he Jury Room at Pints Pub (221 West 13th Avenue) is a quaintly named nook that's ideal for discussing the day's events over grade-A pub fare. But several times a week, this upstairs meeting room lives up to its name and becomes much more, as juries make the two-block trek from the city and county courts to grab a meal at Pints while taking a break from deciding the fates of murderers, rapists, swindlers and other such scum.
James Bludworth
The verdict's in: The Jury Room makes a case for togetherness.
James Bludworth
The verdict's in: The Jury Room makes a case for togetherness.
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In Consumed, Marty Jones explores this town's oddball and unsung dining and drinking assets.
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And break they must. While at Pints, jurors are forbidden from talking about their cases -- and if they violate that order, they could be gagged by the pair of bailiffs who monitor them throughout their meals. "They're not in the jury room, so they're technically not deliberating at that point," explains Khoury Dillon, a county-court clerk who frequently accompanies juries to lunch.
In other words, this room is used not by hung juries, but by hungry ones.
Scott Diamond, Pints' owner, has been catering to members of the legal profession for years. When he opened Dozens (a homey breakfast-and-lunch spot across the street from Pints at 236 West 13th) back in 1986, it quickly became a hit with attorneys and judges seeking sustenance between sessions. Soon the judges were also sending over their sworn-in juries. That business added a nice boost to his bottom line, Diamond says, even though he sometimes was unable to accommodate requests when bailiffs called right before the lunch hour and tried to secure fourteen seats.
So when he started planning Pints in 1993, Diamond took steps to handle juries more judiciously. "I can't hold a table of fourteen seats until 12:15, because I have to have those seats moving," he says. (Pints doesn't take reservations for those of us not serving the courts.) "When we opened Pints, I wanted a private room, and I also knew that those juries would be a natural entrepreneurial fit for us."
Pints' private room has also been a nice fit for the courts. "They make it very easy for us to take our juries down there," Dillon says. "We just sign off the paperwork, and they take care of it from there." And when they're well fed, he adds, he rarely has to deal with twelve angry men and women. "Every jury that I've had has been very happy to get out of the room for an hour and go eat a nice lunch."
Judges typically let juries decide whether they want to dine in or out. When working toward a verdict, most opt for lunch in the jury room, where they can legally discuss cases and minimize their deliberation time. (Nancy's Catering delivers box lunches to the courthouse about three times a week.) But when juries are deliberating tough cases and capital crimes, some judges encourage meals outside the building as a means of relieving stress. "My judge prefers to send juries out," a district-court clerk reports. "The state's taking up a week of their lives, so he feels the least we can do is buy them a good lunch."
In addition to Pints, jurors sentenced to lunch out also frequent the Cherokee Bar and Grill at 1201 Cherokee Street, and the Supreme Court at the nearby Adam's Mark Hotel, where the lunch buffet is a favorite. In all cases, the courts pick up the tab.
Judges usually inform attorneys involved on a case of a jury's luncheon destination, instructing them to avoid the restaurant. (Contact with jurors by attorneys, victims, defendants or their families is a violation of court orders and can result in stiff penalties and tainted juries.) Still, assorted players in courtroom dramas sometimes wind up eating in the same establishment. "I'll have a judge in one room, a prosecutor and defense team in another, and the jury upstairs," Diamond says. "They all go to lunch, and sometimes all sides of the equation end up here. I'll have people tell me, 'No, I can't sit there. Can you put me somewhere else?'"
Lunching jurors have other rules to follow, too. They're limited to ordering items off the menu (no Daily Special treatment for the impaneled) and are banned from making cell-phone calls during lunch or talking with restaurant staff and patrons. "Sometimes, I'll know one of the jurors and they'll talk to me at the door," says Kris Vogt, owner of the Cherokee, "and, boy, here comes that bailiff."
Deliberating jurors are also prohibited from drinking alcoholic beverages. That's a tough sentence at Pints, where diners are tempted by 220 versions of single-malt Scotch and the only true cask-conditioned beers made in the metro area. "You'll see people come in with their jury patch on," Diamond says. "They'll stop at the bar and say, 'I'd like to have a beer, but I guess I'd better not.' Most people are very diligent about it and take their responsibility very seriously."
"I had a jury panel ask me if they could order liquor," one ex-bailiff reports. "I rapidly told them no." Her unofficial duties also include keeping the jurors entertained. "They think your job is so glamorous because you get to hear all the cases that come through, and you take juries to lunch," she says. "They want to hear about all your cases. I started taking the newspaper with me so I could eat a quiet meal."
