The Toronto Star's Robyn Doolittle on her hunt for Monica Prince, a juror in the Conrad Black case.
After the verdict, Judge Amy St. Eve read the juror list aloud -- albeit reluctantly. The fact that most of them were women posed a problem. And I didn't bother searching for any with surnames such as Williams, Jones or Lee. This seemed to be a lost cause in a city of more than 9 million if you include the suburbs.
After about 150 phone calls, several dozen messages, and one false alarm, I got a lead on Monica Prince who lived in South Chicago.
By this time, news had made the BlackBerry rounds that a journalist from Slate magazine had bumped into one of the jurors on the street. The competition – and thought of coming back empty – was suffocating.
By the time I hopped on the No. 14 express bus south, it was quickly getting dark. Like any sheltered white girl, I got nervous as more and more of the corners housed young men in baggy pants and basketball jerseys.
The cars got louder, both by music and muffler. I got off at the corner of a no-name burger joint and KFC and headed east. I sighed out loud when I hit Prince's street. I was greeted by manicured lawns, wrought iron lampposts with large illuminating lights, and charming red brick houses.
But when I arrived at her house, my heart sank again. The shades were drawn and the lights were out. Children's chalk art decorated the walk and part of the porch banister. The kid's probably asleep, I thought. And I wasn't even sure this was the same Monica Prince. Then I remembered that Slate journalist and rang the bell anyway, child be damned.
Here was the end result: Black's lavish lifestyle not a factor, juror says
Strangely, one can link from the main story to Doolittle's sidebar, but not vice-versa.