Command Force
The Source
Trivia time. Where would you find this phrase? “We Command You….” Star Wars? The Twilight Zone? X-Men? Let me give you a hint: it’s not from a movie or burrito-induced nightmare, but an official document of the State of Illinois Circuit Court of the Eighth Judicial Circuit, and I received one in the mail. We Command You! (Yes, the misplaced capital letters are authentic to the document.) Does this mean that I can no longer write for The Source, shop for fish on Fridays at County Market, and wear the new suit I bought at Captain’s Quarters while I serve my twenty-five year stint in the Menard State Prison? And why didn’t Cass County send a SWAT team instead of letter? Give up? This is how the State of Illinois invited me to jury duty. Our founding fathers fought for the right of trial by jury as a right and privilege, and 237 years later this blessed honor comes out in the form of “We Command You…..” Not only that, but it states that I have been summoned. Al Capone was summoned. The Nazi war criminals were summoned. Do they really have to throw me in with a rotten lot like those guys? Even the Selective Service System called our generation to fight and die in Viet Nam with a much more congenial “Greetings!” The word “Greetings” took a bit of the sting out of giving up your job, dropping out of college and going to live in a snake infested jungle for a couple of years. I don’t know of a single draftee who was greeted in the mail with a “We Command You!” When Abraham Lincoln wrote to Ulysses S. Grant to talk about battles during the Civil War, he usually began his letters with “My dear General.” If anyone had the authority to command, wouldn’t it have been the Commander in Chief? When General Meade sat on his hands and let Lee escape at Gettysburg, Lincoln was angry. Still, he addresses him as “My dear General.” If he’d have been a county clerk he might have said, “I command you to do something, you idiot!” (Even Lincoln and his most irate never resorted to false capitalization.) When I taught at Triopia I was greeted with a welcome back letter wishing me a good year. I suppose it would have been more accurate if the superintendent had stated, “We Command You to show up on the hottest day in August to an un-air-conditioned school to face six classes of 25 kids each and keep their attention while the sweat runs onto their cramped desks!” I’d have gotten the point either way, but a little niceness went a long way. As is often the case no one has asked me, but could I make a tiny suggestion to all the Circuit Clerks in the State of Illinois? You’re going to ask me to leave my job for several days, most of which will be spent sitting listening to other potential jurors being interviewed, then possibly not be called onto the jury thus completely wasting the day, how about changing the wording on your letter of summons? Something like . . . “Dear Ken, We know that you’re a busy guy. Hey, aren’t we all? But in order to make this little experiment we call democracy workwe need your help. Sort of like voting and saying the Pledge of Allegiance. We’d like you to drop by the Cass County courthouse at . . . oh. . . is 9 a.m. to early? We’ll chat a little, you’ll meet some nice folks, and we might even put you to work at minimum salary for a few days. The seats are comfy and the courthouse is air-conditioned. Heck, if the trial lasts long enough we’ll even buy your lunch. We won’t go into all the gory details like your possibly spend two years in prison if you don’t answer our invitation. After all, we’re all friends and we’re in this together. p.s. Dress is casual.” Hey, I’d go for a sweet little invite like that. How can you expect me to be in a good mood if you start off your letter with “We Command You”? Oh, I’ll show up. I’m a big fan of democracy and I know we must all serve when called. It could be worse. Moses got a letter with ten of them.