Capen spread his deputies that evening through Brookline, Needham, Dedham, Norwood, Millis, Medway, Stoughton, and Quincy. They struck at random, ringing doorbells when they saw lights in windows, sometimes summonsing luckless veniremen from their beds. They consulted assessors’ lists, voting lists, any list they could get their hands on. In Needham nine unsuspecting men were picked up coming out of a Masonic meeting. Deputy Allen Loring broke up a band concert at Hollis Field, Braintree. Norman Gardenier of Quincy was whisked away from his wedding supper. In spite of all this, Capen managed to seine in only 175 indignant additions. He hoped they would suffice. The defense still had twenty-nine challenges left.
Judge Thayer decided to remain in session until the jury was finally chosen, no matter what the hour. Not until after midnight was the selection finished. The five additional jurors were Harry King of Millis, a shoemaker; George Gerard, a Stoughton photographer; Alfred Atwood, a Norwood real estate dealer; Frank McNamara, a Stoughton farmer; and Seward Parker, a Quincy machinist. By the time Parker’s name was called the defense had used up all its challenges. Katzmann affably offered to challenge Parker if Moore had any objection to him, but Moore declined.
No sooner had the left-over veniremen been excused than Moore objected to the five new jurors of the completed panel on the grounds that none of them were bystanders, according to the meaning of the statute. In the clammy courtroom the attendants and deputies yawned and the district attorney fiddled with a blotter while Moore developed his lengthy quibble. Judge Thayer overruled Moore on every point. At 1:20 A.M. he ordered the jurymen brought in and sworn. “The jury is in bed,” a deputy sheriff told him.
Thayer’s voice rose two notes. “Who allowed them to go to bed? Bring them in!”
A few minutes later, bleary-eyed and bristly, the twelve trudged in to take their seats in the box. Several of them were collarless, their shirts open. Two wore felt slippers. Thayer gave them the conventional warning. He also advised them to get plenty of exercise. In conclusion he told them that they must “see to it that a trial is held according to American law and according to American justice and nothing must be done by anybody to mar or impair a fair, honest trial.” The jurors then took their oath and the court adjourned until Monday morning at ten o’clock.
The jurors slept late on Saturday, June 4, took a walk by the Charles River in the afternoon accompanied by a squad of deputies, and in the evening read the Boston papers. All references to the trial had been snipped out, and they made the unhappy discovery that most of the sports news had been on the back of what was cut.
The twelve soon formed their habit patterns. Dever found himself going to bed at nine and waking at five. He spent a lot of time reading old National Geographics. The older jurors usually played cards; Dever preferred listening to the Victrola. There were a lot of records that he liked: Van and Schenk, and the All-Star Trio; songs like “Dardenella,” “Whispering,” “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles.” After he had cranked the Victrola a few times, though, the card-players would begin to look over at him as if to say “Don’t you think you’ve played enough for tonight?” Then he would go back to the Geographics.
On their first Sunday they just sat around their made-over courtroom. Since they all had to stay together and could go only to one church, they decided not to go to any. They had breakfast at the Dedham Inn on Court Street beyond the Episcopal church and dinner at the Haven House just across the way; in the afternoon they went for a bus ride.
Monday was hot, a blue clear prelude to summer. The jury, after being polled in the courtroom, spent the rest of the day viewing the various locations connected with the South Braintree crime. A cavalcade of eight cars drove from place to place, carrying not only the jury but also the judge, the district attorney, and two carloads of newspaper reporters.