Auld Lang Syne

I was summoned to federal court here in Washington the other day for jury duty. It was a big drug conspiracy trial in Chief Judge Royce Lamberth's courtroom—the kind of fascinating case, with a first-rate judge, that you read about in the paper and want to know more about.

There were multiple defendants, charged with serious crimes and facing lengthy sentences. They sat with their lawyers and wore headphones to hear a translator explain the proceedings in Spanish. As we in the jury pool took our seats in the courtroom, they looked at us with an intensity that felt almost like a glare. Some of us would be selected to decide whether they'd be spending much of their lives in prison.

Judge Lamberth asked us to rise, and he swore us in before he briefly described the case. He asked if anyone knew the defendants, their lawyers, the prosecutors or the drug agents. No one did. Then his clerk passed out a lengthy questionnaire, with page after page of questions designed to get at bias and whether we'd give these men a fair trial. Most were simple. Yes, I was fair. Yes, I would listen to all sides. No, I wouldn't give police testimony more weight.

I paused at one: Do you think drug dealers are A) more responsible, B) less responsible or C) equally responsible than the actual drug users. I thought about that for a while. I marked A.

But there was this: The trial would take six to eight weeks. Would that cause a hardship? Now let me tell you, I would have loved to serve on this jury. But six to eight weeks? Would that cause a hardship?

Yes, I wrote. And I wrote, and I wrote. I hadn't worked since late September because I was changing jobs, and my old employer, ABC News, enforced a non-compete provision in my contract. The provision prevented me from working anywhere else--even commenting online--so I had to sit out until it expired, and I wasn't getting paid, which was a problem since my husband and I had decided to separate earlier in the year. I was supposed to start at CBS on January 4, right after the trial would get underway.

Plus, I wrote, I spent part of my forced time-off fulfilling my public duty: I had just served on a jury in D.C. superior court only three weeks before. It was a minor criminal case, but we couldn't reach a verdict. There were two holdouts for "not guilty," and we argued for three days. One juror yelled. Another cried. The judge finally declared a mistrial. I didn't really want to go through that again, either.

We all turned in our questionnaires. The next day, Judge Lamberth started the individual questioning of jurors. He called us one-by-one into the large courtroom and asked us to elaborate on our answers in the questionnaire. When my name was called, I took my seat in the jury box, as the defendants and all the lawyers looked on, and I spoke into a microphone. I felt shaky and oddly nervous. Maybe it was the formality of the proceedings. Maybe it was that I Could Not Serve On This Jury For Eight Weeks.

So this would be a hardship for you, Judge Lamberth asked, looking at my written questionnaire.

Yes, I said, nodding. Yes. And I started to repeat what I'd written in the questionnaire about being off work without pay for three months and needing to start back in January.

Judge Lamberth listened as I nervously rambled on. Then he smiled, and, to my surprise, he cracked a joke: You haven't considered getting back together with your husband, just so you can serve on this trial?

No, I said, shaking my head, laughing along with him.

Lamberth summoned the prosecutors and defense attorneys to the bench. He said a few words to them. As they returned to their seats, he turned back to me.

Ok, he said, I'm going to excuse you.

But then he added this: I just want you to know I thought your book on the Supreme Court was terrific. Good luck to you at CBS.

I was so taken aback, it was all I could do not to jump up and down as I said thank you. Sometimes life surprises you in a very good way.

And so I report to work, as scheduled, next week as the new CBS News Chief Legal Correspondent. On Sunday, I'll join Bob Schieffer on Face the Nation, along with some of my new colleagues, to discuss the war on terror and the Christmas Day plot, as well as big legal stories on the horizon for 2010.

There will be plenty to talk about this year, as we grapple with issues and challenges that will define us as a nation and reverberate for generations. Just to name a few, there's the looming indictment and trial of confessed 9/11 mastermind Khalid Sheik Mohammed in New York, as well as President Obama's decision to close the Guantanamo Bay prision and transfer detainees to a prison in Illinois. And there's the expected Supreme Court retirement of Justice John Paul Stevens, which will give Obama his second Court nomination. My money is on Solicitor General Elena Kagan, for reasons we'll get into in another post. (Those of you who were high on Janet "the system worked" Napolitano should readjust your sights).

But I'll also be looking more broadly, beyond the law. That's one reason I didn't try to take my old blog, "Legalities," with me from ABC. Those of you've who read Legalities know I didn't always stick to the law. There were, for example, all those Sarah Palin columns, the good and the bad. And there were the ones about race and the South, where I grew up, and the ones about the difficulties getting four kids out the door before school starts when your 5-year-old flat-out refuses to comb her hair. And of course, all those blogs about the Crimson Tide.

Welcome, instead, to "Crossroads."

Here, we'll talk about the decision points in law, and also how that intersects with politics and culture. We'll cover the issues big and small, and the headliners too, like Tiger Woods, Mike "it was a media room, not a shed" Leach, and the 2010 versions of those wacky Balloon boy parents (you know there will be someone, somewhere who tops that this year). And since I'm a die-hard football fan, you're going to get some sports, especially on January 7. (Roll Tide Roll!)

I'm looking forward to getting started. And in the meantime, Happy New Year. I hope you all raised a cup of kindness last night to the old acquaintances and are, like me, looking ahead with much hope to the new.