Jury Duty.
Who jumps at the chance to be called for jury duty, raise your hand. Yes, it’s our civic duty, and the legal process can be fascinating, but based on my experience, more people cringe than jump for joy, when their name is called.
I’ve been summoned twice, the first time being in 1981 when I was working at Old Orchard Country Club in my hometown of Pittsfield, IL, A job during college to help pay for school, or that summer’s beer consumption, whichever came first.
Allan Siegel was the course superintendent, a super cool, super nice guy. We had a very small crew, maybe four in total, and though we had fun we were spread thin, there was always work to be done.
I was told to report on July 13th at the Pike County Courthouse, having informed Allan I would need time off. Allan, a very respectable man, and in no way a “rebel”, saw the problem my absence would create, conveying to me, something along the lines of “I don’t think we can afford to have you missing for all of those (potential) hours and/or days”. There was no doubt I’d rather be at the golf course than a courtroom. “Shit, this is what I get for registering to vote,” I thought to myself.
Allan thought it over and came up with this idea. “Why don’t you go straight from here (the golf course) to the courthouse, still dressed for work.” This would be an attempt to portray the “hard working kid who’s just trying to put himself through college appearance.” The hope was that the judge would understand and send me back to work, I’d be excused.
Though I could be a “rebel” at times ( still can), I was definitely taught to respect authority. Cops and judges would be near the top of that list, but Allan’s idea sounded good. If someone older than me, and as nice as Allan, suggested it, it must be okay.
The day came and I made my way up the north steps of the courthouse. A bailiff greeted me and I told him I was reporting for jury duty. “The waiting room is over there, but I can tell you right now that the judge is not gonna like the way you’re dressed.”
Indeed, I’d come straight from work in typical dress. VERY short cut off jeans, a basketball jersey tank top, and tennis shoes. I usually wore a bandanna around my head but left it in the car because I “didn’t want to push the envelope”
The jury pool was escorted into the courtroom, individuals were called up as potentials. I could feel a gaze upon me. Four or five people in my name was called and I sat before the Honorable Judge Richard Scholz from Quincy. He began, barely raising his voice but in a direct firm manner. “Son, you’re dressed for how I might dress if I were to be gardening. That attire has no place in a courtroom.” The attorneys then questioned me (I don’t remember what the case was about), and excused me from that trial. BUT, I had to report back the next day as a potential juror for another case. The judge sent me out with a warning. “When I see you tomorrow, I want to see you dressed appropriately.” I acknowledged his message. As I walked out I saw smirks on a few lawyers I knew, apparently amused at the proceedings.
I went back to the golf course and finished my shift, reporting to Allan that we’d achieved our goal, I was back to work but things hadn’t gone smoothly and that I was due back tomorrow.
Slacks and a collared shirt were worn the next day. Once again I was called, once again I was excused,
1981 was different than 2026, I’ve since witnessed people show up for court in pajamas! I feel fortunate Judge Scholz didn’t hold me in contempt. I also believe there were enough attorneys in the room who were country club members, knowing I was more valuable at the club than in a courtroom.
There would be one more time in my life were I would “question authority,” so to speak, to this degree. That story involves a Mohawk haircut is best saved for another blog.
