Facing Fear

Each of us has at least one irrational fear. Ask anyone to name their's and you'll most likely hear answers like "spiders", "snakes", "heights", or even "enclosed spaces". Oddly, one of my main fears has always been having to serve on a jury for a mob trial. Or, even worse, being the only witness of a crime. I'm pretty sure the only explanation for how this started was that I must have seen Some Like It Hot late one night on tv as a child. However it started, I was fairly removed from it becoming a reality until I moved to Philadelphia.

As tends to be the case, what frightens us often intrigues us. The Philadelphia Inquirer always seemed to provide some information on current mob arrests and news, which I could never resist reading. The day after mob leader, Angelo Bruno, was shot through the mouth in his car, parked outside his favorite South Philly Italian restaurant, the more lurid Philadelphia Daily News had the crime photo covering its front page, complete with red ink to accentuate Bruno's bloodied face. It was very shortly after the incident that I received my jury duty notice in the mail.

Of course, as creative as my mind can be at times, there was no way out. I remember all prospective jurors were shown a poorly lit, decade old film about our "responsibilities". No one paid attention. Looking around, I realized I wasn't the only one feeling nervous. A man next to me was ferociously biting his fingernail. Another person was hastily shredding a paper napkin into tiny bits. As we went into the courtroom, I was almost numb with anxiety. As the judge called each prospective juror to the stand, literally pulling names from a hat, I tried to be a detached observer. I looked around the courtroom, packed with tough-looking men with slicked back hair. They wore dark suits and held pens and notepads in their hands. As each potential juror sat on the stand, they had to state their name, their home address, where they worked, and so on. All of it being dutifully noted by the intimidating men sitting yards away from me. Now and then, one man would whisper to another, pointing at something he'd just written down. Once, one of the men glanced at the written information, smiled, shook his head, and shrugged.

At the time, I was single, living in my own apartment, and suddenly feeling very vulnerable. My heart was pounding. And when all but one juror had been selected, it was down to two people. Myself and a man who had already served on a jury twice in the past three years. And all I can say is my prayers were answered that day because his name was pulled from the hat instead of mine. He wasn't happy about it.

Of course, I read every newspaper article about the trial. It was, as could be expected, full of witnesses who had somehow completely forgotten what they had once seen. There were testimonies about the accused being exemplary family men, devoted husbands and fathers. Follow-up arguments spoke about the right of people to protect themselves from those who would do harm to them. Yada, yada. Bada bada bing.

I believe it's true that when you face your fear, it is diminished and you are stronger for it. I still follow news stories about the mob for varied reasons, but they no longer sends chills down my spine. That said, when I received my more recent jury duty notice, I gave a deep sigh that I now live in a small city where most crimes that are committed would be more worthy of an episode of the old Andy Griffith Show. And there's something to be said for that.