Foreman Conant

Erwin C. Conant is a well-built, middle-aged citizen of Massachusetts, having residence in a suburb of Boston. His hair is greying. He has had to adopt spectacles. He likes work and he likes peace. Lately he was called to serve on a jury that was to decide whether or not the Mayor of Chelsea, Mass., and 13 others were guilty of conspiracy to violate the national prohibition act. Unlike many citizens Mr. Conant did not wiggle out of his manifest duty. He was impaneled with eleven others, who elected him their foreman. For six weeks the trial continued. In the end, only one of the jurors remained unconvinced that there had been conspiracy; so there was no verdict, the jury was discharged and the case had to be slated for retrial.

But before he left court, Foreman Conant arose and made an impromptu, unexpected speech. He said so much in such short space, that his words went far beyond the courtroom, went abroad to lay trial-by-jury as it sometimes operates today, before the bar of the body social. Foreman Conant said:

"I think all trials should be before three judges. . . . They keep us tied up for six weeks, then stick us in that hogpen upstairs and say, 'Go ahead, give us a verdict.'

"Think of asking twelve men, picked up from all parts of this state, none of them knowing anything of law, being asked to settle a case like this. I am a mechanic. I could take an engine apart and tell you why it didn't go, but why ask me to remember what scores of witnesses have said over a period of six weeks? There may be a man in the United States who can remember what all those witnesses said, but that man is not Erwin C. Conant.

"We are kept at work here for six weeks on this case. Think of the expense to each of the jurymen. We get $3 a day. Usually our carfares are not paid, that is, they are paid only once a week. My expenses for attending this trial have been higher than $6 a day. I don't care about that. But what I object to, and think I have a right to object to, is to have to sit in a courtroom day after day having my time taken up by idiotic objections from a lot of attorneys on points that don't amount to that! (snapping his fingers).

"What we want to find out is the facts. But the attorneys say we can't listen to them. They shout: 'Don't answer: I object,' before a question is half asked.

"Does anyone seriously believe that a jury can remember all the statements made by witnesses for six weeks? When men as bright as Mr. Williams have to refer to their notes all the time when discussing the case, how are we supposed to remember every word when we have no notes? Today I asked them to let us have a transcript of the evidence so that we could read it, and refresh our recollection of what was said. Did we get it? We did not. It isn't according to practice, or something like that. There is objection to our looking at the record. . . ."

Thoughtful citizens were careful to keep in mind the fact that Foreman Conant had undergone his trying experience at a trial that was evidently of very legalistically technical nature. They were careful to remember that juries at murder trials are called upon to exercise moral rather than intellectual discrimination. In fine, they bore in mind that Foreman Conant had flayed but one type of juridical procedure. Within that scope his comments seemed most pertinent.