Jury Duty, Part 1

I have lived almost all of my existence in this town, but have never had the good fortune to have been called for jury duty. And then, a few weeks ago, there it was in the mailbox. A ‘request’ to appear at the Tulsa County Courthouse to fulfill my American duty. As if there are not enough things in this life to keep you busy, now this inconvenience.

You show up in the Jury Assembly room, B11 in the courthouse. ‘B’ may stand for basement or maybe bomb shelter. It is a room that reminds you of a hospital waiting room (only much larger) or some international lounge in a far flung airport. There are well used couches lining the edge of the room, and small tables in the center. If you go all the way to the back, there is a ping pong table and a classic Nintendo game. Thank goodness for the fans that keep the air moving.

For my group, over 600 summonses were sent out and 303 actually showed up. The next question for me would be, how do you organize this giant mass of upset people. That is where the Jury Coordinator for the courthouse comes into play. Her name is Carlene Tallent, and if it was not for her, I’m convinced the whole process would cease to work. She was cheery in her duty of checking us all in on the first morning (about a 2 hour process). Would always ask you how you were doing in such a pleasant way that you always responded with ‘I’m fine, how are you doing’. Every week, someone will invariably ask her something about her job and she responds in a loud voice “I’ve got the biggest office in the whole building!” It’s true.

Once settled in, you begin to make conversation with those around you. I was surprised to learn that many of the people near me had served on a jury many times. Some predictably every three years or so (oh joy). I had never served so I was anxious to find out what the experience was like.

After a judge came down and administered our oath, you could appear in his court and ask to be excused. About 40 people got up and went with him to his courtroom. 5 were actually excused; the rest filtered back into the jury room and sat down wherever they could find a spot. Once you’re in, you’re pretty much in for the long haul.

After about 2 hours, bailiffs start appearing and Ms. Tallent gets on the microphone and says, “We will now call a jury for Judge So-and-So, he does criminal cases.” Okay, the room gets very quiet as the selection process begins. I am interested to find out how they select people from the jury pool. I hear a strange noise, and then Ms. Tallent calls out a name. That person gets up and goes to the front to be led away. I moved my head to see what the strange noise was. The method of selection was the shaking of a small metal box, then Ms. Tallent opens the top, puts her hand in, and pulls out one slip of paper. This has a single name that see speaks into the microphone. What was I expecting, high tech? This continues until enough jurors have been selected for that Judge and the case he is hearing.

My first day is uneventful, I am not called. We actually leave a little early for the day. I am hoping that everyday is like this for me,, I am going to catch up on 6 months of car magazines that had gone unread. Little did I know what was to happen to me on the second day, and the impact it would have.

Strange Tiles Associated with 2001 A Space Odyssey

Unless you're hunting for them, the weird markers embedded in downtown streets in St. Louis don't draw much attention.
For those who do notice, the words make little sense.
The shoe box-sized marker read: “TOyNBEE IDEA IN KUbricK's 2001 RESURRECT DEAD ON PLANET JUPiTER.''
The plaques, numbering more than 100 and found on dozens of city streets across the United States and in three South American countries, present a riddle that may never be solved: What in the world – or on Jupiter, for that matter – does English historian Arnold J. Toynbee have to do with filmmaker Stanley Kubrick and with raising the dead?
St. Louis has three of the “Toynbee plaques,'' or “tiles,'' as they are often called. Kansas City has one. Some have called the markers the urban equivalent of crop circles. Others say they're just quirky underground graffiti, some done by copycats.
No one has ever been caught or taken credit for this caper that dates back to at least the 1980s.
A Web site, www.toynbee.net, one of the best sources of information on the tiles, is dedicated to mapping and discussing the phenomenon.
Chris Clark went to the site after she stumbled across the plaques in the 1990s in St. Louis.
“The pleasure of these plaques is not so much in the solution and 'whodunit,''' Clark said. “It's hearing the wild theories and stories that surround them.'' Some have tried to make the connection to Kubrick and his sci-fi classic “2001: A Space Odyssey.'' Internet searches return a load of theories, but the connection with the late filmmaker is vague, at best. “The meaning of the message on the tiles is pretty open-ended,'' said Justin Duerr, a Toynbee tile fanatic. “You can draw a lot of connections between the two, depending on how far out you want to stretch it.''
Another variation reads: “TOyNBEE IDEA IN MOViE 2001 RESURRECT DEAD ON PLANET JUPiTER.'' Sometimes, there are other cryptic messages as well. Duerr lives in Philadelphia, the place where many people believe the strange practice of stamping the message on city streets began. A plaque in Santiago, Chile, lists an “A. Toynbee'' and a Philadelphia address, but the address – while real – provided no solution.
In 1983, an article in The Philadelphia Inquirer told of a man named James Morasco who said Toynbee's theory of bringing dead molecules back to life on Jupiter appeared in Kubrick's 1968 film. Many have argued that no such reference exists, but Jupiter is part of the movie.
Toynbee was best known for his writings on the rise and fall of civilizations.
In the late 1990s, Duerr became obsessed with the idea and the plaques that appear to be melted into the streets like crayons on a hot day. Last year he developed the Web site www.resurrectdead.com to document the tiles, and he says he plans to make a movie on the subject. Duerr said even after Morasco's death in 2003, new plaques appeared in Philadelphia and elsewhere.
At one time, Duerr said, the tiles could be found every other block. Many have since been paved over or worn down to nothing by traffic. Many of the plaques look identical, as if made with a cookie cutter. Others change the wording slightly and take on a colorful style of their own. Some include political messages.
One Web site reported a Toynbee tile in Pittsburgh that offered instructions on how to make the plaques using several layers of linoleum and glue. Another tile reads, “You must make and glue tiles!'' That was enough to persuade Duerr to make a tile of his own and slap it to a street in Philadelphia. He said his version looks almost like the others. His actions present the most obvious explanation: Other people were intrigued enough by their encounter with the tiles to make their own in various cities. Duerr said there's even a name for such behavior: A meme, pronounced “meem,'' meaning a cultural action that is transmitted and repeated over and over.
“I don't believe there's a lone gunman,'' Duerr said. “I like to look at it as art that exists for a reason other than being in an art gallery.''