Reporter’s Notebook

Have you ever sat and watched as a young child looks for a toy they just had, but can’t find now?
Well, in my attempts to procrastinate for as long as possible in writing this column, that is exactly what I did. I sat on my living room couch and watched as my 17-month-old son hunted for a little Fisher-Price doll.
Mind you, I knew exactly where that little piece of molded plastic had gone – under our microwave cart in the kitchen. But I wanted to see how long he would spend searching for that unruly toy.
I was amazed as the rascal dove into places I didn’t even realize he knew existed, and emerged with items I didn’t even miss or know were gone.
From under our entertainment center he pulled a notepad from my sorority days that sat by our phone for three years. He produced a tube of lipstick from behind the CD rack. I won’t even mention all of the Cheerios and once-soggy-now-stale animal crackers that emerged.
He continued his game of “gross out mommy,” occasionally pausing to view a little of Blues Clues or play with a toy he hadn’t seen in a while, for the next hour. He looked under and around furniture, went into his bedroom, investigated a cereal box and checked out the washer and dryer. I thought he was showing a lot of patience and diligence for a toddler.
After he began to finally lose interest in his search, I went to retrieve the missing item for him – only to discover the toy wasn’t there anymore.
I knew the little man had rolled under the cart when his plastic car crashed into the wood wall, but he wasn’t there. I reached underneath, used a broom to brush out the dust bunnies and even moved the microwave.
The little Fisher-Price mechanic was not there.
As my frustration built, I turned to find my own little guy standing there with a big grin on his face, holding the AWOL toy.
I now believe my angelic child secretly knew all along exactly where that plastic man had been, had not really been looking for it in the first place and had allowed me to make a fool of myself trying to find it.
I wonder, who entertains who sometimes?
* * *
I miss good snow. I’m talking about the “6-inches falling in half an hour and piling up two-feet high so they have to cancel school” kind of snow. The kind I loved while living in Ohio.
This past weekend though I got a taste of what I love while visiting my family.
At my parent’s home in central Ohio, I was treated over the course of the weekend to about two feet total of the beautiful white stuff. I got to walk through drifts that covered my boots and gaze at the gorgeous white-blanketed trees. I thought about getting days off from school or work and building snowmen.
But then Sunday came and I had to trudge my way back home. I watched during the two and a half hour drive as the snow disappeared, the roads cleared and the trees became bare.
I was already missing the snow.

My month-long service for the good of our country has finally come to an end – I completed my four week stint as a juror on the Michael Cristini case for the Macomb County Circuit Court. And let’s just say, ladies and gentlemen, that covering court cases for the past five years as a reporter did nothing to prepare me for this experience.
First, let’s talk about the jury. After forcing around 200 strangers to sit in a ‘Jury Assembly? room and watch ‘It’s for the Good of your Country? videos, the court staff sorted and separated the potential jurors into five different court rooms that would be seating for cases. I was herded into Judge Servitto’s court with around 100 other Macomb County residents and asked to sit as closely together as possible.
I had only one thought: I sure hope the person next to me is glad he showered with Dial.
Now, I’ve sat through plenty of jury selections. The court clerk pulls a number and the individual goes to the ‘Now we have you, ha, ha, ha? box. Still, I couldn’t contain the sinking feeling in my gut when that terrible three digit number was read: Juror 166. I was the second person selected, and somehow I knew I wasn’t going to be dismissed.
Jury selection for the Cristini case took two full days that actually spanned over three. In the end, five women, including myself, remained from the original 14 selected. We never had a chance at dismissal.
Now that I was officially a juror for the case, let’s talk about the next big step of my jury service: How do you tell your editor, assistant publisher and publisher that the two-person newspaper staff is going to become 1? for about four weeks or so? Very carefully and with lots and lots of smiles, folks.
Being a juror in the Cristini trial meant missing out on a lot of the fun aspects of the case others heard about on a daily basis. We weren’t allowed to watch television reports, read newspaper articles, enjoy opinion columns or listen to radio broadcasts. Every time an attorney, a witness or a member of the gallery did something they shouldn’t we were sent from the courtroom to our ‘Jury Sanctuary? and asked to wait, which was often several times a day.
We missed Judge Servitto yelling at the lawyers again and again – and we really wanted to see him give the three attorneys a what-for at times. We missed learning why additional security was being continually added. I truly never realized how much jurors were actually kept from knowing.
Outside of the courtroom, many members of the jury said they felt isolated. Going for four weeks without knowing what’s happening in the world was difficult, especially for someone who was use to getting her daily dose of WJBK Channel 2 News and the Daily Oakland Press. My darling husband Tom would say, ‘Did you hear this on the news this morning?? I don’t believe I’ve ever continually killed a conversation faster. All I could say was ‘Nope.?
On the other side of the coin, during my years of covering court cases, I’ve always come home and immediately told my husband what I heard that day. Nope, not this time. We had a very quiet dinner table for four weeks.
On top of being in information oblivion, several jurors were making strong personal sacrifices for this case: One individual had a test fast approaching for his engineering license; another, who was a single working mother, was in the midst of remodeling her home; and still others were attempting to hold down their full-time evening and third-shift jobs while attending court during the day. Still others knew their work was just piling up on a desk.
I think back on this and am grateful that everyone at The Oxford Leader was so understanding while I was away. Mr. Sherman, Don Rush and C.J. Carnacchio worked with me so that I could get as much done as possible when possible, and they picked up the slack beyond that.
Through all of this, our job as a jury was to listen to the facts and evidence related to Michael Cristini’s retrial. In 1991, Cristini and his co-defendant Jeffrey Moldowan were found guilty of kidnapping, raping, assaulting and leaving for dead a 22-year-old woman. Both were sentenced to life imprisonments.
In 2000, Moldowan was granted a retrial due to improper representation of evidence. Moldowan was acquitted in 2003.
Since the two men were originally tried as co-defendants, Cristini was also granted a retrial. The jury’s job was to basically determine whether or not this man should have spent the past 13 years in prison.
After listening to both sides of the case, the 12 member jury took just under two hours to determine Michael Cristini not guilty on all accounts. I may never be able to understand what Cristini was feeling as the verdict was read that day in the courtroom, but I know I will never forget the look on his face. I will never forget the tears.
In the end, I find I appreciate having completed my jury duty. I see now why some information is kept from jurors in order to give the defendant a fair trial. I understand better why the court system seems to crawl along, when in reality, everyone is squeezing in as much as possible. I’ve taken a look at what the other hand is holding.
Yes, jury duty was difficult. The case was complex and at times hard to comprehend or handle emotionally. And yes, I would definitely serve again.

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