This article was written by Charles Scruggs, a professor of history at Genesee Community College who has mentored many Garfinkel Essay Scholarship participants. He is a 2015 recipient of a SUNY Chancellor’s Award for Excellence in Teaching.
We have announced the topic for the 2018 Garfinkel Essay Scholarship, please click here to learn more.
Photo: Anna Lewis, accepting her 2nd SUNY Prize at the NY Court of Appeals Law Day Ceremony. Prof. Scruggs mentored all three SUNY winners. Image courtesy of Lisa Bohannon at NY Court of Appeals.
Sixty years ago, Twelve Angry Men appeared for the first time on the silver screen. Despite riveting performances by such titans as Henry Fonda and Lee J. Cobb, its commercial performance fell flat. Perhaps the dialogue-driven film was regarded as too quaint by a movie-going public with a taste for swamp creatures and rebels without a cause. Today, however, the film is rightfully accorded a place in the pantheon of American cinema. It has even been cited by Associate Justice Sonia Sotomayor as a source of inspiration as she contemplated potential career paths.
For ninety minutes, we are transfixed by the interactions of twelve jurors whose predilections and prejudices are ingeniously revealed. At the end of the story, something else is made known to us: the names of Juror 8 and Juror 9 — Davis and McCardle. We never learn the names of the other ten jurors. The name of the young defendant accused of stabbing his father to death is likewise shrouded in mystery. I find the closing moments of Twelve Angry Men fitting and poignant. In that final, brief exchange, the larger than life protagonist is returned to the human scale as he bids adieu to his wise and wizened ally. As the two men head off to destinations unknown, dwarfed by the city’s immense steel structures, we cannot help but feel a sense of nobility in the seemingly quotidian experience of jury duty.
I have occasion to share these thoughts with you not because a cherished film is celebrating its sixtieth anniversary, but rather because a cherished essay scholarship is celebrating its tenth. I can still picture Karen Wicka, an attorney turned criminal justice instructor, pleading her case as she distributed a promotional flyer at the end of an interminably long faculty meeting. We all did our due diligence, solemnly nodding our heads and scribbling down due dates. I was just praying that the Dean would not ask me to deliver an improptu dissertation on the legal aspects of the Erie Canal’s construction — the theme of the essay contest. It would not have been an outlandish request. After all, I did teach college-level history, political science, and geography courses in western New York. In truth, it’s more likely that my colleagues were doing the praying. The hour was getting late, and I couldn’t be trusted to take the Fifth.


