Usually, jury service for me is over as soon as the lawyers understand I've spent 20-some years covering the legal profession as a reporter and working for it as a consultant. But I recently served on my first jury, and after relating the experience to a litigator friend was encouraged to share my observations. Litigators, he told me, are always eager for a perspective on what goes on in the jury room, even if the stakes of the case are low.

Years ago I made it deep into the voir dire process in a Manhattan Supreme Court case that was about as spurious as they come. It involved a “model” who had been frightened (not bitten, mind you, just frightened) by her “male-model's” dog and had twisted an ankle. I'll never forget the opening statement by the plaintiff's lawyer: “Does anyone here have any prejudice against very, very attractive people? Because this case involves people who are really, really beautiful.”

The defense lawyer could have won that case preemptively with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a small, pained shake of the head, but the moment he opened his mouth he reminded me of Lionel Hutz, the Simpsons lawyer who pioneered the practice of attorney-dumpster privilege. Mercifully, Model v. Male Model did not proceed to trial.

That, until August, was the closest I ever came to a jury box. During selection this time around I gave my usual explanation of familiarity with the legal system, but was surprised to hear my name called as Juror No. 5. Thankfully, no models were involved this time—it was a simple car accident, and the only victim was a downed traffic signal.

As soon as we were seated in the jury box, I reflexively pulled out my legal pad and began taking notes. The judge interrupted opening statements to tell me that taking notes was not permitted. “It's more fair if you work from memory,” he said. I was surprised, but complied. (After the trial, I asked the judge the reason for this. He gave two answers: He said while some judges allow notes, he does not because he believes jurors listened more attentively without distraction, and that in deliberation other jurors tended to defer to the note-takers. On the first point, I disagree. A life-long handwritten note taker, I've seen research confirming that reviewing written notes improves accurate recall. But his second reason is sound, and I appreciated its wisdom after going through the deliberation process.)

Our case was straightforward. A car had left the road, gone airborne, and taken out a traffic light at the entrance to a big-box store parking lot. The plaintiff (the owner of the property) contended that the driver was speeding and distracted, and therefore negligent. The defendant asserted he had made a split-second maneuver to avoid colliding with a fast-turning car that had left the scene. No one was injured, and the only question was who was responsible for paying to fix the ill-fated signal.

My first reaction to the fact pattern was that it seemed a trivial matter for so many jurors, alternates and prospective jurors to miss work, juggle child care and so on. My second thought was that a more substantive trial would take a lot longer, so let's get on with it. The ensuing experience surprised me by just how informative, thoughtful and engaging it was, and the perspective I gained may provide a few useful takeaways for litigators facing a stone-faced jury:

Jurors Take the Process Seriously

Like the first time I stepped into a voting booth, I experienced a rush down my spine as I entered the box. After months of putting off jury service and hoping my number would not be called, I was fully engaged from the moment I entered the courtroom. Part of it is the feeling of pride in performing your duty as a citizen, but a greater factor is the knowledge that you will be a part of a decision that affects a fellow citizen. It feels real in a way I did not anticipate.

As a jury, we were an accurate cross section of the local community. Three women and three men across a range of ages, races and socioeconomic groups. This variety of personal experiences fueled a spirited, nuanced and sometimes heated discussion of the details of the case. We spent at least a half-hour, for example, considering the private ownership of traffic lights—most of us having assumed them to be owned by the state or local municipalities.

These discussions changed minds, provided a more fulsome understanding of our instructions and forced us to consider deeply the impressions we each took from the courtroom testimony. We requested and scrutinized the articles of evidence. And at the end, when our votes were all but set, requested the read-back of several key sections of testimony—extending our service half a day—to ensure we were in full accord. That a jury took such a small case so seriously gives me a deeper faith in a sometimes-maligned system.

Think Visually

The case presented to us was largely spatial—a matter of what happened where, how fast and how far from what. Neither side presented a particularly compelling case in this regard. I suspect there are procedural considerations, to which I as a non-lawyer am not privy, that govern exactly how such evidence is presented in court. I can only hope that it is somehow permissible to present more than a scribbled-on Google maps printout.

In an age where the application of technology including virtual reality in litigation is being considered, there must be a better way to demonstrate what allegedly happened in time and space. A whiteboard or a set of Matchbox cars would have been helpful. In the end, the plaintiff's lawyer presented a picture that was muddled at best, while the defendant's own testimony seemed to defy the laws of physics.

Drop the Schtick

I covered legal affairs as a reporter for more than 16 years, but my work took me into the courtroom only rarely. Still, covering the high end of the legal spectrum one tends to take for granted that you're watching the major leagues. What differentiated those experiences from my admittedly limited exposure to jury service is that elite lawyers tended to be straightforward, plainspoken and precise, where the counsel in both the traffic light and “model” cases affected various forms of theatricality that did not go over well—at least not with me.

Most of us—even legal sector veterans—are more familiar with the courtroom from film and TV than personal experience. I'll admit I found myself hoping one of the lawyers would present an argument as lucid or compelling as Kevin Costner in JFK or even Joe Pesci in My Cousin Vinny (each relevant to the traffic light incident in its own way), and bit my lip to avoid blurting out obvious and compelling follow-up questions.

But for the most part there's little need to seem lawyerly before an engaged jury. We are keen to understand the facts. We understand that not every relevant fact can be presented. But we're most interested in clarity. The evidence we examined in deliberation, including a (potentially intentionally) sloppy police report, did more to inform our decision than the courtroom manner or oratorical style of either lawyer.

The Civil Jury System Enables Pragmatic Resolution

Our case required answering two questions: Was the defendant negligent, and if so, did the negligence cause the accident? For him to be held liable our petit jury had to vote yes on both questions by at least 5 to 1. While some minds were changed in the deliberation process, there was one holdout on each side. One juror flatly did not believe the defendant, who did himself no favors in his own exaggerated testimony. Another was steadfast that not enough evidence had been presented to find against him in any way.

In the end, it literally came down to he said/she said. The plaintiff was only able to present one witness, and the defendant was the only one to testify for his side. There was simply not enough evidence. There was enough that was questionable in the defendant's testimony to vote 5-1 yes on the first question, but not enough to decide the second, where we voted 1-5. End of case.

Each juror was able to vote his or her conscience and, I believe, the fair result was reached. It was a small case in which thankfully no one was hurt, but our jury gave it deep consideration and our full attention. I have a close friend who sat on a murder trial jury and describes it as one of the most profound experiences of his life. This was not that, but it gave me a renewed faith, at a time of a diminishing volume of trials, in the right to a jury of your peers.

Steven Andersen, a former legal journalist, is vice president for content and client strategy at the communications firm Infinite Global. He is based in New York.

Usually, jury service for me is over as soon as the lawyers understand I've spent 20-some years covering the legal profession as a reporter and working for it as a consultant. But I recently served on my first jury, and after relating the experience to a litigator friend was encouraged to share my observations. Litigators, he told me, are always eager for a perspective on what goes on in the jury room, even if the stakes of the case are low.

Years ago I made it deep into the voir dire process in a Manhattan Supreme Court case that was about as spurious as they come. It involved a “model” who had been frightened (not bitten, mind you, just frightened) by her “male-model's” dog and had twisted an ankle. I'll never forget the opening statement by the plaintiff's lawyer: “Does anyone here have any prejudice against very, very attractive people? Because this case involves people who are really, really beautiful.”

The defense lawyer could have won that case preemptively with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a small, pained shake of the head, but the moment he opened his mouth he reminded me of Lionel Hutz, the Simpsons lawyer who pioneered the practice of attorney-dumpster privilege. Mercifully, Model v. Male Model did not proceed to trial.

That, until August, was the closest I ever came to a jury box. During selection this time around I gave my usual explanation of familiarity with the legal system, but was surprised to hear my name called as Juror No. 5. Thankfully, no models were involved this time—it was a simple car accident, and the only victim was a downed traffic signal.

As soon as we were seated in the jury box, I reflexively pulled out my legal pad and began taking notes. The judge interrupted opening statements to tell me that taking notes was not permitted. “It's more fair if you work from memory,” he said. I was surprised, but complied. (After the trial, I asked the judge the reason for this. He gave two answers: He said while some judges allow notes, he does not because he believes jurors listened more attentively without distraction, and that in deliberation other jurors tended to defer to the note-takers. On the first point, I disagree. A life-long handwritten note taker, I've seen research confirming that reviewing written notes improves accurate recall. But his second reason is sound, and I appreciated its wisdom after going through the deliberation process.)

Our case was straightforward. A car had left the road, gone airborne, and taken out a traffic light at the entrance to a big-box store parking lot. The plaintiff (the owner of the property) contended that the driver was speeding and distracted, and therefore negligent. The defendant asserted he had made a split-second maneuver to avoid colliding with a fast-turning car that had left the scene. No one was injured, and the only question was who was responsible for paying to fix the ill-fated signal.

My first reaction to the fact pattern was that it seemed a trivial matter for so many jurors, alternates and prospective jurors to miss work, juggle child care and so on. My second thought was that a more substantive trial would take a lot longer, so let's get on with it. The ensuing experience surprised me by just how informative, thoughtful and engaging it was, and the perspective I gained may provide a few useful takeaways for litigators facing a stone-faced jury:

Jurors Take the Process Seriously

Like the first time I stepped into a voting booth, I experienced a rush down my spine as I entered the box. After months of putting off jury service and hoping my number would not be called, I was fully engaged from the moment I entered the courtroom. Part of it is the feeling of pride in performing your duty as a citizen, but a greater factor is the knowledge that you will be a part of a decision that affects a fellow citizen. It feels real in a way I did not anticipate.

As a jury, we were an accurate cross section of the local community. Three women and three men across a range of ages, races and socioeconomic groups. This variety of personal experiences fueled a spirited, nuanced and sometimes heated discussion of the details of the case. We spent at least a half-hour, for example, considering the private ownership of traffic lights—most of us having assumed them to be owned by the state or local municipalities.

These discussions changed minds, provided a more fulsome understanding of our instructions and forced us to consider deeply the impressions we each took from the courtroom testimony. We requested and scrutinized the articles of evidence. And at the end, when our votes were all but set, requested the read-back of several key sections of testimony—extending our service half a day—to ensure we were in full accord. That a jury took such a small case so seriously gives me a deeper faith in a sometimes-maligned system.

Think Visually

The case presented to us was largely spatial—a matter of what happened where, how fast and how far from what. Neither side presented a particularly compelling case in this regard. I suspect there are procedural considerations, to which I as a non-lawyer am not privy, that govern exactly how such evidence is presented in court. I can only hope that it is somehow permissible to present more than a scribbled-on Google maps printout.

In an age where the application of technology including virtual reality in litigation is being considered, there must be a better way to demonstrate what allegedly happened in time and space. A whiteboard or a set of Matchbox cars would have been helpful. In the end, the plaintiff's lawyer presented a picture that was muddled at best, while the defendant's own testimony seemed to defy the laws of physics.

Drop the Schtick

I covered legal affairs as a reporter for more than 16 years, but my work took me into the courtroom only rarely. Still, covering the high end of the legal spectrum one tends to take for granted that you're watching the major leagues. What differentiated those experiences from my admittedly limited exposure to jury service is that elite lawyers tended to be straightforward, plainspoken and precise, where the counsel in both the traffic light and “model” cases affected various forms of theatricality that did not go over well—at least not with me.

Most of us—even legal sector veterans—are more familiar with the courtroom from film and TV than personal experience. I'll admit I found myself hoping one of the lawyers would present an argument as lucid or compelling as Kevin Costner in JFK or even Joe Pesci in My Cousin Vinny (each relevant to the traffic light incident in its own way), and bit my lip to avoid blurting out obvious and compelling follow-up questions.

But for the most part there's little need to seem lawyerly before an engaged jury. We are keen to understand the facts. We understand that not every relevant fact can be presented. But we're most interested in clarity. The evidence we examined in deliberation, including a (potentially intentionally) sloppy police report, did more to inform our decision than the courtroom manner or oratorical style of either lawyer.

The Civil Jury System Enables Pragmatic Resolution

Our case required answering two questions: Was the defendant negligent, and if so, did the negligence cause the accident? For him to be held liable our petit jury had to vote yes on both questions by at least 5 to 1. While some minds were changed in the deliberation process, there was one holdout on each side. One juror flatly did not believe the defendant, who did himself no favors in his own exaggerated testimony. Another was steadfast that not enough evidence had been presented to find against him in any way.

In the end, it literally came down to he said/she said. The plaintiff was only able to present one witness, and the defendant was the only one to testify for his side. There was simply not enough evidence. There was enough that was questionable in the defendant's testimony to vote 5-1 yes on the first question, but not enough to decide the second, where we voted 1-5. End of case.

Each juror was able to vote his or her conscience and, I believe, the fair result was reached. It was a small case in which thankfully no one was hurt, but our jury gave it deep consideration and our full attention. I have a close friend who sat on a murder trial jury and describes it as one of the most profound experiences of his life. This was not that, but it gave me a renewed faith, at a time of a diminishing volume of trials, in the right to a jury of your peers.

Steven Andersen, a former legal journalist, is vice president for content and client strategy at the communications firm Infinite Global. He is based in New York.