felt deserved and needed, that being unable to reach an agreement for $50,000 seemed senseless.  The other eight agreed, and we had a decision.
 
The past and present pain-and-suffering was $975,000.  That made the total award (along with the medical award) just under $2.1 million.
 
When the decision was announced in court…neither side was very happy.  The plaintiffs had asked for a bit over $8 million.  The Cost Plus defendants had asked for $27,000.
 
I think most of the jurors were reasonably happy, though some thought it was a bit too much.  I know that several thought it was far too little – an average of $50,000 a year for a life of chronic pain.  Moreover, probably 40 percent goes to the lawyers who likely worked on contingency.  So, it comes to maybe $30,000 a year to compensate the injured plaintiff for necessary and deserved medical costs (that will have to paid), as well as pain and suffering of a chronic, debilitating trauma.  And I was one of those unhappy that it was much too little.
 
Which brings us to the other “twist.”  I’ll get there in a moment.
 
After the trial, a few of us spoke with the lawyers for the two sides.  And later, the plaintiff joined us.
 
Most of what was discussed was just “inside baseball,” as the expression goes.  Specifics of minutiae about the case, how the jury reacted to moments during the trial, and what was important in the deliberation.   We said, for instance, that it made zero difference to us whenever the defense attorney kept bringing up how much the plaintiff witnesses were being paid for their time – we explained that we simply listened to what they said, and figured they were under oath and were testifying honestly.  (All except his second witness, who kept screwing himself over almost every time he opened his mouth.)
 
One of the plaintiff attorneys mentioned that they were wary about trying the case in Santa Monica, which is known for being a tougher courthouse than downtown L.A., since the jurors here tend to “hate” lawyers more, which generally works against the plaintiff bringing the case.  I’m surprised, since I thought jurors are assigned randomly.  And surprised why a Santa Monica court would be more pre-disposed against lawyers.
 
I was a little taken aback by how bothered the defense attorney was at the judgment – he said he really didn’t believe the plaintiff at all and, in fact, thought she was lying about it all.  That was something the jurors not only dismissed, but were unanimous.  Even our most reticent naysayers agreed that she had some manner of chronic pain, and eight jurors believed she had CRPS.  In fact, it was our acceptance that the chronic pain was absolutely real that made us dismiss the evidence of one the defense’s two witnesses.
 
We also were told that only the plaintiff’s attorney paid for our pizza lunch delivered to the jury room.  Cost Plus wouldn’t split the bill.  (They didn’t have to, and at that point they probably thought we were deciding against them, which we were.  But it was still interesting to learn of the pettiness.  But, they only wanted to pay $27,000 in the trial judgment, so it sort of makes sense.)
 
An attorney for plaintiff was wondering what strategies could have been handled differently.  We discussed that for a bit, but ultimately I felt the lead attorney did an excellent job, and he came off reasonably well.  There were perhaps too many witnesses though they were fairly necessary.  Ultimately, the jury was the jury, and it will act as it rambles.
 
One personal thing I learned was why I had gotten selected for the jury.  “It was when you said you were skeptical of both sides,” the defense attorney said, offering me a hint for next time.  “Lawyers love that.”  Lesson learned.  (Not that I had to explain myself further after the trial, it was a tad late for that, but I wanted to clarify that when I had said I was “skeptical,” it wasn’t because I’m cynical.  In fact, I said to him I’m quite a positive person, but when people tell me “facts” out of my experience, I require a foundation to believe them.  “I understand,” he replied.  “But we love skeptics.”)
 
But a few things in our joint conversation stood out.  No, sorry, that’s wrong – they leaped out.  And then they grabbed you by the lapels and shook you silly.  And they were such a twist to my perception that it was like they became a tornado.
 
The first thing that leaped out is when I spoke with the plaintiff, and although I’d believed previously that she had CRPS, I now am absolutely certain of it.  The trial was over.  Her stress of the several-year ordeal could be released, and she could let her hair down.  And yet close up, talking to her at length, this was a woman who clearly was in physical pain, who held her body awkwardly, whose face was noticeably strained.  Whose hand was held twisted.  Whose voice was halting.  Fighting back tears.  Withdrawn, protective, walking slowly.  She had nothing to prove to anyone, it all was over.  Could I be wrong in my observation?  Absolutely.  Could I be right?  I am.
 
Second, I learned that long before the trial, one of the attorneys for the plaintiff had wanted to settle, but Cost Plus flat out refused.  The amount the attorney suggested, that was turned down, was…$2.1 million.  The judgment by the jury was only $56,000 less than that!  This whole trial and all its massive costs, which are lost to the plaintiff from her award were unnecessary and could have been avoided.  For that exact same amount.
 
The third thing was …well, ghastly.  We had awarded $2,044,000.  The plaintiff had a judgment level that had to be reached in order for her not to have to pay the costs for expert witnesses on both sides.  If she reached that limit, Cost Plus would have to pay for the expert witnesses.  If she was under the amount, she was liable for the amount.  That level was -- $2.1 million.  She was just a trifling $56,000 short.  (I’m still galled by this, and by my own actions, accepting lesser amounts throughout the deliberation.  In fairness, I had no way of knowing this.  But I still feel terrible.  Just $56,000.)
 
The fourth matter was…well, also ghastly.  It turns out that the original settlement offer from Cost Plus was only something like around $250,000.  (That’s not the ghastly part.)  During our lunch break, when it was clear we’d been out a long while which likely meant we had believed the plaintiffs and were trying to figure out how much to award, Cost Plus panicked that we might award the whole amount, so they finally, after years of refusing, raised their offer.  It was increased to $3 million.  Because the plaintiffs believed the same thing, that because we’d been out so long, we were considering a huge award, the woman turned down the offer.  She was devastated.  Crushed.  She’d lost a million dollars by her decision.  I had nothing to do with that, of course, but still felt awful for her, including my sense of not being part of getting her what she expected and deserved.  Ultimately, no, I don’t think I or the other few would have been able to get the injured plaintiff much more.  But it still feels lousy being party to such a lowball judgement.  And it was lowball.  Because what this means is that even the defendants proposed that the plaintiff get a million dollars more money in a settlement offer than this jury did.
 
The reality is, with the money that goes to lawyers – and expert witnesses – and other medical costs the plaintiff incurred, and would also have to pay forever in the future, she was left with a comparatively small amount for the next 40 years.  As she was imploding on herself, I tried to explain that she had no way of knowing when she made her decision.  And that though she was unhappy with the judgement amount, less than settlement offer, I tried to give her something positive, that the way the juror room was going, she could have even gotten a great deal less.
 
In the end, I know she got $2 million.  And that’s sounds like a lot, and as a bulk amount with no context, it is.  But she doesn’t get a great deal of that money.  After all, 40 percent goes to her lawyers.  And she has to pay for all the expert witnesses on both sides (which might be as much as $100,000.)  And most of what remains goes to medical costs that she has now for the next 40 years, and which have to be paid.  And whatever is left to make up for a quality of life that most of us take for granted, she’ll likely have to use much of (if not most) to cover medical costs that the jury cut by 85%.  And she has a debilitating, often-agonizing illness for the rest of her life that eight jurors agreed to.  And that all 12 jurors agreed was chronic and painful.
 
It was an accident.  Cost Plus didn’t sell a line of shoddy products.  A chair broke.  A rare trauma occurred.  A woman had a lifetime disability.  And Cost Plus admitted liability for it.  It was an accident.  And so unfortunate.  But unfortunate too is that they refused to pay a fair settlement at the beginning, and a trial could have been avoided for far less than they later offered.
 
And I feel lousy that those of us who felt the plaintiff – who has a difficult life ahead of her, for many reasons – couldn’t get even close to what she deserved and needed, or what could at least help her quality of life more.  I feel lousy, not because I wasn’t convincing enough to get what I thought was decently fair and didn’t win My Arguments – but because we all agreed that she actually had a chronic pain that would likely last for the next 40 years, and I couldn’t keep people focused on that, and was so accommodating to a few people who weren’t being accommodating in return, until our initial agreement backtracked on what we awarded so much.  I just feel lousy.  Actually, “lousy” doesn’t do it justice.  I feel gnawed.  And as days passed, I got angrier about how the judgement was reached.  However, lousy will suffice.  But at least today, lousy as I feel, I don’t have incurable chronic pain.  However, I’m very glad that we were able to get her what we did, in the face of those few who would have been fine giving next to nothing.  Everyone acted thoughtfully, and reasonably well-intentioned.  Many, impressively so.  But, as time goes on, most-especially after my post-trial conversation, I am even more convinced they were unfortunately profoundly wrong.  However, she got a judgment in her favor.  She’ll be able to pay some medical bills for a while.  And she appears to be a strong-willed person.  Who has a deeply supportive family.  Even if that won’t carry her as far as she needs, I’m glad she has that foundation.  And wish her well.
 
And I’m appreciative how terrific Judge Lawrence Cho was.  And his court assistant, Lisa, who was a discombobulated, yet efficient joy.  We never learned her exact title, or last name.  She almost doesn’t need one.  She’s more mythical that way.
 
A final comment.  During deliberation, one of the jurors quipped that if he was ever a plaintiff, he hoped he had me on the jury.  It was a cute joke, and I laughed – but I also said back with a smile, but pointedly, that if he was ever a plaintiff and had been wronged, and deserved everything he was asking for…I hoped I was on his jury, too.  And the truth is, too, that if he was ever defending himself against a false and unfair charge, he should hope I was on that jury, as well.
 
God forbid I’m ever called to serve on a jury again, but if I am and asked if I can be fair, I know what I’ll say.  Yes, absolutely I can be fair.  I will be completely fair to all the evidence I hear on both sides.  But – I will in no way be fair in the jury room.  My responsibility is not to be fair to who the jurors are, nor them to me.  It is to be fair to the evidence.  It is to be fair to the plaintiff and defendant.  It is to be fair, as well, to the opinions of the jurors.  Sometimes that may mean reaching a reasonable accommodation with other jurors who are willing to accommodate equally, balanced in fairness.  Life, after all, is full of uncertainties.  None of us has all the answers.  But the goal isn’t to reach a verdict.  It’s to reach the right one. 
 
And also, I’ll do my best to keep that “I’m skeptical of all sides” to myself…
 
One thing above all is clear. 
 
An actual court case is worlds different from what’s seen in movies.  As it should be – you’d bore the audience silly.  A real court case is long, slow, messy, monotone with few moments of riveting drama.  Or often unriveting drama.
 
And then we went home.

​In Part One of this journey into a two-week trial for which I sat on the jury, we learned the adventurous tale at Santa Monica Superior Court of the opening statements and the plaintiff’s side making its case.  The estimable Judge Lawrence Cho presiding.  You can read the whole thing here.  The short version is that the case concerns a woman who was sitting on a chair bought at Cost Plus which broke.  She suffered broken bones, had two surgeries, a great many doctors’ appointments and physical therapy, and claimed to be suffering from CRPS (Complex Regional Pain Syndrome), a rare, but known debilitating and incurable form of chronic pain.  Cost Plus admits liability, but the two sides couldn’t reach a settlement.

                                                                    Part Two 
                                                     The Defense Strikes Back
 
The defense for Cost Plus only had two expert witnesses.  Both very eminent.  Both reviewed all the depositions that had been given and all the medical records.  And both had examined the plaintiff, though just once.  In one case, the examination took an hour.  In another, it was only about eight minutes.
 
Both defense medical experts had the same conclusion, that the plaintiff did not have CRPS.  While they each said they wouldn’t ever claim a person did or didn’t have pain, they each felt that none of the records they saw or exams they performed showed any instance of CRPS, which requires certain, specific symptoms to be present.  And it requires these symptoms to appear within a certain time period after a trauma occurs.  (The trauma is usually an injury, but it can also be a surgery.)  And for both defense witnesses, they felt that the plaintiff wasn’t experiencing the pain she was claiming.  And if she did have CRPS – which they did not see – it could only have come from an elective surgery she chose to have later.
 
The plaintiff’s rebuttal was basically – you only examined the patient once, and briefly.  Your exams occurred within days after she had had pain management treatment.  These other doctors were almost all her treating physicians, not just expert witnesses being called to make a judgment.  Most of them saw the plaintiff numerous times.  Since her doctors were all eminent medical experts in the field who either diagnosed CRPS, or saw symptoms of possible CRPS, does that mean they’re all wrong, and you alone are right?
 
The defense witnesses did have responses to all these question, not especially compelling ones, but did have answers.  And they both felt, yes, I’m right and they’re all wrong.  But what was most pronounced in the cross-examination is what I referred to before, when the plaintiff counsel’s heated reactions stood out. 
 
For both defense witnesses, when the plaintiff’s attorney began his cross, he was…well, I think the common expression is “spitting bullets.”  He started loud and got louder as he went on, almost yelling it seemed.  Belligerent towards the witnesses (one of which, he not only knew personally, but had sent clients to for treatment), and getting louder all the time, to the degree that you felt if this went on at the same pace his head might eventually explode.  Several things set him off, but the most was the suggestion by the second defense witness that his client was lying and couldn’t be trusted.  This went on until the defense counsel cried out his objection about how opposing counsel was actually yelling and badgering and acting inappropriately.
 
Both times the judge (most understandably) agreed, and admonished the plaintiff counsel to tone it down.  The attorney apologized, explained how emotional this was and promised to do better.  He still remained emotional for a bit both times, though eventually would calm down to an even-keel and continued calmly the rest of the way, if pointedly.  (He also got the doctor who had written in a report that the patient’s word was untrustworthy to acknowledge that it was an inappropriate choice, and retracted it.)
 
Needless-to-say, it added a wee bit of spark to the proceedings.
It also allowed him to get across his point to discredit the witness, which he did.  Actually, it’s almost fair to say the witness discredited himself.  This was widely agreed in the jury deliberation.  More on that later.
 
He also drove home a point with the first defense witness.  The witness was very accomplished as, I believe, an orthopedic surgeon and scholar.  But he’d only studied CRPS 27 years before in medical school, and in the subsequent period, only had dealt with 25 cases of CRPS out of 40,000 patients.  By contrast, the CRPS expert for the plaintiff handled two CRPS cases a month, every month, for years.  He saw as many cases of CRPS in one year as this remaining defense witness saw in his 27-year career.
 
Additionally, he refuted the defense suggestion that even if CRPS existed, it had to have only come from an elective surgery the plaintiff had, by repeating testimony from his CRPS experts that CRPS cannot occur from the cosmetic surgery she had.
 
And so the week ended, with only final arguments in sight before the case went to the jury for deliberations.
 
Coming back from the weekend, from the moment we walked into the courtroom on Monday, ready for final arguments, it was clear that things were different.  The room was packed.  (One of the jurors commented to me, “If I knew it’d be this crowded, I would have dressed nicer.”)  Whereas during the trial, there were usually only about five to seven people watching, now almost every seat was full, close to 30.  Most seemed to be lawyers – either that or it was the best-dressed group of courthouse visitors in the world.
 
The plaintiff counsel’s final arguments were quite long, probably about 90 minutes.  Very detailed with PowerPoint visual aids to reiterate his points.  He acknowledged that there would be computer glitches, and there were.  Like a list that began with #1, and for its second point became #5.  And not realizing that when you click the remote to move the slide, you have to point it at the computer, not the screen.  It was all just straight graphics, except at one point there was a single, slight “animation” – when the Scales of Justice, filled with plaintiff evidence, tilted.  “It’s like we’re Pixar,” he quipped.
 
We also found out the total amount they were asking for.  The past and future “pain and suffering” was around $3.75 million, so together with past and future medical costs the total was about $8.2 million.
 
Needless-to-say, the defense counsel’s final arguments disagreed.  Fairly vehemently.  Their suggestion was in the $27,000 range.
 
Well, okay, so that’s why the two sides didn’t settle.
 
Over the weekend, and before final arguments began, I began to do my pondering and had various thoughts.  I really wasn’t completely set in my mind, but was leaning to voting in favor of the plaintiff.  There were some questions and uncertainties, since all pain, but notably chronic pain and especially CRPS is so subjective, but the weight of 15 highly-knowledgeable people most of whom actually were attending physicians carried more weight for me than two high-end experts who examined her for an hour and eight minutes respectively and had attendant question marks with their testimony.  Yes, they also reviewed the records, but so did the attending doctors on the other side.
 
It would be one thing to say, “I see zero evidence of CRPS,” which is a fair-enough observation to make.  But when so many other people said that they did see evidence of it, some considering their evidence to be symptoms, and some seeing enough to actually diagnose it, then having that many “seeing” it was substantive.  Especially since the exams where it didn’t seem to appear were done soon after the plaintiff was on treatments for pain management and might well have had the pain more under control at those time.
 
Through the trial (and final arguments) there was a question about why it didn’t seem to be diagnosed for 15 months.  But when the expert in CRPS had testified earlier, he explained that he was in the midst of doing a study about CRPS during its first year, and he noted that it’s incredibly difficult to find participants since most people aren’t diagnosed with CRPS for over a year, even though CRPS is there.  In fact, in the two months they’ve been trying to find subjects who qualify for the study, they’ve thus far found…zero.  He said that’s because usually either no one is looking for CRPS yet, or because doctors see the symptoms but see them as related to something else.  (Yes, there’s pain in the shoulder, but there was shoulder surgery, so of course having pain there is to be expected.  That must be what the pain is.  Only later, when the normal shoulder pain should have disappointed, and other CRPS symptoms keep showing themselves, do evidence of CRPS become more clear.)
 
Did the plaintiff, in fact, have CRPS?  I didn’t know for certain, though it seemed likely.  Did even if not CRPS, did she at least have some sort of chronic pain?  I didn’t know that either, though I did think that was probable.  And if it was CRPS, when did it occur?  I had no idea to that either, though if it existed, then it probably occurred early on, likely from the chair collapse, and got exacerbated by her first surgery.  But ultimately, the details of the case and realities of her life made it seem to me that for this all to be a “scam” would take an effort far too convoluted for far too long – two necessary surgeries and over a hundred doctors’ appointments and physical therapy sessions, and (importantly) make her less available to her young children, especially one with a terminal illness than one would think reasonable to consider.  Was it possible that there was no CRPS or chronic pain?  Sure?  Was it probable?  I was leaning toward not.  Especially since the only burden of proof for there to be CRPS, or just chronic pain at all is 51% likelihood, not certainty or beyond a reasonable doubt. But I was curious what the other jurors were perceiving it all.
 
And then, in the end, which was the core of the trial, if she indeed did have CRPS, then how much money was she due?  Not just for the medical treatments past and future, but pain and suffering.  And for that, I really had no idea, though did have some thoughts.  For that, however, I wanted a closer look at the documentation of the “life plan” that had been prepared by the plaintiffs.
 
Mixed into my thinking about all this was a reality I felt I had to recognize about products in general.  Not that it necessarily had a direct bearing on the case, but it still impacted what was being dealt with.  We know, after all, that some products seem to have a particularly high level of responsibility when being built with special care for safety.  Cars, guns, power saws, lawnmowers, electrical wiring, things like that.  But for other products, like constructing a chair, while craft and attention to detail is important, it isn’t the kind of item that one considers central to causing $8 million worth of injuries.  What I mean is that a chair that fails isn’t a case of thoughtless attention to a person’s life-safety, but a pure accident.  Especially when there isn’t a record of countless chairs made by the company failing.  Ultimately, as I said, that isn’t a factor to be considered during deliberation.  And if the costs needed are in fact such that they do total that much, then so be it, I would be absolutely fine awarding it, if that’s what is actually required.  But believing something is a pure accident, rather than gross negligence – even if it wasn’t something we had to decide – was still something I felt hovering over the case in my mind.  And I remained as curious as every to hear other jurors’ experience and views on all this.
 
Tomorrow:  The exciting conclusion as we go inside the jury room for deliberation, and then post-trial conversations with the lawyers for both side, as well as the plaintiff.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote two pieces about my journey diving into the world of jury duty.  I’d received a summons for the Superior Court and was assigned to Santa Monica.  Much to my dismay, the other jurors told me I was the only person they were sure would be selected to serve “because you seem so fair.”  And alas, I was indeed selected.  Though I wasn’t allowed to write about the trial while it was in session, I could write about the jury selection process before the case actually began, which I did here first, and then followed-up here for the second day.
 
The two-week trial is over now.  And I’m free to write about it.  Let loose the hounds of hell…!
 
Bear with me, this will be very long.  It was a two-week trial, after all.  For people interested in such things, you will hopefully appreciate the observations and details.  That is the intent here.  Most people don’t ever sit on a jury, and most-especially so for two weeks.  And this was a trial, though about a simple matter on the surface, that had some unexpected depth to it.  So, this is meant to be a record of what it was all like.  It runs about 10,000 words.  That’s 17 pages.  Yes, really.  You’ve been forewarned.  I’ve tried to make it interesting and human.  Not dry law.  Whether I succeeded, as Dickens wrote, “these pages must tell.”  But not to worry -- because it’s so long, I’ve decided to make it a mini-series, and have divided the piece into three separate segments, which I’ll post on successive days.  The opening statements and plaintiff.  The defense presentation.  And the jury deliberation.  For those not even remotely interested in such matters, though, stop here.  Or jump back here at the end to find out the result…
 
All rise.  Court is in session.  Judge Lawrence Cho presiding.  You may be seated.

                                                                    Part One
                                                            ​The Plaintiff Sigh

What was particularly intriguing from the very first day is that, as much as no one wanted to serve on a two-week trial, once you’re selected, your mind settles in and you accept the responsibility.  What also was fascinating is how, after the two opposing counsels’ opening statements, the perception of this particular case was so significantly different from the hints we got during the jury selection process.  During jury selection, from questions that were asked by both attorneys, it was clear that a woman (the plaintiff) had fallen and injured herself when her chair broke.  The company being sued was Cost Plus.  They admitted liability.  What was at issue, it was obvious, had to be the amount of damages.  What was also obvious was that the two sides were massively apart, since this otherwise seemed to be a case that should have been easy to settle.

As a result of this perception, several prospective jurors ended up not making it onto the jury, saying that there was no way they could be fair.  They either were involved in businesses that had had devastating nuisance suits – in a couple instances, these were people involved in the furniture industry who’d had lawsuits – or they felt that they couldn’t ever give the kind of judgements it seemed the plaintiffs were asking.

(At one point, the number “millions” was bandied about, which turned a lot of heads.  At another point, a lawyer even asked about whether jurors could see themselves awarding “ten or twenty millions.”  To be clear, none of this meant that that’s what was being asked for.  For all we knew, that might just have been the lawyer’s way of gauging a juror’s mindset.  But it was the perception of many jurors.)

But perceptions weren’t limited just to prospective jurors.  Once the final jury was selected, and the chosen-jurors were released for the day and standing in line to get our parking tickets validated, several were commenting about what an uphill battle the plaintiff would have, asking for what they presumed was such a large amount of money for falling off a chair.  (Jurors aren’t supposed to discuss a case between them until deliberation, but people will be people.)  I did chime in to say we should be fair, since we didn’t know what her injuries were, or what her job was if there was loss of profession, or what other factors might be at play.  As we were to find out the next day, there were a whole lot of other factors at play. 

The jury, by the way, seemed to be a pretty good mix, and far more interesting here in Santa Monica than those I’ve crossed paths with in downtown L.A.  We have two doctors on the jury – which is surprising since medicine was clearly going to be central to the case.  (One of the doctors even teaches at UCLA and has worked on cases with one of the doctors who’ll be called to testify, though they haven’t met.  I suspect that both sides felt their case was so strong that doctors would be able to see they and they alone were right.  There were also a couple of lawyers on the jury (one of them licensed in Argentina, but a paralegal here in the U.S.)  There was a CPA, a former social worker, and another a small business owner.  One of the jurors works in advertising, and during a break, I heard him mention having what seemed like some sort of involvement with the “live video” that Gwen Stefani had just done for Target during the Grammy Awards broadcast.  I asked if that was his firm, and he said that in fact it had been his idea, and he oversaw the whole project.  Overall, it seemed quite a reasonably sharp group.  In fact, during his final arguments, the plaintiff’s counsel commented that this one of most intelligent juries he’s ever worked with.  Mind you, I suspect that that isn’t the first time he’s used that line.  (Along with “I’ll respect you in the morning.”)  However, when the defense counsel said the same thing, he gave specifics why he felt that way – watching jurors take notes throughout the trial, and all the questions (and good questions) they sent notes to the judge to ask.  And the judge commented on all that after the verdict, too.  Sure it was understandable that lawyers want to play nice with the jurors, but I do think it’s a reasonably sharp group.
 
(I’m biased for another reason.  Of all the many questions the jurors passed to the judge, two got the witnesses who were asked to say, “That’s a really good question.”   One was asked by the doctor, who had a very detailed medical question – and the other was by…well, me.  Perry Mason, watch out.  I am now tied with Clarence Thomas.)

Once the trial began, and the opposing counsels made their opening statements, that was when we had the first and most-pronounced surprise.  It was so clear that this was, indeed, as I had suggested earlier, a significantly-deeper matter than the perception had been during jury selection.  It wasn’t merely about falling off a chair, but centered around a debilitating medical condition called CRPS (Complex Regional Pain Syndrome), which is rare but not uncommon, a medical problem that is persistent, can bring about chronic pain that regularly reaches a 7-8 level on a scale of 10, has such hypersensitivity to the slightest touch (including simply wearing light-cotton clothes in that area – in this case, the arm) that it brings agony to the person, sensitivity to temperature, weakness so debilitating that objects can’t be held – and though in some cases with treatment the conditions can be limited a bit, it has no cure.  There were two surgeries, and well-over a hundred doctor visits and therapy sessions.  Compounding this – though having nothing specific to do with the claims, though stress can exacerbate the condition – was that during the process the plaintiff went through a divorce …and her young son was diagnosed with a terminal illness.  (You wouldn’t write this into the most over-the-top soap opera.)  The young boy was initially only given a few weeks, then months, and it’s been three years and he has apparently been responding well to treatment.  But the illness is still profoundly critical.  And the husband has continued to live in the home, so as to be there for his son.
 
So, no, it was not a matter of someone just falling 18-inches off a chair, as one of the dismissed, prospective jurors petulantly spat out with his arms crossed..

After these long, opening statements, during a break when the jurors went into the hallway, the general reaction among us was basically, “Well, okay, that’s certainly not what we expected.”  And also, that it’s a shame all those close-minded people who’d made up their minds that this was just a silly nuisance suit from someone who ‘fell 18 inches’ from a chair weren’t still in the courtroom to hear how grossly wrong they were.”

The trial was scheduled to take so long because the plaintiff had about 15 doctors testifying – most as treating physicians and pain management MDs (she had a lot of both), along with several expert witnesses.  (I must say that the level of doctors she had found for treatment was seriously impressive, which eliminated the question of shady, fly-by-night diagnoses, anything for a buck.  There could be opposing views from equally eminent doctors, but they couldn’t be dismissed as not knowing what they were talking about.  One had been the team physician for the Minnesota Vikings and Minnesota Twins.  Another worked at the famous Kerlan-Jobe Orthopaedic Clinic in L.A. (that I’d long heard of for decades, a leader in the field of sports medicine, where the now-renowned “Tommy John Surgery” was first performed ) and was himself the on-ice doctor for the Los Angeles Kings.  Another taught at UCLA, another taught at USC, another was one of the few experts in the country on CRPS (and is even currently conducting a study on the topic), and one of her expert witnesses did forensic medicine for the U.S. Justice Department.
 
(One juror noted during a break that he felt by the end of the trial we would all qualify for a medical degree…) 

In fact, early on, because most of the doctors were largely testifying to the same thing about her condition, only from different perspectives and for different time periods, there were days I felt like shouting out, “Okay, we get it.  She’s in chronic pain, has hypersensitivity, limited strength in her arm and understandably got depressed.  And the symptoms suggest CRPS, but it didn’t show up immediately.  We get it.  We get it!  Let’s move on to the defense to try to explain why it wasn’t CRPS and maybe not even chronic pain, and then you can cross-examine them all you want and…”

Okay, obviously you can’t do that, it’s considered such poor form, and also the parade of high-end doctors supporting each other’s recognition of such a difficult to spot disease from their unique perspectives is actually an important, indeed utterly-critical part of the plaintiff’s case, and showed the level of high-end patient care.  Moreover, the evidence also has to be entered into the record.  But the general point of their similar observations was spot-on clear early on: the patient not only had chronic pain, but it showed the symptoms of CRPS and even reached the level of certain diagnosis for several of the doctors.  What the defense witnesses and experts showed was another matter.  And was to come.

What was interesting, too, was the demeanor of the two opposing attorneys.  During jury selection, the counsel for the plaintiff was snarky in his repeated attempts to be sarcastically witty (which is okay, though the Improv it was not…), but often oddly a bit insulting (at one point, for example, asking a potential juror if he thought he’d be smart enough to hold his own with the others) – yet during the trial, he came across as reasonably gracious, quite personable, and dedicated.  On the other hand, the defense counsel was grandfatherly and almost cherubic during jury selection, very personable, but during the trial was continually pissy, impatient with witnesses during cross-examination and even got into heated arguments with several witnesses who were bothered feeling he was bullying them.  (He was.)  Somewhat surprisingly, the sense I later got was that neither reaction really impacted jury decisions much, if at all.  Everyone is listening to the witnesses, not the demeanor of the attorney.  And reactions to the attorneys did not come up once during the jury deliberations.)
 
One odd tactic of this defense attorney would be that he often asked repeated, scathing questions to acclaimed doctors about their process.  “So, you didn’t also just tap her other scar to see if it was tender?”  “No.”  “Didn’t just tap it to see her reaction?”  “No.”  “Well, why not, it would have only taken eight seconds?”  “It wasn’t necessary for what I was doing.”  “Not necessary to see if there’s be a response??”  “No, I had the information I needed.”  “Didn’t want to just tap any place else??”  “No, it wasn’t necessary.”  “You didn’t just tap-tap-tap anywhere else, just a simple tap?”  “No.”  And so on.  Repeatedly.  It never scored any points.  The jurors figured that an expert doctor with 20 years of experience had a better idea how to conduct an exam than a lawyer.
 
It was this sort of thing which got a couple of the doctors to lean forward in the witness box and tell off the defense attorney for bullying them, which would create a back-and-forth.  (“If you would just treat me politely I’d be happy to answer your questions, but you’re bullying me.”  “If you would just answer the question which I’m asking you and not go off into something else, I’d be fine.”)  It was noticeable that he didn’t do this with his own witnesses, when they went off to wax poetic.  Eventually the judge would break things up and admonish both sides.
 
(While I understood why the witnesses felt insulted, this was nonetheless one of the other times I wanted to call out, “Hey, y’know, the lawyer isn’t here to be your buddy and have a nice chat about medicine.  There is only one reason he’s here, and it’s to be a vigorous advocate for his client.  Besides, as insulting as you think the question is, you don’t have any idea why he’s asking his questions.  For all you know, it’s to set a foundation for what he’s going to ask a subsequent witness, or to relate it to testimony previously given before you took the stand.  So, unless he’s being so belligerent that it harms your status – at which point the opposing counsel will chime in, as this one did, ‘Your Honor, counsel is bullying the witness,’ just deal with it!”)
 
The defense attorney also continually got angry – and would become scathing – whenever he’d ask a “yes/no” question and the defense witness would continue with an explanation, having to cut off the response with “Your Honor!  Would you please again instruct the witness to just answer the question I asked and not give us another dissertation.”  (This would eventually get the opposing plaintiff counsel to respond, “I object, Your Honor, counsel is interrupting the witness and not allowing him to finish.”  Which would bring about from the defense, “Will Your Honor please instruct plaintiff counsel not to interrupt me when I’m making an objection.”)
 
On the other hand, the plaintiff counsel was surprisingly pretty lax in comparison in giving leeway to witnesses for the defense.  There were times where he’d ask his own “yes/no” questions, and the defense expert would go on with a long explanation, and this opposing counsel let them go on.  Once, a defense witness answered a “yes/no” question and then even asked if he could explain more in detail.  The plaintiff attorney shrugged, waved his hand and said, “Sure, go ahead.”
 
This is not to suggest that the plaintiff attorney was all sweetness and light, he wasn’t at all, and most definitely had his moments where his reactions stood out.  More on that later.  They were pronounced.

Through it all, the jurors were paying close attention and taking voluminous notes.  Some more than others.  (I noticed that the physician on the jury would be relentlessly writing.  During a break, I said to him that he looked like he was taking notes during a consultation.  He laughed and said, yeah, it was just force of habit.)  I had a particularly funny juror sitting next to me.  Not intentionally so, and not that she was making jokes, just that I could hear her whispering under her breath the whole trial.  She took utterly meticulous notes, impressively so, and often when a question would be raised about the date or a fact, I could hear her quickly mutter, “August 12,” before the court reporter could.  Or “Cymbalta.”  Sometimes, she’d even render an opinion about a question being asked to the judge.  Before he could answer, I’d hear, “Oh, no.  Definitely not.”  It was a joy, and lovely having running commentary in my ear.

One of the oddest things of all is that, very surprisingly, it wasn’t until near the very end of the trial that we even started to even have an idea what we were there to decide on.  Really.  In most cases, I assume that you know from the opening statements that you’re deciding on guilt or innocence, in a criminal case.  Or who improperly turned their car first at an intersection to cause a crash.  Or if someone broke a promise.  Or whatever is at issue.  But in this trial…honestly, we had absolutely no idea what was exactly at stake to be decided.  We knew that the defendant Cost Plus admitted fault, so that wasn’t even an issue.  And that’s all we knew.  We could also presume what was going on.  It seemed like what we would have to decide was one of two things (or both) – first, whether the plaintiff actually had CRPS and if so, when it initially occurred, or second (the most likely decision), how much or little money she should get awarded.  But even if the latter was the issue – we had zero idea what amount was being asked for by the plaintiff.  None.

Finally, near the end, the day before oral arguments finished, the defense counsel asked a question that had the figure “5 million” in it.  So, at least that part of the puzzle seemed to be answered.  But there was still a great deal more that was uncertain.  It was strange not knowing, though it also meant you listened to everything with a completely unfettered mind, without having $$$$-signs dancing in our heads.  (And it was only until the very last day of arguments that the exact figure was given.  It wasn’t $5 million, but close -- $4,451,882.) 
 
(To be clear, that was only the medical cost.  There was no word yet on the “pain and suffering” matter.  So, my guess at that point was the dollar sign would be going way up.)
 
Tomorrow:  The defense has its say.

I forgot to mention that we finished jury deliberation on Tuesday, reaching a judgement, went back into court where it was delivered, and the trial is now ended.

I'd been keeping fairly detailed notes during the trial, but one is not allowed to write or discuss anything about the case while the trial is in session.  But once everything is over, it's all fair game, and you can "go public" if you like.  The final article is just about finished, with only a little bit of tweaking to do.  I have to decide if there are certain things I want to add, but I think not.  I also did a little bit of research to fill in a few holes.

It's really long -- I suspect that readers of these pages will not be remotely surprised to hear that -- but I mean exceedingly long, even by my standards when I say something is going to be long.  But I wanted it be a detailed, realistic look at the experience, including inside the jury room, particularly since most people don't serve on a jury, especially for a two-week trial..  I've left out all names of all the participants (at least for the time being, that's one of the things I have to decide), but my feeling is that it will come across more objective that way.  Anyway, to get back to when I say it's exceedingly long, what I mean is that it's over 10,000 words, which works out to be about 17 pages.

Yes, that's long.  But not to worry, I won't be posting it all at once, in one massive, head-exploding article.  I've divided it into a three-part series -- basically the opening statements and plaintiff's case, then we get to the defendant, and finally end with the jury deliberation, talking with the lawyers afterwards and final thoughts.

There are a few somewhat unexpected "twists" of a sort along the way.  And I've tried to make it as interesting to read as possible, not anything bogged down by legal minutiae.  Whether that's accomplished is for others to decide.  What I'll say is that I gave the rough draft to an attorney friend, and his first comment was, "That's quite a tale."

For various reasons, I don't think I'll be posting it right away.  Probably the week after next.  But don't worry, it'll be hard to miss...  

Last week, when at the Santa Monica Courthouse for jury duty, the courthouse got emptied because of a power failure.  Today, when arriving at court for jury deliberation...well, if you live in Los Angeles, you might have seen us on the news.  The entrance to the court was blocked off, police were out in force, and police cars had arrived and parked on the front lawn.  There was, what is known in the vernacular as, a situation.  Helicopters hovered overhead, as well.  It took an hour for everything to finally be under control, and everyone standing around the parking lot were at last allowed inside.

What had happened is that the husband of one of the court workers was distraught and had driven up on the court lawn with a big knife.  He had it to his throat and was suicidal, threatening to kill himself.  If you look closely, you can seen his truck there on the law.  See the sidewalk in the middle?  Follow it up to a police car, and then look just in front of it (sort of under an angled tree).  You can probably make out the blue pickup there on the lawn.  Off to the right of this picture is where the perpetrators wife was, clearly distraught and being comforted by several of her co-workers.

This was around 8:30 AM.  Eventually, the police got the man out of the car -- whether he was tasered is not clear.  But there was a waiting ambulance, and he was taken there.  

We finally got let in to the court at 9:15.  As it happened, one of our jurors had arrived early and had gotten into the courthouse.  She said she was at the front window when she heard a huge commotion outside.and looked down and watched it all unfold.  Well, most of it -- eventually, the police below called up with their bullhorn to "Get away from the window!" since they didn't know at that point if the man had a gun or not.

The jurors all finally arrived, and still had a wait for a while before being let into the court.  The judge, the wonderful Lawrence Cho, was out in the hall with us and sort of good-naturedly bewildered by it all, as well.  He said that for the longest while he didn't even have a clue what was going on.  He'd gotten to the courthouse early, decided to go get some doughnuts (which turned out later to have been bought for us in the jury deliberation room), and wandered back to the back entrance of the courthouse specifically for judges.  He blithely wandered in to his court, and to his great surprise found it empty.  "I had no idea what was going on!" he said.  The only person there was his court assistant who was sort of freaked out and told him everything.  As Judge Cho quipped, though with a seriousness, he thought it fascinating that the court security was such that he could wander into the building and stroll into his courtroom...and not have anyone stop him to tell him that there was a problem.

As I mentioned, between this and the power failure, Santa Monica should consider having a new slogan to make prospective jurors want to serve that, "Come to Our Court.  We Have More Fun Here Than the Other Guys!"

Anyway, finally we got let into the courtroom, an hour late, and then into deliberation for our second day there.  And we actually came to a verdict.  More on that and the whole trial in a long article soon.  I'm working on it, and...well, it will be hard to miss.

The end might be in sight.  If the judge is to be believed for the trial I'm sitting on the jury for,the opposing counsels are supposed to be giving their final arguments on Monday morning.  O huzzah.  The only hiccup will be if they decided to call rebuttal witnesses, though neither has said yet that they will.  So, if all goes according to this schedule, the case will be sent to the jury in the afternoon, and we'll head off into Deliberation Land..

How long that will take, I have no idea.  I have some guesses, but because we're not to talk about the case publicly, I'll leave it at that.  But I'll post a piece here about the trial after the fact.  I suspect it will be long (-- just like the trial).  I suspect that most people who read these pages aren't surprised to hear that... 

I have a feeling that most, if not all the points I wrote this morning were probably spot on, about why leaking that Nevada's Republican governor Brian Sandoval was being vetted for the Supreme Court was such a smart thing to do by the White House.  I say that because this afternoon, Mr. Sandoval contacted the White House and withdrew his name from consideration.

From his public statement, it doesn't appear that Gov. Sandoval doesn't want to be a Supreme Court justice.  In fact, he said, " The notion of being considered for a seat on the highest court in the land is beyond humbling and I am incredibly grateful to have been mentioned."  And there was nothing beyond that about any reasons why it was wrong for him.  I suspect he either got some calls from Senate Republicans that said, "You have to withdraw because we've made public statements which, and so you know you'll never, ever get confirmed and this is really, really incredibly embarrassing for us" -- or he figured that out on his own.

While sitting on the panel for jury selection today, there was a power failure, and they had to evacuate the entire courthouse.  The huge delay wasn’t merely a case of getting the power back on, but all the time needed to get the jurors, court employees and lawyers back in and through the metal detectors.  All in all, it was probably over an hour.
 
The “worst” part though was when our prospective jurors would gather in little groups, and everyone was wondering how things were going and who would be lucky enough to be dismiseed, they all would say to me, “Oh, you are definitely getting selected.  Absolutely.  No question.  You’re the only one I’m sure of.  You seem so fair.  I know you're going to be chosen  Oh, yes, I'm certain.  Yes, I agree.”  All I could say was, what did I do wrong?  And alas…yes, I was selected on the jury.  The trial is supposed to be two weeks, though the judge said he thought it should be shorter.  So, I am now officially Mr. Juror.
 
After the main 12 jurors were selected (and commiserating at having to serve…), the court then had to pick the two alternates.  They called five more people, and after a just few question the lawyers dismissed four of them! Four!  The jurors who were already selected were sort of humorously grumbling at that.  We’d been there for hours and hours and hours, answering tons of questions, and here are four out of five new people tossed off, just like that, within about 10-15 minutes.  I decided to throw caution to the wind and add some levity, and shouted out to the judge (who’s a great guy…), “Can I change my answers?!!!”  Happily, the courtroom burst into laughter, including (most-especially happily) the judge.
 
There’s a court clerk who, when she first met us in the hallway, said that because of budget cutbacks, she has to do this additional job and added that she’s not very good at it.  She’s quite nice and very thoughtful, and – she’s right, she’s not good at all at this other job she’s now got to do.  Awkward, lost sometimes and stumbling.  But the odd thing is, this new job that she admitted to be lousy at…and I swear I’m not exaggerating… is basically calling roll!   Really.  But she’s pleasant, we like her, so it’s sort of adorable.  But I have no idea what’s so hard about it.
 
The trial starts tomorrow in full.  Today, we got the plaintif’s opening statement.  And now, by order of the judge, I have to go into silent mode.  More later.