What My Fellow Jurors Taught Me

When I was 28, I was pretty full of myself.  (I heard that; who out there said “. . .still are.”) I sported a graduate degree from Harvard, had three kids, owned a house, and had been promoted to dept. head.  Once, about that time, I had voiced in our book club doubt about the capability of ‘ordinary’ citizens to deal with increasingly complicated problems and choices, like those facing our new President. (Where were you 53 years ago today?) Oh, I said I believed in democracy . . . but it was tempting to embrace a politically incorrect elitism.  

So it seemed to me only right and proper that I was elected foreman of a Hennepin County jury sitting in judgment of a very unsavory character who had led an abduction and gang rape.  Ten of my fellow jurists were blue collar men, housewives, and retirees; only a couple of them might have had any college.  

But a few of them firmly scotched someone’s request to take a test vote right away.  We began to examine the case logically.  Had a crime been committed?  If so, was it believable that the defendant, the first of eight, was, as claimed, unaware of it?  If he was aware, was he involved, did he intercede, did he incite?  What constituted guilt?  What was reasonable doubt?

As discussion proceeded, my fellow jurists revealed diligence and thoughtful, logical and clear reasoning.  Finally, we came down to a lone hold out. Later, when she suddenly “gave in” and we questioned why, she said she was worried about catching the last bus to NE Minneapolis.  The group rejected her vote, four of us offered to drive her home, and we started over.  We spent another 90 minutes going back over the logic train; at 12:30am, she finally, and genuinely, bought it.

That experience changed (I just typo-ed “shamed” which is probably a better word) my snotty temptation to deprecate the ability of ‘ordinary’ people to fulfill the responsibilities of citizenship.  My fellow jurors were patient, thoughtful, reasonable, logical and determined to do right.  They exercised wisdom, regardless of education or social status.  

Many of them might have been Trump voters were they still around, as am I, more than half a century later.  They might well have been conflicted about the changing color of America, but they aren’t racist.  They likely would be anxious about a chaotic and dangerous world.  They would likely be very uncomfortable with the pace of change.  They undoubtedly would agree that America is on the wrong track – mainly at the hands of elite, highly-educated professionals, lawyers, bankers and business people – like me.   And, what we types didn’t realize, they were ready to act out Howard Beale’s howl, “I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"  Paddy Chayefsky forewarned us in 1976, as did Richard Rorty in 1998 (which my friend David S. brought to my attention,) and still others more recently.  But we didn’t listen; we didn’t get out there to see and hear.

 

Trump voters generally and in certain key states, overwhelmingly, expressed their judgment that the elitist leadership of the last couple of decades deserve to be tossed aside, even at the risk of not knowing what may replace them.  Put aside that the voters may have been conned, as I think they have, but attend to their judgment that something new must be forged.  That is their judgment, perhaps even their wisdom.

 

Rather than carp about Trump’s fearsome petulance, his inanities and lies, about his unsuitability to preside, we had better focus our energies on listening and responding to address concerns and reassure that we are hearing our fellow citizens – for we have been indicted and they are the jurists sitting on our case.  And I trust them, in the end, to do what's right.    

Umbria: Tuscany's Entrancing Little Sister

A couple of folks (only a couple) have asked when I would blog about our recent trip to Italy.  So here goes.  Those disinterested in a travel log should bail out now  . . . or at most, click on the pictures.

Ann and I hadn't been in Italy in ten years. Before that a few times, but not to Florence in 23 years.  In the interim I had taken up stonecarving as a hobby so I wanted to return to Florence to see with new eyes the Prisoners, Night and Day, Dawn and Dusk, Pietas and, of course, various Davids.  Despite hordes of tour groups – the emerging middle classes from around the world take to touring in flocks like ducklings take to water – I was entranced.  After a week of dodging tour groups, we were glad to leave Florence behind and seek the peace and novelty of Umbria.

A wildcat rail strike forced us onto a bus to Perugia, which was cheaper, faster and closer to lovely countryside. (The strike was our second surprise of what turned out to be three. #1: our carefully selected rental apartment in Florence had turned sour and we had no accommodations when we arrived on a Friday afternoon before a beautiful fall weekend, but finally the rental agency rustled up a lesser loaner that we made work.  #3: TSA caused us to miss a flight, but that’s another story.  The good news is we’re still able to roll with the punches.)

We had once been in Perugia for about two hours years before, and it had intrigued me since.  Ann assented to go there and postpone hiking in the Tyrol and Savoy for another time, so now I owe her.  We were welcomed in Perugia by a beautiful sunset; our room in Albergo Fortuna faced west and a near-private adjacent  patio  was lovely  for cocktails or early morning coffees.  The sounds of the city, of mothers herding kids up and off, of couples murmuring,  a woman singing to herself, rose from the tile roofs below.

Perugia is capitol of Umbria, and a great home base from which to explore.  And there is much to explore and savor.  Sure, Tuscany gets better press; after all, one can hardly top Florence for its art and as cradle of the Renaissance, or Siena for the passion of its Palio (and all of it for its tourist crowds and high prices.)  Umbria may be more modestly though still wonderfully well endowed, but she is more accessible, more affordable, and serves up better food. She makes a better date (but this year, unfortunately, has come with bigger earthquakes.)

13thC Hall of the Notari 

Perugia’s history, like so much of central Italy, is a complex tapestry of people’s loves and feuds, of conquest and revenge, of Umbrians, Etruscans, Sabines, Roman republicans, Roman Emperors, Byzantines, Perugian Priors, Florentine colonials, of Popes and Holy Roman Franks, of Risorgimento freedom fighters, of Fascists, of German occupiers, and of Berlusconi bureaucrats.  Its ancient, hill-top center is a warren of lanes and by-ways, a jumble of buildings built upon buildings, of churches and guild halls, of cobbles and piazzas, with 360 degree views of the hills and valleys over which it presides.

A Zucchini Flan

Food?  The fields and hills of landlocked Umbria, are the "Green Heart of Italy,” rich with white and black truffles, melanzana, olives, squashes and root vegetables, beans and lentils and barley, cow and goat cheeses, pigs and lambs, chestnuts – all of which combine into a simply exquisite regional cuisine of soups, stews, casseroles, osso bucos, and the like. It’s a bit lighter on pasta than elsewhere, abundant in cheeses and salumi, plus lots of seafood from Tuscany and the Marches. (Umbria is the only province without a coast.) Wines!  We fell in love with Montefalco Sagrantino, a robust red that we drank six of seven nights there, and thereafter in Rome much to the chagrin of snooty sommeliers, for it costs but a fraction of Tuscan counterparts.  Good breads are hard to find, though.

Art? Etruscan, in a wonderful archeological museum; Roman; Christian, from the 12thC on; Italian Futurist; a vibrant  contemporary art scene shown in a fine gallery in the bowels of Rocco Paolino, the fort Pope Paul III imposed on his rebellious city and on which its citizens took revenge 300 years later, during the Risorgimento.  Anyway – yes, art and architecture, architecture galore. Youth? Yes, two universities, one mainly for foreigners. Fashion?  Yes . . . it's Italy. 

Perugia as home base facilitates great day tripping: half an hour by train (€3.50) to charming Spello; an hour bus ride (€4) to Assisi,  home town of St. Francis and St. Clare; Orvieto; Citta di Castello; Lake Trasimeno; Gubbio; Spoleto; and crossing the border into Tuscany, Pienza and Cortona; and lots more.  (Full disclosure: I haven’t been to half of these.)

Wearable Art, made on site
in Spello

Basilica of St. Francis, Assisi

A word about the earthquakes: they have done severe damage to hill towns south and east of Perugia.  We have contributed through the Italian Red Cross’ fund Terremoto Centro Italian.  It can use more support; Italian recovery skills, after all, are – well -- Italian.

I know.  I sound like a publicist for Perugia and Umbria.  But they have an under-told tale to tell.  Go. Relax, gaze, linger (as my departed friend Don Marsh used to say,) recuperate, recreate, rejuvenate, in Umbria.