Having proven beyond any doubt how unhip I am, let's consider jurors.  Anne Reed has posted about jurors who coordinate their outfits, such as the red, white and blue rows in the Padilla trial in the Southern District of Florida.  Some good friends of mine, Andy Patel and Donna Newman, represented Padilla in the early days, and I assure you that neither would color coordinate their clothing to wear their patriotism on their sleeve.

I have never had the pleasure of a color coordinated jury, for which I am eternally thankful.  The very idea is truly disconcerting.  What does it mean?  What does it say about your jury?  Beats me.  According to Anne, it could mean something (like they have bonded to such an extent that they will act as one) or nothing (they're bored and wanted to do something fun).  Think about it, but not too hard.

But even if there is no message intended, there is a message.  First, they have gotten along well enough to coordinate something.  Put 16 lawyers in a box (12 plus 4 alternates) and they would argue about whether to wear clothing at all.  That's not good. 

Or perhaps they are bored, but their solution is to have a little fun.  A happy jury is one that doesn't want to end it's day by putting someone in jail.  That's good.  But, of course, happy juries still convict despite conventional wisdom.  Even jurors with tattoos and piercings convict, despite their desire to portray themselves as rebellious.  (It's a counterculture appearance, not necessarily a counterculture mindset).

I've never bought into the concept that anyone has truly mastered jury selection, or knows what really happens in the hearts and minds of jurors.  People make a living saying they do, but my experience suggests that it's a load of crap.  While we can occasionally read someone right, we never nail it down 100%.  It may bring us a measure of comfort to believe that we understand who we have selected and why, but our final grade is the verdict.  Even the best of us gets an occasional F.

It would cause me some distress to see my jury arrive in coordinated attire.  I was going to say "freak me out," but I would be showing my age again by using such an unhip phrase.  I picked 12 individuals, and that's what I want them to be at the end of the trial.  Something would definitely be wrong, especially in New York where no one agrees with anyone else about anything.  But I would get over it, because there would be no other choice.  But you can bet I would find some argument for mistrial based on juror misconduct.  Unless they were all wearing T-shirts that read, "Free the Chicago 7."  I could live with that.