Christopher Bryant 12/13/04 BUSAD 218

My Day at Court
It is a Monday, quite like any other. I arrive at the courthouse shortly after 8:30 a.m. I park about five blocks away from 11th and I, in an empty parking lot by a seedy looking furniture store; the parking for the court is monitored. As I enter the courthouse, I empty out my pockets, place my small possessions in a small plastic container and my binder on the x-ray conveyer belt to be scanned and proceed through the metal detectors. Everything is fine and Im in. There is a woman that people are asking where to go, so I wait for a chance to speak with her. I tell her that I am there to observe and was wondering if she had any idea about which courtrooms had criminal or civil cases. She didnt: she only had a piece of paper with names, courtrooms and times for people trying to find their own case proceedings or that of friends or family. So I decided to just jump right into the first courtroom I saw, and the honorable Judge Donald E. Shaver was presiding. I sat down, nervous, anticipating someone to come tell me Im not allowed to be there or that Im doing something Im not supposed to be doing. Hardly anyone notices me, aside from the fact that Im really the only normal looking person there that isnt a lawyer. Everyone seems to be fixed on what is going on with the cases that are coming and going. There are the usual people: the stenographer, the lawyers, the judge and the defendant, though no jury. The case that is presented first was a DUI case. The gentleman pleads no contest and is sentenced to joining a work program and paying a total of $1,635.00 in fines. The

next case is heralded by the entrance of a man in a red and white jumpsuit and sandals entering the courtroom from a side door. The bailiff brings him in, his lips pursed tightly and his eyes straining down the length of his nose as though he were rather important. The man in the jumpsuit is named Mr. Aveena, and as he sits for hardly 5 minutes, his case is set to a later date. The next person called forth is sitting amongst the observers and sits in the chair next to her lawyer with a defiant flounce of her hair and click of her thickly heeled boots. Judge Shaver reads the defendant, Miss Jennifer Elizabeth Mills, what basically amount to the Miranda Warnings. She can remain silent and have witnesses subpoenaed to give testimony, though they dont mention the representation by a lawyer. She waves her rights and the judge convicts her of violating her parole and sentences her to join a work program like the previous individual, although no reference is made to him. After this, the judge says, After you get your paperwork, you are free to go. The next defendant is a man, dressed in normal clothing. His lawyer is trying to explain that he needs some raw data before they can begin the preliminary hearing. The prosecutor is seemingly uncooperative in providing the defense attorney with this information and previously sent him CAD manipulated data, which isnt what he wants. Then the prosecutor is complaining about giving the defendant software, which I dont really understand all too well, because it appears to be required by the court. The prosecutor moves to deny this request, because the trial is based mainly on eyewitness testimony. Mr. Callahan, the defendant, apparently ran over someone. The judge wants the defense attorney to get the data and the defendant to have access to this software and is set to reconvene Jan. 3rd at 8:30 a.m. for further pre-trial.

There are a few other people that come and go, there for only a moment, then sent away to be called back at another date. A man with a misdemeanor charge, Alberto Garcia, requires a Spanish-speaking translator and is asked to come back in another 2-3 weeks. Mr. Mata, also in a jumpsuit is willing to plead 270, which I believe to be the length of sentence for grand theft and grand theft auto, although there is some complication with the Santa Clara court. Mata must come back Jan. 19th. Four more cases just like that, up and down, in and out. Then its time for a break. I dont take a break, and instead leave the courtroom, cross the hall and enter the courtroom directly across from the one I just left. It is the courtroom of Judge Loretta Murphy Begen and this is where things start to get interesting. There is hardly anyone in the courtroom. The judge, the stenographer, the court assistant, five lawyers, a woman I find out to be a psychologist, two bailiffs, a woman sitting all the way in the back of the public seating area, and another woman in the witness seat giving testimony. I gather from the line of questioning coming from the defense attorneys that this is the wife of a corrections officer. A small, mousy looking woman is the one asking, and a tall, severe looking woman keeps interrupting with various objections. Some of these are relevancy and lack of knowledge. At one point, the mousy one asks to renew a motion, and the judge continues to deny. From the half hour of testimony, I gather that the corrections officer served on the jury of a man named Mr. Pedilla about 18-19 years ago. The testimony is grueling, and I feel sorry for the woman. The mousy lady keeps trying to make a point of whether her husband, the corrections officer, discussed the trial with her before it had ended. She is obviously flustered and cant remember such a vague detail as a housewife. She says her husband would come and go, and then one day it was over and

he told her what they had done. She thought nothing more of it, until she had to be flown in from Montana to give testimony at this hearing. The defense attorney tries to make an issue out of the womans uncooperativeness in coming, though the woman refutes this claim, stating that the only difficulty was the cost. The defense team seems to be responsible for taking care of their accommodations and costs. I leave at this point, around 11:00 a.m. I come back the next day at around the same time I had left the day before. I go to the same courtroom, and to my surprise, outside in the hallway is the woman who had been giving testimony the day before. I ask her if there is anything she can tell me about the case that wouldnt be in violation of the law, but she is reluctant to speak with me. I ask her if it is just an issue of discussing the trial before it had ended and she just agrees with me to get me to go away. I enter the courtroom and everyone is getting ready to leave. I sit anxiously, hoping that I can catch one of the lawyers on their way out. I am able to get the small, mousy defense attorney to give me some information. She is very kind and informative. She tells me that this is a hearing to investigate any possible irregularities in the trial of a man named Alfredo Alvarado Pedilla. He was convicted of murder and given the death sentence 18 years ago. The planner, Bren Doprado, was given a life sentence and the shooter, Jesse Hernandez, was convicted of murder as well and given the death sentence, though it was later reversed and given instead a life sentence. The attorney, Miss Lissa Gardener, says that she hopes to see me back after the break at 1:30 p.m. to see some really interesting law, as business law, to her, is boring. So I go out of the courtroom, walk around, then go downstairs to see if there is anything going on down there. I get to a courtroom and try the door. Its locked. A

woman with short, spiky gray hair asks me if I need anything. I tell her I am there to observe and was wondering if anything was going on at the moment that I could sit in on. She said no, but there would be some at 1:30 p.m., though the doors open at 1:15. I decide to leave and then come back, which I do, and this time, as I am entering, the security guard takes notice of the little nail file/bottle opener/mini (and not even sharp) knife attachment on my key chain. He says that I cant have it, and he wont keep it there for me, so I have to either throw it away or walk all the way back to my car. I decide to throw it away and enter the courtroom at around 1:25 p.m. The proceedings begin and a man by the name of Zbigniew Adam Chojczak, pronounced ho-check, is called to the witness stand. He is a Polish immigrant, has a rough accent and is hard of hearing. He is asked to give testimony because he was also one of the jurors that served on Mr. Pedillas case. He is sworn in with by the clerk, who asks, Do you solemnly swear that the evidence you give in this matter is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? He says yes, and the judge makes sure that he understands that the court has listening aids if they are necessary and that Mr. Chojczak can hear everyone clearly. Miss Gardener begins the questions by asking what his name, occupation, place of residence, length of residency, height and weight. Then Gardener gets to the real questions: who was on the jury, how did they seem to him, what were their names/occupations. Mr. Chojczak speaks specifically about two men, a parole officer named McNapf and a corrections officer at Sierra Conservatory named Tim Egert. Gardener asks Chojczak if he can describe Egerts behavior and state of mind during the penalty phase of the trial. Chojczak states that Egert was very vocal, displayed anger and frustration, made disparaging remarks toward Chojczak and other jurors,

calling them bleeding heart liberals and teacher liberals. He also says that Egert stood up abruptly and almost knocked his chair over in doing so. Chojczak claims that he was intimidated by McNapf and Egert on account of their knowledge of the legal system with special regard to ballistics. He also states that Egert had told the other jurors that even if they gave Mr. Pedilla the death sentence, which they should, because he was found guilty with special circumstances, that the case would automatically be appealed. Egert and McNapf seemed to be impatient and unwilling to consider the arguments of those who voted for a life sentence. The people who voted for life were asked to explain why. Because McNapf and Egert did not explain why they were for life and that all the people who voted for life were accounted for in explaining, it was inferred that they did indeed vote for the death sentence and thus Chojczak had knowledge of their vote and took it into consideration, along with their aggressive manner of intimidation in influencing his and other jurors capacity to express their opinions. Chojczak closes with the fact that though he was not physically afraid, he did feel incapable of fully executing his duties as a juror because of these two men. Much of his testimony is interrupted and broken by Miss Newcom, the prosecuting attorney, with objections based mainly on evidence code 1150. Miss Gardener says that she still had another half hour of questions for Chojczak and as the court is about to close, Judge Begen asks Chojczak to return the following day at 10:00. Overall, the experience of visiting an actual court, aside from traffic court, was a real eye-opener. I didnt realize that your case can get pushed back so much and so often, or you could get stuck being in court for days, even months, on end. It just doesnt seem like the speedy trial guaranteed to us by the Constitution.