She unfolded one delicate hand from her flower print lap, flipped it nonchalantly and spoke with quiet authority. “Don’t worry, we all got guns.”
“But there must be metal detectors. I probably just didn’t see them.”
“Nah, I been here before. Gets hot they leave the back door to the parking lot wide open.”
Six of us lined the wall of the jury box in Magistrate Court in Greenville County, South Carolina, and two alternate jurors sat in the front row of the otherwise empty courtroom. Judge Jesse McCall stepped out of chambers, apologized for the delay and asked us to wait, said the lawyers were trying to work it out.
I was contemplating the safety of a court building without metal detectors and must have looked concerned because another juror leaned forward, stuck her chin around the woman next to me. “You safe, honey. We got it covered.”
When the first woman spoke I’d thought of pine trees and plaid shirts, hunting rifles, maybe handguns in nightstands, but that wasn’t what these women were talking about. They had carried guns into the courthouse, probably in the purses that sat near their feet. And they’d insinuated that… Read more »