The defendant twisted around in his seat to study the 41 men and women filing into Courtroom 1108.
Jimmy Young knew that some of these people would be selected for his jury. They would decide whether he was guilty of first-degree murder and, if so, whether he should die. He was 22.Also watching the jurors with interest was Judge Benjamin Lerner. This would be Lerner’s first “death-qualified jury” – one empowered to impose capital punishment – and he was troubled by the possibility that he might have to pronounce a death sentence.
Lerner looked relaxed and confident as jury selection began, but in fact, he would later reveal, he was “sitting on the edge of my chair,” careful not to make a misstep.
On the eve of the trial, he had spent hours reading legal texts and appellate-court decisions on jury selection in capital cases. Because the stakes were so high, he had to be particularly vigilant. He had to be ready to intercede to prevent either of the lawyers from saying something that might prejudice jurors.
For the first time in his three years on the bench, Lerner held a man’s life in his hands. It was not a comfortable feeling.
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After filing into the courtroom, the 41 jurors went to their assigned seats and listened to Lerner explain their duties. Then Lerner and the prosecution and defense lawyers started questioning them.
Jurors who expressed obvious bias for or against either side would be rejected by the judge. In addition, the prosecution and defense each had 20 “peremptory challenges,” allowing them to remove jurors they had doubts about.
Assistant District Attorney Randolph Williams asked individual jurors where they lived, how many children they had, and how long they had worked in their jobs. He wanted solid citizens who, he reasoned, were more likely to favor authority.
Defense attorney Brian McMonagle asked jurors if they could be completely fair when the time came to judge the defendant, and he carefully watched how they responded. He excluded those who hesitated or avoided eye contact.
It would not be easy to select an unbiased jury, because many members of the jury panel had been touched directly or indirectly by violent crime.
Of 140 potential jurors who would be questioned in Lerner’s courtroom over three days, 35 would say that they or a close friend or relation had been robbed, raped, mugged or otherwise victimized. Five would reveal that a friend or family member had been murdered.
It took the rest of that first day for the lawyers to question all 41 members of the initial pool of jurors. After almost 5 hours, only six jurors had been selected for Young’s trial. Eight more were needed.
The main reason for which jurors were dismissed was outright opposition to the death penalty or a reluctance to play a role in the process.
Lerner, a former public defender, shared their concern.
“I don’t want to have to send someone to death,” he said. “I have grave doubts about the wisdom of capital punishment.”
On a fundamental level, he questioned society’s right to avenge one killing with another.
He questioned whether executions deterred crime. Lerner thought retribution, another frequently cited justification for the death penalty, was a poor basis for putting someone to death – even someone who had committed murder.
He also said that murder defendants, who are mostly poor, often do not get adequate legal representation.
Despite these doubts, he said, he would have no hesitation in pronouncing the death sentence on Young if the jury voted for the maximum penalty.
“You can’t take this job,” he said, “unless you are prepared to follow the law.”
At 10:45 the next morning, a second panel was summoned from the jury assembly room on the first floor of the Criminal Justice Center.
Forty-nine people filed into Courtroom 1108. This time, 24 said they were opposed to capital punishment, making them unsuitable for the jury.
Once a jury had been chosen, Williams would tell its members that on Dec. 3, 1995, Young shot and killed a man in a drug dispute in Germantown.
McMonagle would say that the prosecution’s case hung on the word of a convicted drug dealer who did not contact police until four years after the murder, and only then because he wanted to get out of prison.
Despite his huge stake in the outcome, Young played almost no role in jury selection. He said little to McMonagle or his two other defense lawyers.
Dressed in a powder-blue sleeveless sweater over a sedate sports shirt, he looked more like a 1950s college student than the street-smart drug dealer and killer Williams would describe.
McMonagle said he didn’t have anything to do with Young’s choice of clothes, but, he added with a smile, Young was wearing exactly what McMonagle would want him to wear.
By the end of the second day, Williams and McMonagle had selected only four more jurors.
One of those rejected was a young man so obviously hostile to the court that McMonagle had trouble to keep from laughing as Williams questioned him. Slouched in the witness chair, chewing on a toothpick, the youth sneered at Williams and answered his questions curtly, as though he couldn’t be more bored.
Williams used one of his challenges to remove him.
A physician, who had complained to courtroom attendants that her valuable time was being wasted, made it clear that she would not be a cooperative juror and did not respect the legal profession.
When Williams asked her profession, she shot back, “I’m a nephrologist,” adding with derision, “that’s a kidney specialist.”
She was rejected by mutual agreement.
Lerner, Williams and McMonagle looked exhausted and discouraged.
After questioning 90 potential jurors over two days, the lawyers had selected only 10. Four more were needed. Another panel would have to be called up the next day and the process repeated a third time.
Fifty more jurors arrived the next morning, and 21 were immediately excused, most because they said they were not willing to impose the death penalty.
The next 20 panelists questioned by the lawyers were rejected for varying reasons. It was not until 2:40 p.m. that the lawyers agreed on the day’s first juror, the 11th to be chosen for Young’s trial.
A 12th juror was selected 10 minutes later.
By late afternoon, just two people were left from the morning’s pool of 50. If the lawyers did not find both the remaining jurors acceptable, they would have to come back the next day, summon a new group, and start over again – something they very much wanted to avoid.
The next-to-last panelist was an accountant. She said that she had been raped at 15 and that her father-in-law was a policeman. She insisted she would not be biased for or against either side.
That was good enough for the two weary lawyers.
The final panelist – the 140th since jury selection began two days earlier – came out of the now-empty jury room and sat in the witness chair.
She said her nephew had been shot and wounded in a burglary. Two of her nieces were lawyers and two of her nieces were judges. She was a cashier.
She was asked to wait in the hallway while the lawyers conferred.
Williams was the first to declare himself.
“Acceptable,” he said.
All eyes turned to McMonagle.
“Acceptable,” he said.
Lerner left the Criminal Justice Center that afternoon relieved. He wouldn’t have to sit through another day watching lawyers fishing for the right jurors.
Now Lerner could look forward to the trial and the jury’s announcement of its verdict, a moment that Lerner said he still finds exciting after 35 years in the legal profession.
“When a jury has a verdict, . . . you can really see the power and majesty of the system,” Lerner said. “You can almost feel the intake of breath in the courtroom when the jury comes in, and the people don’t let the breath out until the verdict’s finally been announced.”
The jury spent two days listening to testimony and a half hour deliberating Young’s fate. The trial lasted 11 1/2 hours in all – four hours less than it had taken to select the jury.
The verdict: not guilty.
Lerner said he is still happy he decided to run for election as a Philadelphia judge – an unsavory process that requires currying the favor of Democratic ward leaders and making tens of thousands of dollars in political contributions.
After more than 30 years as a lawyer, Lerner said, he realized that he was more interested in the fair resolution of cases than in winning them. “This is a bad attitude for a lawyer to have,” he said.
After nearly three years on the bench, he said, he still looks forward to coming to work every day. He still gets a kick out of donning the robe and walking into the courtroom as everyone stands and the court crier calls out, “The Honorable Judge Benjamin Lerner presiding.”
Donald C. Drake’s e-mail address is ddrake@phillynews.com