Ain't it Grand? The Luck of the Draw

Orange County Courthouse

"I consider trial by jury as the only anchor ever yet imagined by
man, by which a government can be held to the principles of its
constitution." --Thomas Jefferson to Thomas Paine, 1789.

Last December I saw a notice posted at my Westminster library, calling for applicants for the 2018-2019 Grand Jury. Curious, I picked up one of the flyers and studied it carefully. I've served on both municipal and Superior Court juries in the past, and from time to time hear that a Federal Grand Jury or a County Grand Jury has summoned people to provide testimony. Certainly in the past year, I've heard about indictments issued. But I was uncertain about the basic differences between regular jurors and Grand Jurors, Federal or County. I decided to look into the matter more closely.

A grand jury is a body that investigates criminal conduct. Federal, state and county prosecutors utilize grand juries to decide whether probable cause exists to support criminal charges. ​A regular jury – aka a petit jury – hears only trial cases. A regular jury decides the facts.

 While I was researching, I also took a closer look at what is expected of us as citizens. Below are the rights and responsibilities of United States citizens, as enumerated on the website of the US Citizenship and Immigration official website.

Freedom to express yourself. Freedom to worship as you wish. Right to a prompt, fair trial by jury. Right to vote in elections for public officials. Right to apply for federal employment requiring U.S. citizenship. Right to run for elected office. Freedom to pursue “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

Support and defend the Constitution. Stay informed of the issues affecting your community. Participate in the democratic process. Respect and obey federal, state, and local laws. Respect the rights, beliefs, and opinions of others. Participate in your local community. Pay income and other taxes honestly, and on time, to federal, state, and local authorities. Serve on a jury when called upon. Defend the country if the need should arise.

In Orange County, the Grand Jury’s responsibilities include:

• Ensuring that the performance of county, city, and other local agencies is proper and ethical;  
• Providing recommendations to government agencies for improvement;
• Responding to citizen complaints about local government agencies;
• Ensuring that our local tax dollars are wisely spent; 
• Evaluating conditions at our county’s jails;  Issuing indictments for serious crimes.

What qualifications do Grand Jurors need to have?

• Citizen of the United States.
• 18 years of age or older.
• Resident of state and county or city and county for one year prior to being selected.
• In possession of natural faculties, ordinary intelligence, sound judgment, fair character.
• Possess sufficient knowledge of the English language.
• A general knowledge of the functions, authorities and responsibilities of the county and city governments and other civil entities.
• Research abilities, including complex reading capabilities, background in accessing/analyzing facts and report writing.
• Substantial background in group/committee work.
• Respect and objectivity concerning the positions and views of others.

As I browsed the Grand Jury website, I found that Orange County first empanelled a Grand Jury in Santa Ana in 1890. That was the year that Grandma Gertie was born, also Santa Ana, CA.

Grandma Gertie, born 1890, Santa Ana, CA

  Our country doesn't ask a great deal of us once we age out of the cohort needed to defend our country from attacks, I decided. Additionally, we seniors who don't have a lot of money to contribute to causes we espouse, still can contribute our time. It's just a year I concluded. I could give a year to an entity born the very same year as Grandma Gertie. It's fate.

So I filled out an eight-page application, attached a recent resume, and had it notarized, as required.

The selection process of potential Grand Jurors covered several months, including an orientation session at the Superior Court for all 150+ applicants. After learning that Grand Jurors report to work five days a week, and prepare their own reports without help from administrative assistants, a handful of applicants lined up to withdraw their paperwork. I persevered. In my seventies in NE Washington, I'd served eight years on the Washington State Medical Commission as a public member, traveling to Seattle or Olympia every few weeks. So I'd learned a great deal about the process of responding to citizen complaints. Plus, I'd enjoyed getting an insider's view of how another branch of government works.

Soon I received notification that I was one of 90 who had been screened and cleared to continue the process. I'd be undergoing a background investigation by the Orange County Sheriffs Department. Moreover, I'd have an interview with two Superior Court judges, who would decide whether or not to nominate me for the final 30. Ideally, the judges select five qualified candidates from each of the five supervisory districts.

One day I received an email notifying me that I was in the final 30 and would receive a court summons. Soon a sheriff appeared at my door with a summons. He asked my name, handed me the summons and smiled.

"Thank you for your service," he said. "Believe me, we who work for the County, appreciate it."

Those words of appreciation from a uniformed officer who puts his life on the line daily for his fellow citizens, touched me deeply. Of course I thanked him, as well.

Orange County has a unique process for determining the 19 who constitute its Grand Jury. The thirty finalists are issued a summons to appear in court, and their names are placed in a box. Nineteen names are drawn, one by one. Those 19 will constitute the Grand Jury. The remaining names are then drawn by random selections, as alternates. If a vacancy occurs during the upcoming year, the alternates will be called upon, in the order drawn.

So it all came down to sitting in Superior Court with my fingers crossed. I'd come this far, and hoped to be among the first nineteen. I was not. I am #21, the Number Two Alternate Juror. Some years the Grand Jury calls upon no alternates. Other years, all 11 end up serving. I still have a chance of making the panel later in the year. In the meantime, the entire 30 finalist will be attending four days if training in June. 

Whether or not I eventually have a chance to serve, I still have the opportunity to get an overview of how the County Counsel and District Attorney's offices function. 

I have one more task, to complete an autobiography questionnaire. This will go into the Procedures Manual that is given to each juror/alternate at orientation. I'll be compiling my answers over this weekend. There's not enough room for me to answer two of the questions: tell us bout interesting places you have lived or traveled and have you volunteered for any activities in your community or in the county?

Thanks to a previous volunteer experience, my years of service with the United States Peace Corps, I'd need several pages for a comprehensive response to the first question. For the second, I'll need to allude to my former activities in Stevens County, WA, as an AmeriCorps/VISTA, and my current work as a California AARP Congressional District 47 volunteer representative.

For those who've been inquiring about why I would want to volunteer yet again, and this time for something that offers no travel delights beyond the borders of Orange County, I suspect the simple answer is I have an addiction. Hey, volunteering is what I do. I'm hooked.

I Owe it All to Jo

Louisa May Alcott, 1832 - 1888

This Sunday I'll be watching the first installment of the new two-part PBS Masterpiece Theater production of "Little Women." Sure, we all know the story. It's been made into movies several times, with such diverse actresses as Wynona Ryder, June Allyson and Katherine Hepburn starring as Jo. Now PBS, as part of its advance publicity, has a page full of teasers and quizzes.
 
Even knowing what the answer would be, I took the bait, and checked off my answers to "Which Little Women Sister are You?" Here's my result: "Whether you're a tomboy, a writer, or a rebel, you have a lot to say, and you're certain to say it with creativity and sincerity (though not necessarily with tact or forethought!) Having a strong will and a free spirit can be a blessing and a curse, but with your tremendous moxie, watch out, world! You are Jo March. " I'm working on that forethought thing!


 A few years ago I wrote a piece about Jo as my personal mentor. This morning, thinking about the upcoming TV special, I went through my archives and reread it. This time I managed to inspire myself. Though I protested in this piece (see below) that I never lacked for inspiration, I must admit Ms. Muse has been eluding me recently. I've been preoccupied with concerns about pressing social justice issues, and distracted by the wealth of movies, concerts and plays I've been fortunate enough to attend.

I've even found excuses not to write, when I actually had free time. Come on. I voluntarily cleaned out my refrigerator and sorted out the shoes on the bottom of my closet. If I had a garden, like I did when I lived in Northeast Washington, you can bet I'd be out there fussing with my tomato plants, knowing full well the deer would snap up the fruit before it could ripen.

Thanks again, Jo March. Your very birth date has inspired me to begin a story about my great-great-grandmother who also was born in Pennsylvania, just a year before you.

Here's the post from 2014:

A Role Model for Life

By Terri Elders

“The creative mind plays with the objects it loves.” –Carl Jung

As a child I’d often curl up on the sofa and watch Grandma create pretty dresses for me on her treadle sewing machine. All through elementary school I’d dream of the day when I’d be creating my own wardrobe. I’d clip drawings of countless gowns from her dog-eared Sears and Roebuck catalog, and then flip through its pages in search of matching accessories. I’d imagine designing an outfit for my high school prom. Maybe even my own wedding gown.

 

Then, when I got to junior high, I nearly flunked my seventh grade sewing class. I couldn’t sew a straight seam, no matter how hard I tried. Stunned, I realized I’d never be clever with a needle like Grandma. I lacked whatever skill that pursuit seemed to require. 

 

Some dreams, though, die hard. My dreams had always involved succeeding at something that I loved doing. I’d love sewing, just like Grandma. But struggling with unraveling crooked seams began to feel like work, not play. When the school year concluded, I decided I’d spend my summer seeking another endeavor…and another mentor.

 

Soon, after reading a book about Anna Pavlova, I began to dream anew. I longed for a tutu and ballet slippers. After I stumbled through half a dozen lessons, I realized I couldn’t hold an arabesque without toppling over. Next I raced through a book about women athletes, and stared, fascinated, at a photo of Gertrude Ederle, the first woman to swim the English Channel. It took nearly the entire summer for me to accept that if I couldn’t manage ten laps across the Harvard playground pool without becoming winded, I’d never churn my way across the English Channel. It didn’t matter how cute I thought I’d look in swim goggles. It wasn’t going to happen. 

 

So…if I couldn’t be like Anna Pavlova or Gertrude Ederle, not to mention my own grandmother, who could I emulate? Where could I find someone to model my life on? Then, one afternoon as I reread my favorite book, Little Women, it became clear. I caught my breath when read Jo March’s ringing affirmation in Chapter 14. She’d just sent off some stories to a potential publisher.

 "There,” she proclaimed, “I've done my best! If this won't suit, I shall have to wait till I can do better."

I smiled. Maybe a role model didn’t have to be an actual living person. Maybe a fictional character would do. I certainly could identify with Jo’s initial hesitation and subsequent bravery. I, too, had attempted to write stories, but aside from a letter on the children’s page of the Portland Oregonian, I’d never been published.

But it might not be too late, I decided. When school began again in September, I asked my counselor if I could take journalism as an elective. I’d always enjoyed writing essays in my English classes. Maybe I could become a reporter for the school paper, The Naturalist.

This time I met with success. I appeared to have the aptitude to pair with the attitude. I particularly relished taking my turn at writing the continuing column, “Silhouettes.” These were profiles of teachers and student leaders. I’d try to flesh my stories out, to make my subjects appear to dazzle, like the characters Jo and her sisters admired in Charles Dickens’ The Pickwick Papers. If my teacher or fellow students criticized my stories, Jo’s words would echo in my mind…”If this won’t suit, I shall have to wait till I can do better.”

I never had to wait long. If I reread my own work a few days later with a critical eye, I’d almost always be able to do better. That’s when I realized that the secret to good writing, as Jo knew, lay in rewriting.

In high school and college I continued to write, never failing to delight in playing with words…like Jo. When I transferred from a community college to a state university, somebody scribbled in the upper right hand corner of my transcript in a space for comments, “Said to be creative.”

Over the years I’ve wondered who it was that wrote that cryptic comment. It’s always been a mystery. Nobody ever used those words to my face, not a teacher or a counselor. I wonder if that anonymous annotator realized that all I’d ever wanted to do was to succeed at something I loved, while I played. Like Jo, I’m convinced that writing involves play, playing with ideas, playing with words, playing until I can play better, arranging...and then rearranging.

Unlike Jo, I’ve never written a play or even a novel. I’ve stuck to shorter pieces, essays, commentary, reviews, and true stories for anthologies. Writing remained my lifetime avocation, my source of joy, with a blank page always my playground.

When friends inquire about “writer’s block,” I claim I’ve never really encountered it. Jo’s spirit always remains with me…she never thought of writing as work, as something to suffer through, as something to be endured. Oh, no! For her it was always play.

Jo never doubted her ability. She never hesitated to retreat to her attic, assemble her words, and enjoy herself. She remains my inspiration. Her playful spirit never deserts me.

So early on I’d been forced to set aside the dreams of sewing my own prom dress, dancing in the chorus of Swan Lake, and coating myself with oil to cross the English Channel. Nonetheless, I’d never allowed defeat to discourage me from trying something else. Through trial and error, I’d finally found where my talents lay…in persistently playing with words.

Oh, sure, there’s been times when I’m trying to write a story and the patterns fail to form, or the message remains elusive, or I begin to feel too frazzled to dazzle. When it doesn’t feel like play, I put the piece away. I owe myself a break. I take that tip from Jo. I wait until I can do better. It’s the best advice I ever came across.

It’s never a very long wait. And when inspiration strikes again, I remind myself that I owe it all to Jo.

XXX

Aunt March in the upcoming PBS broadcast is played by Angela Lansbury. Here's my favorite fun fact: Asked about her greatest achievement by The Telegraph (UK), Lansbury said, “Staying alive!” She attributes her longevity in part to genetics, her mother’s energy, and to her grandfather, George, a founder of the Labour Party, who was once jailed for supporting women’s right to vote.

The preview of Sunday's special, including this update on Angela Lansbury, as well as the sisters quiz, appears here: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/shows/little-women/specialfeatures

Homelessness: A New Take on NIMBY?

“Is homelessness my problem? Yes, it is and it’s coming to a neighborhood near me.” --Heather Stratman

Yesterday I attended a panel discussion on homelessness in Orange County, sponsored by the Orange County Alliance for Just Change. The four-sided approach to ending homelessness here was to include speakers representing the county, its cities, the business sector and faith communities. County Supervisor Andrew Do had to cancel, but the other three covered the basics.

Heather Stratman

Heather Stratman, the chief executive officer of the Association of California Cities-Orange County since February 2016, led with some salient facts. Though each of Orange County's 34 cities has different perspective, depending on the visibility of homelessness in their communities, none of them are free of the homeless. Though the city councils of Santa Ana, Costa Mesa, Tustin and Anaheim were early in recognizing the urgency, more  councils now recognize that they, too, must be involved in long-range planning. Their communities are asking for solutions.

Stratman discussed the University of California Irvine's "Cost Study of Homelessness in Orange County, and its findings. The #1 cause of homelessness, according the study's respondents? "I lost a job." Yes, there are chronic homeless people who suffer from addictions and other mental health issues. But loss of jobs and lack of affordable housing lead the list of factors. And, as I mentioned on this blog a few weeks back, more than 30,000 young people are without an address in this county.

The executive summary can be found here: https://www.unitedwayoc.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/Orange-County-Cost-Study-Homeless-Executive-Summary.pdf

Dan Young

Dan Young of Camino Enterprises, a former mayor of Santa Ana and long time #2 man at Irvine Company, emphasized the need for a system to end homelessness. Using the 911 system, which began in 1967, as a model, he suggested that the solution is for different agencies to form themselves into a system of care.

 

 "We don't have a broken system for dealing with the homeless with mental health issues," Young said, "we have NO system." He outlined the need for the right treatment of underlying causes of homelessness, address people on the streets in a humane way and the needs to double homeless space and for transitional housing. A comprehensive system must be patient-center, not program-centered.

If the N that begins NIMBY (not in my backyard) is going to become "neighbors" rather than "not," why not do the neighborly thing? Get involved. Pastor John Begin of Costa Mesa's Church of Christ, enumerated many ways everybody can all help. His church, located at 287 West Wilson, Costa Mesa, provides weekly “Caring Kitchen” dinners for Costa Mesa’s homeless residents. They also maintain an active community garden made up of 80 4’x4’ foot gardening of sustainability. If you would like to volunteer at the Church of Christ, please contact Pastor John Begin at (949) 645-3191 or office@costamesacoc.com.

Begin and volunteers

 Here's the charming history of Caring Kitchen's beginnings: https://www.ocregister.com/2013/03/15/caring-kitchen-ministers-to-the-hungry/

More ways to volunteer can be found through Trellis: We're Better Together. http://wearetrellis.com/

Finally, if you find yourself  believing that there's nothing that can be done, Hope 4 Restoration asks you to reconsider the wide-spread myths about homelessness, many based on anecdotes about individual encounters. Yes, we have all heard most of these: most homeless people have mental illness; most are addicts; most come here for the handouts; most are lazy; most are dangerous; most are older, single men; and most are "undeserving."

This research-based document gave me pause. "Top 30 Myths About Homelessness and the Realities." You, too, might be surprised at these statistics:
https://www.hope4restoration.org/myths.html

And, to close, here's my favorite myth..."it could never happen to me." Remember the movie, "Blue Jasmine," where Cate Blanchett played the formerly rich wife of a Bernie Madoff-type grifter who fell on hard times and had to move into her working-class sister's apartment? It happened to her. It happens to others. How do people become homeless? Here's how:
The two biggest factors driving homelessness are poverty and the lack of affordable housing. In 2004, 37 million people, or 12.7 percent of the American population was living in poverty, according to the National Coalition for the Homeless. Many of these people live from paycheck to paycheck with nothing saved in the bank. The loss of a job, an illness, or another catastrophic event can quickly lead to missed rent or mortgage payments and ultimately, to eviction or foreclosure.
 https://money.howstuffworks.com/homeless2.htm

Believe in working together for compassionate change? Keep posted on upcoming events by signing up on the Orange County Alliance for Just Change mailing list: http://ocajc.org/

“Its a beautiful day in the neighborhood, A beautiful day for a neighbor . . . Won’t you be my neighbor?” --Fred M. Rogers

Embracing the Random

RIP, Barbara, on the left

One of my favorite actors, Sydney Poitier, once observed that much of life is determined by pure randomness.

About a decade ago I noticed a change in the way English-speaking people use the word "random." I'd always adhered to its primary meaning: a haphazard course, without definite aim, direction, rule or method. If you don't shy away from profanity or indelicacy, you can check out Urban Dictionary to see how "random" has morphed to mean something else.

Here's a printable extract from that source:  Supposedly meaning spontaneous and off the wall by ignorant people.

Wiktionary includes this, as well: An undefined, unknown or unimportant person; a person of no consequence. [from 20^thc.] I don't think I like this dismissive meaning. The party was boring. It was full of randoms. So far as I'm concerned, we're all persons of consequence, subject to the random interventions of fate.

My thoughts this week already had been preoccupied with how much of our lives end up being determined by random events or choices.

Some examples: I started watching Call the Midwife when it first debuted a few years ago on KOCE, my local TV station. This past Sunday, one of the heroines, Barbara, died, suddenly and unexpectedly...she'd just been married a few episodes back. For the second time that day I bawled my eyes out. I went to bed distraught, smacked in the face with how the lives of any of us could end in similar ways. Random ways.

When I lived in Belize, I knew of a man who had been sitting by his open window and had been struck by a lightning bolt.
In one of the remote Dominican Republic rural villages I regularly visited, I knew a woman whose boyfriend, when she was still a teen, had been rounded up and murdered by Rafael Trujillo's henchmen, because the dictator, on one of his tours of the countryside, had spotted her and wanted her for himself.

This morning, driving home from Orange on the Garden Grove Freeway, I spotted an array of women's clothing cluttering the two left lanes. For several hundred yards I passed skirts and dresses, sweaters and blouses, panties, bras, and socks. When I'd approached the first item, black bikini underpants, I wondered if somebody had simply tossed it out the window as a prank. But then as I progressed, I saw dozens and dozens more pieces of clothing dotting the freeway, like ice cream sundae sprinkles.

I realized a fairly substantial suitcase or box must have flown from the rear of a pickup truck. I imagined that the vehicle had been taking a woman to a place where she could start her life anew. Perhaps she had a new job and was moving to a new apartment closer to work. Or maybe she'd been  traveling through Orange County only on an extended vacation trip. Still, the size of the lost wardrobe dumbfounded me. I wondered if she'd lost everything but the clothes on her back.

I tried to picture other, less dire, circumstances. Perhaps somebody simply was transporting a load of no-longer-wanted clothes to a charity shop...Habitat or Goodwill. Even so, though, customers of such shops now would be deprived of additional choices. Through some random oversight, a suitcase or a box hadn't been sufficiently secured.

All this afternoon I've reflected on how this loss might affect the owner of that collection of clothes.

Random circumstances.

More random events of this week. This past Sunday my beau, Frank, and I went to a CalJas house jazz concert for a tribute to the George Shearing Quintet. During the late afternoon
Becky Gonzales-Hughes sang two of my favorite songs. These two were standards that my sister,

Patti, used to sing...and hearing them again brought tears to my eyes: "The Nearness of You" and "Green Dolphin Street." I teared up, remembering my sister when she was a high school sophomore, and how I loved to hear her sing.
Later that evening, I listed to Nancy Wilson sing the two songs, and bawled some more. Then I watched "Call the Midwife," and cried in its aftermath until my eyes were swollen. I hadn't cried in months. Random. Melancholy reactions to random events.
 
 Here's Nancy Wilson singing those two songs with the George Shearing Quintet:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zEaTYNNXvhg

Tonight I'm going to the dress rehearsal of the Westminster Community Playhouse production of "You Can't Take it With You." That Moss Hart/George Kaufman play won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama the year I was born, 1937. How random is that?

The family in that play, the Vanderhof-Sycamore-Carmichael clan, seemed able to accept, even embrace, the random...from snakes to taxes to fireworks. Maybe it's the perfect play for me to see while I'm still distracted by fretting over those lavender skirts and sweaters being mashed on the freeway.