News
Law Practice
Aug. 6, 2002
Meditating on Jurors' Whimsical Ways
Dicta Column - By Donald E. Griffith - Trying to read a jury is a lot like trying to read a crystal ball: You think you see something, but you're not sure what.
Dicta Column
By Donald E. Griffith
Trying to read a jury is a lot like trying to read a crystal ball: You think you see something, but you're not sure what.
How on earth can a lawyer ever have any inkling about how a judge or jury will react to a particular witness, argument or case? I suppose you could spend hundreds of hours and tens of thousands of dollars on jury consultants and marketing experts, but many of these guys know about as much as you or I do when it comes to predicting human behavior. You might as well consult a magic eight ball.
Best of all, it won't cost you thousands of dollars.
Just drop by the local K-Mart and you can pick up the latest litigation consultant for $7.95. Or, unlike the old eight ball, with its four-sided die, you could take one of those odd-shaped ones, like a 12-sided or 20-sided one they use in games such as Dungeons & Dragons, and adapt it for lawyers. You'll have lots of possibilities this way.
Of course, just like a lawyer, the Magic Attorney's Ball probably knows how to hedge its bets. But it can't hurt to try it anyway.
So here are the answers I suspect you would get out of such a tool for some basic questions we all ask about our cases. You can preface each question with "Oh Magic Attorney's Ball" to give the question a ritualistic tone:
Question: Will the jury vote in my client's favor?
Answer: I'm cautiously optimistic.
Question: My star witness lied through his teeth, didn't he?
Answer: Objection, leading.
Question: Should I let my client testify?
Answer: That's a complicated question.
Question: How should I respond to press inquiries about the case?
Answer: I have no comment at this time.
Question: What should I charge for this case?
Answer: The answer will cost you $500 an hour.
Question: What's a suitable word I can use to impress the jury of my legal knowledge?
Answer: Your statement is inapt.
Question: Will I get sanctioned for bringing such a frivolous claim?
Answer: Inter alia.
Question: Am I the greatest lawyer ever, or what?
Answer: Assumes facts not in evidence.
Question: What should I do about the judge's gag order?
Answer: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.
Question: I need to know the rule relating to inadvertent disclosure of attorney-client communications in the Central District and I need to know it in the next 10 minutes.
Answer: Let me get back to you.
Question: Does the judge really think I'm an idiot?
Answer: That's irrelevant.
Question: How is it you know all the answers to all these legal questions?
Answer: Res ipsa loquiter.
Question: Should I wait for the jury's verdict or accept the settlement offer now?
Answer: Take the money and run.
Question: But what if I'm confident I'll win?
Answer: Take the money and run.
Question: But what if I am absolutely, positively sure I'll win?
Answer: Take the money and run.
Question: But Magic Attorney's Ball, how can you be so sure I won't win?
Answer: Because you are asking a stupid toy about it.
Donald E. Griffith, a Los Angeles lawyer and writer, can be reached at soupdejure@yahoo.com.
By Donald E. Griffith
Trying to read a jury is a lot like trying to read a crystal ball: You think you see something, but you're not sure what.
How on earth can a lawyer ever have any inkling about how a judge or jury will react to a particular witness, argument or case? I suppose you could spend hundreds of hours and tens of thousands of dollars on jury consultants and marketing experts, but many of these guys know about as much as you or I do when it comes to predicting human behavior. You might as well consult a magic eight ball.
Best of all, it won't cost you thousands of dollars.
Just drop by the local K-Mart and you can pick up the latest litigation consultant for $7.95. Or, unlike the old eight ball, with its four-sided die, you could take one of those odd-shaped ones, like a 12-sided or 20-sided one they use in games such as Dungeons & Dragons, and adapt it for lawyers. You'll have lots of possibilities this way.
Of course, just like a lawyer, the Magic Attorney's Ball probably knows how to hedge its bets. But it can't hurt to try it anyway.
So here are the answers I suspect you would get out of such a tool for some basic questions we all ask about our cases. You can preface each question with "Oh Magic Attorney's Ball" to give the question a ritualistic tone:
Question: Will the jury vote in my client's favor?
Answer: I'm cautiously optimistic.
Question: My star witness lied through his teeth, didn't he?
Answer: Objection, leading.
Question: Should I let my client testify?
Answer: That's a complicated question.
Question: How should I respond to press inquiries about the case?
Answer: I have no comment at this time.
Question: What should I charge for this case?
Answer: The answer will cost you $500 an hour.
Question: What's a suitable word I can use to impress the jury of my legal knowledge?
Answer: Your statement is inapt.
Question: Will I get sanctioned for bringing such a frivolous claim?
Answer: Inter alia.
Question: Am I the greatest lawyer ever, or what?
Answer: Assumes facts not in evidence.
Question: What should I do about the judge's gag order?
Answer: I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time.
Question: I need to know the rule relating to inadvertent disclosure of attorney-client communications in the Central District and I need to know it in the next 10 minutes.
Answer: Let me get back to you.
Question: Does the judge really think I'm an idiot?
Answer: That's irrelevant.
Question: How is it you know all the answers to all these legal questions?
Answer: Res ipsa loquiter.
Question: Should I wait for the jury's verdict or accept the settlement offer now?
Answer: Take the money and run.
Question: But what if I'm confident I'll win?
Answer: Take the money and run.
Question: But what if I am absolutely, positively sure I'll win?
Answer: Take the money and run.
Question: But Magic Attorney's Ball, how can you be so sure I won't win?
Answer: Because you are asking a stupid toy about it.
Donald E. Griffith, a Los Angeles lawyer and writer, can be reached at soupdejure@yahoo.com.
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