Inspired by his own experience with a racially biased trial
that changed his life, Max G. Geier undertook an academic study of a 1943
murder trial involving racial, gender, and class issues. The
Color of Night: Race, Railroaders, and Murder in the Wartime West presents Geier’s research of the murder
of Martha James and the subsequent execution of Robert E. Lee Folkes who had
been found guilty for her murder. Today Geier tells us the story of his 2005
jury summons and how the trial influenced him to write this book of murder,
mystery, and railroad history in Oregon.
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Writing About The Color of Night
Max G. Geier
11 August 2015
The idea for this book began in summer 2005, when I was
called to serve as a juror for a seemingly insignificant trial in Benton
County, Oregon. It is no exaggeration to say that experience, not my first as a
juror, changed my life. My role as a juror took me into legal territory beyond
my experience, and I learned some unpleasant truths about my neighbors who
served with me. Each juror revealed something of themselves and how their
perceptions of a racialized “other” colored their notions of what was just and
fair. I came away with the idea that a careful study of a jury trial involving jurors
who were of different races and backgrounds than the defendant might help me
understand, as a historian, how people from rural and urban backgrounds compared
in their responses to racialized arguments and identities in the mid-20th
century.
Jury duty was a responsibility I initially put off, asking
for extensions earlier in the academic year, preferring to serve during the summer
to avoid inconveniencing students, most of whom were the first in their
families to attend college. Many were already in their mid-to-late 20s, often
working several jobs to pay their way, with rich life experiences already
behind them, but virtually none had ever served on a jury. Whenever we
discussed famous American court cases, I encouraged them to accept their civic
responsibility when the call came, if only to better understand how our court system
functions. I had no illusions about the process, having previously served as a
juror (including once as jury foreman) on two other cases that went to trial,
including one in Los Angeles involving rape and attempted murder. In summer
2005, however, the court called me to serve on a relatively innocuous case, or
so it seemed at the time. It was, on the surface, a simple case of drunk
driving. As the case progressed, however, we learned there was more at stake:
the prosecutor layered on several additional charges that would have dramatically
increased the penalties, including jail time, that the
young Black man on trial would have faced for an unwise decision that,
thankfully, had harmed no one. My fellow jurors were all White men and White women
who were mostly at least two decades older than the defendant.
At trial, a White judge presided while the White prosecutor
called witnesses—most memorably a White police officer who admitted he stopped
the car only because “I recognized his face”. The other singularly notable
witness was a young White woman—the defendant’s girlfriend—who was also in the
car during the traffic stop. The White defense lawyer essentially conceded the
basic facts of the matter before the trial even began. The events in question
all happened within a one-block radius in a portion of the city where the
streets follow broad curves typical of suburban tracts built in the late 60s and
early 70s. The defendant and his girlfriend were at a party at her house on one
side of that block, across the back fence from his mom’s house on the other
side of the block. They left the party together and headed, in his girlfriend’s
car, to his mom’s house. It was a short drive on the quiet, well-lit, broad
residential streets of their childhood homes. Their route required two left
turns heading counter-clockwise around the block to reach his mother’s driveway.
The defendant asked his girlfriend if he could drive, and she agreed. Driving
cautiously, the defendant rounded the first corner and accelerated to about 20
mph (according to police testimony). As he approached the second corner, he
passed a stopped police car. Recognizing the defendant’s face, the officer testified,
he switched on his flashing lights and followed. The defendant completed his
second left turn and headed toward his mother’s driveway before he noticed the
police car with lights flashing behind him (according to his own testimony and
his girlfriend’s testimony). The police officer testified the defendant quickly
accelerated to 25 mph, whereas the girlfriend and the defendant both denied he
accelerated and testified he actually was slowing down as they approached his
mom’s driveway near the center of the block.
As jurors, at this point in the trial, we were still in the
dark about why any of this detail was important, but it soon became clear: the
police officer was telling a story that supported multiple charges of evading
arrest, whereas the defendant and his girlfriend were telling a story that
indicated the young man was afraid of this White police officer who “recognized
his face”. Both the girlfriend and the defendant indicated they just wanted to
pull into his mother’s driveway to avoid an altercation in the street with an
angry White police officer. What happened next, however, colored the testimony
in ways that hurt the defense and empowered the prosecutor’s efforts to layer
on two additional charges.
As the defendant pulled to a halt in the driveway, he slid
across the front seat as his girlfriend climbed over into the driver’s seat.
Then, he opened the passenger-side door and walked around the front of the car.
The officer claimed the defendant headed toward his mom’s back yard. The
defendant said he walked around the front of the car to wait for the officer
who had pulled in behind them. The defense attorney, in questioning both the
defendant and his girlfriend, encouraged them to admit they switched seats because
the young man had been drinking and was hoping to avoid a DUI charge. The
prosecutor called the young woman as a state’s witness, and from her demeanor
it was clear she did not want to testify. Jurors were left to draw their own
conclusions as to why she agreed to testify for the prosecution, but in later
deliberations, most of us assumed she did so to avoid facing charges.
Given the girlfriend’s testimony, and the resulting
admissions of the defendant and his lawyer, it was clear the young man—just
visiting home during his first year at college—was guilty of driving under the
influence of alcohol. The jury was asked to decide on that and two other
charges: (1) had the defendant attempted to evade arrest by switching seats
with his girlfriend and then leaving the automobile from the passenger side
door, and (2) had the defendant attempted to evade arrest by accelerating after
rounding the second corner. Jurors assumed these latter two charges would push
him into a more severe range of sentencing guidelines. The judge specifically
instructed us not to consider the combined effects of the charges but to
consider each one individually, on the pretense they were unrelated and
independent matters. With those instructions, we retired to the jury room for
deliberations.
Any jury is a collection of commonly reluctant participants who
are variously impatient with the imposition on their time. Generally speaking,
every juror hopes the others will agree with them, resulting in a relatively
swift decision, after which they can all go back to their normal routines. I,
and at least two other jurors, entered the jury room very uncomfortable with
the police officer’s story. We, and a few other people in the room, were also
uncomfortable with the prosecutor’s decision to pile on so many charges for
what, in the end, was an unwise mistake that ended without anyone getting hurt.
Several of us also were uncomfortable with the judge’s instructions to ignore
the consequences for the defendant as we considered each charge independently
of the others. We were unprepared, however, for the racialized response of
other jurors in the room.
Deliberations stretched across several hours as jurors
argued with each other about what they remembered the police officer saying.
The officer testified the defendant tried to make a getaway by accelerating
down the street, but many of us considered that unlikely, given the undisputed
fact that the car pulled into a driveway barely two houses after rounding that
second corner. Several of us expressed skepticism about the officer’s
testimony, given that apparent discrepancy, which led to a discussion of why he
stopped the car in the first place. One juror, at that point, loudly remarked
in an exasperated voice that it was obvious this officer knew this “boy” was
“up to no good” because “he recognized his Black face” and obviously had had
run-ins with him before. This juror, a red-faced White woman in her early 60s,
ranted for some time about how she knew about other problems with “people like that”
in this city, and that we should have more respect for police officers who had
to deal with “those people”. About half the jurors in the room nodded in
agreement. At that point, a quick poll of the jury showed that all but three of
us were willing to convict on all three counts. Those who favored conviction
needed one more vote.
Two of us marshalled our arguments to counteract the sudden
shift against the defendant after that juror’s racist tirade. The officer’s own
testimony included a denial he observed anything illegal about the defendant’s
driving, and as an explanation for why he pulled the young man over, he offered
only the observation that he “recognized his face”. We had one silent partner—a
young woman who voted with us against conviction, but she was too intimidated
by other jurors to vocalize her reasoning. After an exhausting round of
argument, the jury foreman suggested we all take a break to cool off. He and
four other jurors, including the outspoken woman, stepped outside the room and
congregated in the hallway, where the quiet woman who had stood with us later
joined them. The jury foreman was a supervisor at a nearby computer
manufacturing company where at least three other jurors also worked. At the
outset of deliberations, one of his co-workers quickly nominated him as foreman
and lobbied hard to close nominations “so that we can finish this and go home”.
The rest of us entered the room not knowing each other, and it was not
immediately apparent why this man had so many people supporting him for this
responsibility.
After the break, the six jurors, including the foreman, filed
back into the jury room and informed us they had brokered a deal in the
hallway. Our silent partner had agreed to vote “guilty” on the first and second
counts, if they would all vote for acquittal on the third count. On the
question of whether the defendant had been attempting to escape by accelerating
away from the police officer, the vote was 12-0 for acquittal. On the question
of whether he had been attempting to escape by switching seats, the vote was
10-2 for conviction. No one questioned the charge of driving under the
influence, although two of us questioned whether the police officer had
reasonable cause to make the stop in the first place, since the officer himself
admitted he had not noticed anything except “his face”. The judge polled each
of us on whether we agreed with the verdicts, and then he dismissed the jury.
Heading home, I encountered one of the majority jurors
standing at an intersection waiting for the walk signal. He nodded at me, and cheerfully
volunteered, “Well, THAT took longer than I thought it would.” Somewhat
antagonized, I cast him what I hoped was a withering look and said, “Not nearly
long enough.”
Convinced that a racist and inaccurate argument had swayed
the jury, I was not at all satisfied justice had been done, even though we
narrowly averted conviction on the third count. The next day, I telephoned the
judge and explained my concerns, hoping there was some action he might take to
correct the situation. After waiting several days with no response, I
telephoned the defense attorney to explain my concerns. After taking my
statement, he filed a motion to set aside the verdict. At the subsequent
hearing, which I attended, the district attorney, in a prepared statement,
vociferously objected that were the judge to act on my statement, or even admit
it into evidence, either orally or in writing, it would undermine the very
fabric of our judicial system. In the end, the gavel came down, and the verdict
stood, such as it was. The defendant, a well-mannered and self-possessed young
man, made a point of thanking me for my efforts, but I came away feeling I had
not done enough. That feeling never went away. Perhaps, as the red-faced woman
argued in that jury room, he had a whole string of previous brushes with the
law. Perhaps his record was not as clean as his courtroom suit, but she did not
know that, except for her conviction he was one of “those people”. We had no
evidence to that effect, except the police officer’s insinuation he “recognized
his face” because of some previous interactions. In the end, no one wanted to
question the police officer’s testimony—they brokered a “deal”, not because our
arguments convinced them to doubt the officer’s word, but because, in the
foreman’s closing words, “the game starts in half an hour.” That young man
deserved better. Folkes deserved better. We all deserve better.