Or that juror Jill Burton knelt down in her home and prayed for wisdom only to be thwarted by an 11th-hour settlement between the state and the tobacco industry.

And, in all the lighthearted speculation and bafflement about the alleged ``disappearance'' of tobacco trial judge Kenneth Fitzpatrick after the trial, no one saw juror Dorothy Hallen burst into tears driven by frustration in her St. Paul home.

``I'm trying to stay out of that `poor-me' syndrome,'' Hallen, 44, said of the settlement that robbed her of a chance to complete her work as a juror in Minnesota's historic tobacco trial. ``But the feeling kind of sneaks up on me and overwhelms me. And I feel betrayed.''

Olson described his feelings as ``frustration and anger.'' And Burton said she felt ripped off by the settlement that was hailed by Attorney General Hubert Humphrey III and others as a victory for the state of Minnesota and its citizens.

However defined, Minnesota's tobacco jurors unceremoniously were shown the door just as they were about to decide the largest civil case in the state's history. It hurts, but it is not at all unusual, national jury experts say.

In fact, too little attention nationally has been paid to the needs of the ordinary citizens who sacrifice their personal lives -- and in some cases their livelihoods -- for months at a time to decide cases, according to jury experts and a national study to be released this summer.

Moreover, among the most frustrated jurors in any case -- criminal or civil -- are those deprived of a chance to reach a verdict by a settlement such as the one in Minnesota's tobacco trial, said Thomas Munsterman, director of the Center for Jury Studies at the National Center for State Courts in Williamsburg, Va.

That kind of stress can haunt jurors long after notepads are closed and television cameras are turned off. It can lead to physical and emotional problems, disrupt trials, and make prospective jurors reluctant to serve, experts say.

``This is a group of people that went from king of the hill to everyday life in a second without closure,'' he said of the 12 tobacco jurors. ``It's utter frustration to build for deliberation and then fail to get there. It's like devoting all your energies to preparing for a final exam and something unexpected happens and you miss it.

``There always are thoughts about what we would have done, and were we simply pawns in the process,'' he said.

High cost of civic duty

The settlement hasn't freed him from feeling manipulated by the tobacco trial. But the cigarette allows him some breathing room.

Civic duty had turned into a financial quagmire for Olson, an estimator for a small mechanical contractor, and his daughters, Amber, 14, and Krystyna, 12.

Four-and-a-half months ago, he had completed building his White Bear Lake home, from the foundation up, on land that he shared with his brother Chris. He was busy at work and at home, raising his daughters.

He wasn't concerned when he received notice of jury duty, because his boss said he would have a job when he returned. He didn't think any trial could last more than two weeks. But when it became apparent he was in line for Minnesota's mammoth tobacco trial, he panicked.

His boss would not pay him for his time away from work. Nor would his creditors agree to wait. And, in a twist of fate, his application to Ramsey County for food stamps to feed his family during the trial was denied, he said.

With only $600 a month coming in from his jury stipend, with his mortgage company threatening to foreclose on his home loan and credit card companies hounding him for payment, Olson said he appealed to the court for a letter to his creditors. That, too, was denied, he said.

Eventually, he was able to refinance his home -- at a higher interest rate -- and pay off three of his creditors. But he no longer can buy anything on credit, he said.

``I got to the point that I wouldn't answer the phone,'' he said. ``And the stress on the kids was incredible. Every little thing that happened, I would bark at them.''

Even though jurors weren't supposed to discuss their personal problems, his tight-knit peers found a way to give him $125 in Rainbow Food coupons toward the end of the trial, he said as his eyes misted over.

A story without an end

``People still walk up to me and say what a waste of time it all was,'' said Hallen, 44 and a self-employed cosmetologist. ``I still feel a sense of betrayal.''

Hallen, who worked nights and weekends to catch up on time lost because of the trial and who took copious notes on the nearly 3,000 tobacco documents she viewed during the trial, now finds herself in a daze, overwhelmed by sadness.

``We were so close to that moment,'' she said. ``I still want to know what the others were thinking.''

Burton, 37, of Mounds View, agreed that the curiosity still is killing her.

``I'd like to say that I still trust the system,'' said Burton, a legal secretary who received her regular wages during the trial with the caveat that she reimburse her company the $30-a-day jury stipend. ``I think we should have been allowed to decide the case. It would have been the right thing to do.''

Like Olson and Hallen, Burton put her life and her family on hold for the duration of the trial. A family vacation was missed. Tending to her family after eight hours in the jury box exhausted her. But like her colleagues, she would do it again if she gets to finish the job.

``I guess I felt ripped off,'' she said. ``That morning (of the settlement) we were picked up in a van. Our bags were packed, and we were ready to be sequestered.

``I literally got down on my knees and prayed for wisdom,'' she recalled. ``I thought, `This is it.' Then to have it all fall apart. It was very disappointing. I kept saying, `Wait a minute. This is our time.' ''

The jurors are planning to get together shortly to finish the job informally. It's something they need to do for themselves, she said. The pats on the back from Fitzpatrick and the tobacco lawyers still ring hollow.

After all, Fitzpatrick probably is off on a well-earned vacation and possible retirement, although neither Ramsey County Chief Judge Lawrence Cohen nor the courthouse grapevine knew where Fitzpatrick was last week. ``If you find out, let me know,'' Cohen told a reporter.

My dad, the juror

Blue Cross and Blue Shield of Minnesota, another plaintiff in the case, also is being targeted by various interest groups for pieces of the $469 million the company landed from the tobacco industry over five years.

And, while they still are being portrayed as heroes in the tobacco war, the state's attorneys must be thinking about how to spend the more than $440 million they will get over three years.

But Hallen and her colleagues find little comfort in the $30 a day they earned as part of the jury because they were not allowed to finish their work. Such frustration is not unusual among jurors throughout the country, Munsterman and others say.

A national study of jury stress by the National Center for State Courts is expected to recommend that judges and other court officials pay greater attention to the emotional needs of jurors. That is particularly important in cases where their work is circumvented by a settlement of some sort, said Pam Casey, the center's associate director of research.

The study recommendations will encourage judges to allow jurors to participate more fully in the trial, by allowing them to funnel questions they may have to the judge, attorneys and witnesses, she said.

Obviously, making them feel welcome is another common-sense suggestion to reduce juror stress, as well as offering debriefing sessions -- with mental health professionals if necessary -- after they are dismissed.

The study examined juries in Ramsey and Hennepin counties along with courts in Arizona, California, Maryland, Pennsylvania and Tennessee. It will not, however, make recommendations on financial compensation for jurors.

``For the most part, the jurors reported they thought it was a good experience overall,'' Casey said. ``Yes, it was a problem for most financially, but it was one they were willing to forgo if they viewed the jury as a valued civic duty.''

Even Olson, as he sits next to his glass-covered kitchen table and exhales the last of his cigarette, is proud he sat on the jury. As he reflects on the experience, Amber wanders by to ask what he wants for dinner.

``Tell him about the school project,'' he said.

Amber and her classmates were asked to describe their parents' occupations. The most interesting report would win a small prize. Amber won with a description of her father, ``The Juror.''