I was on my way to the third floor of the Benton County Courthouse to begin my two-month stint as a grand juror when I met Karen Zorn, a local defense attorney.

Upon learning of my assignment, Karen warned me, “Just don’t be a rubber stamp for the DA.”

Her words carried great weight because Karen spent 12 years as a prosecuting attorney here in Benton County. She knows the system from both ends.

A few days later, I read a quote about grand juries that also concerned me, this one ascribed to Judge Sol Wachtler, former chief judge of New York state. He is believed to have said, “A prosecutor could persuade a grand jury to indict a ham sandwich.”

I don’t remember indicting any sandwiches, but our grand jury certainly started out uncertain, dependent upon the prosecutors for everything.

They presented summaries of each case and then conducted questioning of witnesses and law enforcement folks. We jurors were also allowed to ask questions.

After the prosecutor gave his or her summary and the witnesses were questioned, the prosecutor left the grand jurors to deliberate.

We could designate the charges a “true bill,” resulting in an indictment and subsequent criminal proceedings, or we could vote a “no true bill,” meaning the evidence did not support an indictment.

At first, we were loathe to let the prosecutors out of our sight.

Although no one actually said, “Please don’t go,” I’m sure the prosecutors felt like parents of kindergartners, trying to leave their children on the first day of school. “You’ll be all right. Now please let go of my leg!”

There are legal limitations on the types of evidence prosecutors can present to the grand jury, and as closely as most of the prosecutors adhered to the rules, they are in the business of obtaining indictments.

Some, like District Attorney John Haroldson and his chief deputy, Chris Stringer (whom we nicknamed the “Energizer Bunny” for his high intensity approach), were strictly proper.

Another tried to lead us more forcefully. Yet another seemed to make regular mistakes in case summaries. Those mistakes, while perhaps understandable individually, formed a pattern over time. They always led the jurors toward an assumption of guilt, never innocence.

We learned to become less trusting. We read the law more carefully and became more aggressive in our own witness interrogation.

Gradually, we became comfortable in our roles.

Our questions became more intelligent and probing. We no longer were dependent on the prosecutors and we became jealous of our responsibility and power.

Twice we grew tired of a prosecutor attempting to impose his will on us and invited him to leave.

“We’ll let you know when we’ve reached a decision.” We were no longer indicting ham sandwiches.

As we entered our second month, the grand jury hit its stride. We still debated difficult cases extensively, but our discussions were rarely long, drawn-out affairs.

The mutual respect we’d developed lent weight to each person’s opinion and any one of us could influence the final decision with a strong argument.

We were a living example of the saying, “None of us is as smart as all of us.”

We were comfortable as well with the finer points of the law. On several occasions, we added charges the prosecutors had chosen not to include.

We had our own stamp — and it was not rubber.

At the end of our time as grand jurors, each of us experienced a sense of relief — and of loss.

I felt good, knowing that an inexperienced group of imperfect people came together with the help of imperfect prosecutors in an imperfect system to contribute fairness and balance to as good a legal process as can be found anywhere in the world.

We in Benton County are well served by our process and our people.

Pat Wray is a free-lance writer and longtime local resident. His general-interest columns can be found in this section on Fridays. He can be reached at patwray@comcast.net.