Without a Doubt (73 page)

In recent months I’ve watched members of Simpson’s defense team try in their various ways to distance themselves from the race issue. Tune in to late-night TV talk, and you’ll never hear them brag about what a clever move it was steering that kid from
The New Yorker
to the Fuhrman story. They’ve all been remarkably silent about that—with the exception of Alan Dershowitz, who has made some of the most baldly ill-considered comments I have heard on national airwaves.

Last December, while appearing as a guest commentator on
Rivera Live
, Dershowitz proclaimed that the defense had never really played the “race card,” only the “perjury card.” In this revisionist reality, we’re asked to believe that it was really just Mark Fuhrman’s
denial
of using racial epithets the defense was concerned about. Which conveniently ignores the fact that the Dream Team was arguing for the right to introduce the term “nigger” at least two months before Fuhrman even took the witness stand. Dershowitz was hooted off the screen by fellow commentators.

Make no mistake about it, this so-called Dream Team
played the race card
. I’d just like to ask those guys a question: Did it ever occur to you, as you broke your buns getting your spoiled, rich, sadistic jerk of a client acquitted, that you might just be putting public safety at risk? Whole neighborhoods of Los Angeles—and other cities—could have gone down in flames, Johnnie, because of your irresponsible, inflammatory rhetoric. And no amount of revisionist fast talk is going to change the fact that you guys pandered to racial hatred in order to win. You took a jury itching to avenge Rodney King and incited it to nullify the law. The result was a miscarriage of justice, which, in turn, left many whites gunning for payback.

In November 1996, California voters went to the polls and did something unthinkable: they voted to do away with affirmative action programs in this state. Think about that. Twenty years of social reforms blown away like ashes in the wind. I’m not alone in believing that Proposition 209 would never have stood an ice cube’s chance in hell if white Californians had not been so infuriated by the Simpson verdict. There’s all kinds of ways to riot: in the streets or at the ballot box. That’s the problem with payback. It never stops.

As you might imagine, I followed O. J. Simpson’s civil trial with bittersweet fascination. I like the idea that O. J. Simpson has been found “liable,” as they say in civil law, for the deaths of Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown Simpson. Given the circumstances of those deaths, you can’t very well hold him “liable” unless you buy the proposition that he slashed them to death. Bottom line, murder.

A civil trial, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, is a whole different ballgame. You’ve got a different standard of proof: “preponderance of evidence” instead of “reasonable doubt.” In a civil case, you can present the kinds of evidence we could only dream about. I’m thinking of Nicole’s diary and the results of O. J. Simpson’s failed polygraph.

But the plaintiffs had something even better going the second time around. Public opinion was running against O. J. Simpson. The ramifications of that fact resonated throughout the proceedings. For the duration of the criminal trial, the aura of wealth and public acclaim still clung to defendant Simpson so stubbornly that even as he sat a prisoner in the dock, prospective witnesses pulled their punches, afraid of offending him. If they were sycophants or hangers-on, they didn’t want to cut off the flow of his largesse. If they were honest-to-goodness admirers, they didn’t want to be “the one” to bring him down.

After the criminal verdict, when public opinion turned abruptly against him, these same witnesses stuck a finger in the air, caught the shift in the wind, and altered their testimony accordingly. I couldn’t believe it when I heard Kato Kaelin, who has apparently learned to speak in complete sentences, telling the world how distraught Simpson appeared on the night of the murders. And I regarded with absolute disgust the videotape of Paula Barbieri’s deposition. When questioned by our office during the Al Cowlings investigation, she wouldn’t even admit that she was Simpson’s girlfriend. Now she’s gabbing that she’d broken up with him the day of the murders.

Even more upsetting to me was the behavior of the expert witnesses. For the plaintiffs, Dr. Werner Spitz, the former chief medical examiner of Wayne County, Michigan, made himself available. We were never able to get him to do the same for us. And those scientific hotshots who’d renounced integrity to swap spit with the defense team? Dr. Henry Lee did not show his face in Santa Monica. Defense lawyers had to content themselves with introducing his videotaped deposition. And Dr. Michael Baden, who’d postulated during the criminal trial that the assailant had struggled with his victims for ten to fifteen minutes—an absurdly exaggerated estimate that gave credence to the defense time line—conceded during his testimony at the civil trial that the murders could have been committed in half that time.

Then, of course, there’s the fact that O. J. Simpson
had
to testify this time around. As I predicted, his ego tripped him up big-time.

But the biggest blessing by far to drop into the plaintiffs’ laps was a judge who took the reins tightly in that courtroom. Hiroshi Fujisaki kept cross-examination confined to the scope of the direct, as it should be. So the defense never got to play its case through the plaintiffs’ witnesses. Most important, Fujisaki firmly refused to let race or Mark Fuhrman become an issue in this trial. The wild speculation that formed the cornerstone of the defense in the criminal case was now finally deemed inadmissible. Thank God for a judge with backbone.

While I hope the civil judgment has brought some peace to the victims’ families, it leaves me with some lingering concerns. What kind of message does this verdict really send? That whenever you have a black defendant whom you simply
must
convict, you gotta be sure he’s tried by white people? I felt a little queasy at the public rejoicing when a black juror in Santa Monica was booted for having a purported drinking problem. The ideal worth striving for, it seems to me, is that justice can be done in any venue, with any defendant. And for that to happen, there’s going to have to be some serious rethinking of the jury system.

I am not a social theorist, but I do have a few informed suggestions. In order for the jury system to survive, we have to do something to ensure that every jury pool contains a true cross section of the community—not the most underemployed, least-invested segment of it. That means when a lawyer goes to pick a jury, she’s looking at a room full of doctors, engineers, full-time moms and dads, teachers, students, secretaries, college chancellors, postal workers, supermarket cashiers. You need that whole range. I wouldn’t want a jury of Ph.D.s any more than I’d want a jury of high school drop-outs.

The way it stands now, a lot of thoughtful employed citizens who have an interest in seeing that justice works can’t afford to leave their jobs for eight months at a stretch. Somehow, some way, employers, the government,
somebody
is going to have to foot the bill for careful, honest, intelligent jurors to perform unlimited duty. The business lobby will shriek bloody murder at this. But the next time you hear some CEO on a soapbox complaining about how the Simpson jurors couldn’t cut it, please remind him that you get the justice you pay for.

At the risk of sounding preachy, let me offer one earnest, and very personal, admonishment. The next time you receive a jury summons, respond and serve. A summons is not some party invitation to which you can RSVP. It is the notification of a legal and moral obligation. Don’t complain about the verdicts that juries bring in if you won’t answer the call. Enough said.

Other suggestions? Lawyers should be gagged, pure and simple. There’ll always be leaks, but a judge with resolve can dream up sufficiently painful sanctions to make an attorney think twice before taking the risk. Next, kick cameras out of the courtroom. I didn’t always feel this way. In fact, I started the Simpson trial believing that cameras could actually serve a useful purpose. Can you believe it—I thought they could teach the public what real trials are all about. The performance of the media in this case disabused me totally of that notion. The cameras in the Simpson courtroom not only encouraged lawyers to preen for the lens and prolong the life of every goddamned motion to increase their time on the air, it reduced a criminal trial to the status of a sporting event. Court TV has given rise to a bizarre burlesque of half-time commentary according to which one side or the other has “won” or “lost” on any given day. A criminal case is not won or lost by the motion or by the day. Its outcome is determined by weeks and months of cumulative testimony. Until someone yanks the cameras, the public will continue to be systematically miseducated about the process of justice.

Other small things spring to mind, such as stricter rules of evidence to keep defense attorneys from slipping so much swill into the record. But more regulations, new laws are not the answer. Laws are only as good as the people—the judges—who enforce them. There were ample laws on the books to keep Lance Ito from allowing the N-word into
People v. Orenthal James Simpson
. But he did it anyway. He caved to the bullying of the defense, and in committing that single egregious error, he assured a hung jury, if not acquittal.

I found the process of writing this book cathartic. It was painful at first having to get up every day to relive the stress, anxiety, and exhaustion of that marathon. But it was worth it. The more I wrote, the more my vision cleared. And as that happened, the sense of guilt lifted. In going back through the case day by grueling day, I rediscovered not only the pain but the exhilaration. Being forced to reexamine those months made me appreciate how hard we all fought, against impossible odds, to elicit justice from that jury.

In the future I will want to tell my sons about this case. And when I do, I will be able to hand them this book and say, “This is my story. Your mother was not perfect, but she had conviction. She fought with every ounce of strength for what she thought was right.”

It’s all we can ever do.

—February 28, 1997

A
cknowledgments

To the Brown and Goldman families: My deepest sympathies and gratitude for your support and understanding. I want to especially thank Fred, Patti, and Kim for their unswerving loyalty and kindness throughout this ordeal. I hope the sun is shining for you now.

To all the people who were so kind and thoughtful as to send letters, faxes, presents, and messages to show their support: You lifted my spirits and helped me get through the long, lonely days and nights. Thank you all.

To the real Dream Team: William Hodgman—you are a true friend, a team player, and a helluva lawyer. Hank Goldberg—the word “trouper” was invented for you. Your soul and brilliance were a constant source of strength and inspiration. Scott Gordon—a dear friend whose dedication and insight were indispensable to the case, and to me. Bless you and your wonderful wife, Lisa. Cheri Lewis—who innocently befriended me before the case and got repaid with a spot on the Simpson team. Your loyalty, talent, and inexhaustible energy cannot be overstated. I will be forever grateful to you. It was a joy to work with you—and we’re still having fun, hey girlfriend? Brian Kelberg—my guru. I’ve been blessed to have had the privilege of your advice and your friendship over the years. Your work was a source of pride and inspiration to us all. I wish you only the best; you deserve nothing less. Lisa Kahn thank you, Lisa, for teaching me so patiently, for making me laugh till my sides ached, for being a friend, and for your excellent work. Lydia Bodin—for your help on the domestic violence evidence, it’s been great working with you. George “Woody” Clarke and Rockne Harmon—I really can’t thank you guys enough for your brilliant work. It was an honor to have you as colleagues. Alan Yochelson, Terry White, Pat Dixon, and John Zajec—your work behind the scenes, investigating, advising, and just being supportive, was great. You’re terrific guys. Letty Minjares, my former secretary/assistant, and Cathy Ozawa—I was so lucky to get to work with you, both on the case and before. You’re both gems. The young lawyers: Dana Escobar, my dragon-slaying assistant—you were dynamite; you’re going to tear them up in court. Kenneth Lynch, Diana Martinez, David Wooden, Darrel Mavis, and Michael Runyon—you were real pros who knew how to give heart and soul. The newest lawyers: Tracy Miller—special thanks to you, Tracy, for all your help on this book after that grueling trial. Natalie Agajanian, Melissa Decker, Kathy Behfarin, Susan Dozier, Lisa Fox, Michael Price, Matthew Gibbs, and Tom Ratanavaraha—your energy, optimism, and support were unparalleled. Gavin de Becker—how many times have you come to my rescue? You are a rare and special man.

The L.A. County District Attorney investigators: Michael Stevens, Dana Thompson, Pat McPherson, Steve Oppler, Jack Gonterman, George Mueller, Bill Guidas, Brian Hale, Will Abrams, Ken Godinez, Mike Armstrong—for your outstanding investigative work, but even more for keeping us safe. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Lieutenant Gary Schram—God bless you, Gary. You were my guardian angel. I don’t know what I would have done without you.

To my friends on the LAPD—it’s been a real privilege to know you and to work with you. Thank you all.

To Media Relations—Maria Pollerana and Elka Woerner, for your dedication and understanding. Sandi Gibbons—it sure was great working with you, we’ve had some good times. I miss you. Suzanne Childs—I can’t count all the times you ran interference for me, nor can I repay you. Just know that my gratitude is endless.

Chris—for being there when I needed you, for knowing what to say when it counted, for marching through hell with me. Thank you, partner.

To all my friends in the D.A.‘s office—I’ve loved working with you and I’m proud to have known you. Gil Garcetti—there couldn’t have been a boss more understanding or supportive. It’s been an honor to have worked for you. C.H.—my former colleague, for your wisdom, support, and friendship. Bless you.