Contrary to the prosecution ’s plea, the jury wasn ’t there to do justice on behalf of Nicole Brown or Ron Goldman. Contrary to the defense ’s plea, they weren ’t there to do justice for past wrongs to black Americans. They were there to decide one thing only. Had the People proved O.J. Simpson guilty of first-degree or second-degree murder beyond a reasonable doubt?
I contend that the same result would have been reached if they ’d spent two months in deliberation, poring through each witness ’s direct and cross-examined testimony, every item of evidence, and seeing, over and over again, the areas of real and reasonable doubt. I stand by that contention not just on behalf of this jury, but on behalf of any other jury of twelve impartial citizens you want to place in the jury room and present with this case.
I never believed that O.J. Simpson was being victimized by a racist police organization because he was black. I didn ’t believe that his life and career had ever been viewed as a symbol of black America or that he was seen as a black hero. He was a brilliantly talented sports legend, a charmingly successful commercial spokesman, a sometime movie actor, and to many, an American hero; hence, my hope and intention that race would not be a deciding factor in the case.
Not until the media began separating out their poll queries—what black Americans think, what white Americans think—did the case begin to split down racial lines. Racism also rode in on the back of Mark Fuhrman ’s credibility. Who or what Fuhrman hated wasn ’t pertinent except to the degree that it pointed to his credibility as a witness—and, not incidentally, to the credibility of the entire L.A.P.D. As one sheriff ’s deputy said in a letter to me after the trial, “When he stated he never used the n word, we knew he was in deep fecal matter.”
Mark Fuhrman should never have been investigating a crime in June 1994. He should have long since been shown the door by his police colleagues and supervisors, who knew what he was and turned a blind eye to that. Is he credible? Not very. At the very least, he lied; at the worst, he planted evidence. However, Fuhrman is an anomaly. He ’s neither a typical cop nor a typical American. And where else except in Hollywood will you find a rogue cop undone by an aspiring screenwriter?
Our country has experienced a great deal of growth in race relations since the civil rights movement. Granted, not enough. We are not color-blind. In fact, the question increasingly raised is whether Americans should be color blind, which would imply a denial of color rather than respect and acknowledgment of the diversity of individuals. But whatever gains we ’ve made have been more than set back by the polarization that grew out of this case. As Jimmy Breslin wrote, “The devil played the race card on the day the world began, and now, all these centuries later, it ’s still on the table.”
When the Fuhrman tapes were released, black America ’s response was “I told you so.” White America ’s response was “I don ’t believe it.” We still, it seems, have a lot to learn about each other.
As for fortune and fame: Contrary to headlines, there were no fortunes made here. Indeed, all the defense attorneys and experts are still owed large sums of money. Throughout my time on this case, I had a law practice to maintain, with law associates and employees to pay, and all the expenses of running an office. I sustained that practice with loans, not from any money I received from O.J. Simpson. I ’m not complaining about economics, however. I ’ve been blessed in the practice of law and my success in it.
As for fame: I ’ve had clients who, because of their celebrity, must live their whole lives in their homes, and those homes are behind walls. They don ’t go out for dinner or to malls or amusement parks, they don ’t go to watch their kids play sports. Their entertainment is inside their own walls; if you want to see them, you go there.
I never understood that way of life. I thought it had more to do with Hollywood than reality, and that these people were either eccentric or arrogant. And then I saw the flip side. When even panhandlers call you by your first name, it ’s hard to ever have privacy again. Fortunately, most people who come up and greet me on the street are wonderfully kind and respectful.
However, the autonomy that comes with privacy is gone, and with constant scrutiny comes constant judgment. I am occasionally taken aback when an angry voice shouts “Guilty!” from across a street, especially when my wife and children are with me.
Add to that the constant attacking nature of the thousands of words written about all the lawyers, and it becomes easier to understand the downside of a case with this kind of notoriety. Said Andrea Ford of the Los Angeles Times: “What I found most disturbing has been the attitude in the press corps and in newsrooms that is anti-defense. A disdainful, dismissive attitude taken toward the defense… automatically seen as sleazy and dishonest.… The prosecution is automatically seen as virtuous.”
Was this the Trial of the Century? I don ’t know. Consider the Lindbergh kidnapping, the trial of the Rosenbergs, the Chicago Seven, the Watergate hearings, Oliver North, Iran-Contra, and any number of gruesome murder trials such as Manson and Dahmer. Certainly the Nuremberg trial fifty years ago was a legal arena where mankind and morality were put under a bigger—and ultimately more important—spotlight than was ever shone on the O.J. Simpson case. If anything, the Simpson trial was the Media Trial of the Century.
There are fourteen hundred murders in Los Angeles County each year. This trial was about one of them, made larger (in scale, not in import) by its celebrity, by the issues it raised, and by being televised. Millions of people learned about sidebars, the nature of objections to testimony, sanctions on lawyers, the First Amendment versus the Fourth—in short, the process, however unwieldy, of a criminal trial. It was a remarkable civics lesson.
In the trial ’s wake, we ’ll continue to debate the social, cultural, and legal issues it raised long after the spotlight has moved on to something else. However, there is nothing in or about this trial to occasion either an overhaul or eulogy for the American system of justice.
When this case began, I made a commitment to O.J. and Skip Taft that I would devote all my energies and resources to the defense, and I did that. I ’m proud of the stance and positions I took. I knew that the case would provide the pinnacle of my career as a criminal defense lawyer; at any rate, I suspected that it would be the last major criminal case I would try. The experience was grueling, not unlike going through surgery. You know you ’ll feel better once it ’s all over, but you can ’t imagine how you ’ll get through it while it ’s going on.
Like any other life experience with peaks and valleys, time will help me continue to put it in perspective. As a name partner in a major law firm, I ’m now looking forward to new and different challenges, ones that don ’t include the day-to-day roller coaster rides of a criminal defense attorney.
As for my family, we ’re gradually returning to what used to pass for normal. Thanks to the patience and forebearance of my law partners, we ’ve had time to spend together. Working on this book has given me many reasons to think of my family with a heightened awareness of their great importance to my life. Fortunately, my parents are in great health, and I have the luxury of spending more time with them as well. My focus now is on growing into the future with my boys as they become men, and in renewing the relationship with my wife.
The difficulties that Linell endured during those months were enormous, and starkly different from my own. As a woman raising two sons, she often found herself empathizing or identifying with each of the three families—the Browns, the Goldmans, the Simpsons—in ways that were particularly painful to her. She made no secret of wanting me to leave the case, yet she knew I would not, and struggled to support me in that decision. She had private doubts, public courage, and even at her angriest never stopped being my champion. She is a strong, independent woman, and her overall attitude toward life has always been a positive one. I love her dearly and hope that one day soon she will say that at the very least, the experience taught us something about ourselves as a couple, as parents, and as a family.
As for that dinner that Judge Ito had hoped for, I suspect it won ’t ever take place.
I haven ’t seen or talked to Johnnie Cochran since immediately after the verdict, and I was not included on the list of those invited to attend a Christmas celebration with the jurors. I brought Cochran into this case knowing full well that he was a leader. We differed in many areas of strategy and I wasn ’t surprised that he tried to take over; in fact, he had every right to do so. Unlike the friendship between Lee Bailey and me, Johnnie and I had no longtime personal bond, no preexisting relationship. Just because I brought him in didn ’t mean he had to be loyal to me at the expense of what he thought was best for this client and for this case. Nor did it mean he had to be in any way subservient to me or my judgment. He moved ahead and made decisions as he thought fit, and he gained O.J. ’s confidence in the bargain. That ’s what happens when a team defense, which was essential to the success of this case, is employed. That ’s not to say I don ’t regret the tensions, the words spoken in anger or disappointment, or some of the ultimate choices that Cochran made. I acknowledge the strength of his ability, and the risks he chooses to take as a man and as an attorney; however, I won ’t work with him again.
I did see Judge Ito at a fundraiser for a local judge sponsored by the Chinese American Bar Association, and we had our picture taken together. We shared a few private moments there and we agreed that someday the two of us would sit down and have the long talk that ’s been so long in coming.
I ’ve spoken with Chris Darden at two or three charity events and congratulated him on his courage and hard work. He was looking forward to a year-long sabbatical, working on his own book, and going back to teaching. His students will be fortunate to have him as a teacher and mentor.
Barry Scheck and Peter Neufeld returned to New York, where their Innocence Project will push science and advocacy as far as the system will allow.
One day I ran into Marcia Clark at a restaurant. She was having lunch with her agent, Norman Brokaw, the genial and gracious chairman of the William Morris Agency. During the trial, Brokaw had often raised the possibility of my being represented by William Morris. Flattered by his attention, I nevertheless felt at the time that it was too soon for me to make a decision that required careful thought and some perspective. Now, when I passed the table where they were sitting, I greeted them both. Brokaw extended his hand. Marcia, however, turned her head away and concentrated on the menu in front of her.
I saw Bill Hodgman at a reception for his assistant, and my dear friend, Norman Shapiro, who had been appointed as a judge of the superior court. I talked with Bill at great length, and I hope to do it many more times. I suspect that he, Judge Ito, and I would have a lot to talk about.
And finally, I spoke with O.J. not long ago. He asked my advice about life after the trial, and I willingly gave it. However, we were not friends before the case; as is common in a criminal representation, it was a one-time thing. I suspect our relationship will be what it was before: professional acquaintances in a large city. Our professional business relationship ended the day the verdict came back. We never had a personal relationship before, and we won ’t have one in the future.
Acknowledgments
The transcript for the O.J. Simpson trial totals more than fifty thousand pages; the pages of this book seemed just as daunting when I first confronted the possibility of writing them. This book was in no way intended to be the definitive book on the Simpson case. If such a book exists, it will be written by any of the numerous and talented writers who watched the drama unfold both in- and outside the courtroom, and whose perspective and purpose differ significantly from my own.
The attorney-client privilege is one of the most sacred, if not the most sacred, tenets of the law. It allows an individual to freely consult with a lawyer on a confidential basis, knowing that the communication between them cannot be divulged. In that respect, it resembles the communication between doctor and patient, priest and penitent.
The privilege is held by the client, not by the lawyer, and only the client can waive it. It attaches at the moment the client first seeks legal assistance, and it doesn ’t cease unless and until the client says it does. Even when communication between lawyer and client is positive—that is, reflecting positively on that client, or supporting a theory of his innocence—it remains privileged.
The privilege, and my respect for it, governed the writing of this book. I cannot share confidences. I can take the reader into a room; I cannot, in all instances, repeat what was said there. Readers should not draw negative conclusions from what they think may or may not be missing from this narrative. This is not the story of O.J. Simpson ’s innocence or guilt; rather, it is about my experience of the months between June 1994 and October 1995, and the resulting effects on me, my wife and family, our friends and colleagues.
With hindsight, the Simpson case might not have been the best one for me to take. In retrospect, I am proud of my work on it. It ’s an experience I wouldn ’t want to duplicate; it ’s also one I wouldn ’t have wanted to miss. In the wake of the verdict, there were a lot of stories being told, a great deal of second-guessing, and not a few bittersweet feelings. I received many letters and phone calls, some laudatory, some critical, some kind, some not. One call in particular meant a great deal. It came from my friend and colleague Alan Dershowitz, who phoned my wife, Linell, after he saw me on Larry King ’s show. “I was there from the beginning of this case, I know what went on behind the scenes,” he told her. “And Bob was the architect.”
My great thanks go to the following people:
My wife, Linell, and my two boys, Brent and Grant, for their public grace, their private patience, and their love.
My parents, Marty and Mary, who worked so hard and sacrificed greatly for my education. They instilled in me the values that were important to them and that I maintain today, and they gave me the confidence that I could accomplish anything I set my mind to do.
The dear friends who have always been there for me, many of them from grammar-school days, who are never reluctant to remind me of what is real and good in this life.
Bonnie Barron, my longtime assistant, who during the Simpson case put in as many hours as any of the lawyers, virtually seven days a week for seventeen months, without ever losing her common sense or humor; and my talented associates, Sara Caplan, always available, day or night, and Karen Filipi, who virtually ran our criminal practice while I was in trial.
This book was made possible through the encouragement of my dear friends film critic Joel Siegel, who has been cheering me on since the sixth grade; Michael Nasatir and Larry Feldman, my twin consciences and advisors; and Christine Forsyth-Peters, who not only insisted I write it but personally interviewed literary agents and then introduced me to Sterling Lord, to whom I am deeply indebted. Sterling agreed that the book would not be auctioned to the highest bidder but placed instead with a leading publishing house and a superb editor. That goal was more than achieved with Larry Kirshbaum and Warner Books. Larkin Warren, my collaborator, knew what questions to ask, when and how hard to push, and how to wrestle a voluminous amount of material into something readable.
Finally, I want to acknowledge the lawyers and partners of Christensen, White, Miller, Fink, Jacobs, Glaser and Shapiro, who treated me like a partner long before I was one, who allowed me virtually total access to their vast resources, their brainpower, their insight, and the physical facilities that allowed me to defend this case.
THE SEARCH FOR JUSTICE
From June 13, 1994, to October 3, 1995, Robert Shapiro stood in the middle of a drama that held millions of Americans in thrall. Now for the first time, the architect of the defense strategy tells the inside story of the O.J. Simpson trial from the beginning. In this book, the man who assembled the “dream team” answers the questions of fact, law, and ethics that were fired at him before and after the jury ’s verdict. With candor, wit, and compassion, Shapiro brings to light the details of
what has been called “the trial of the century,” giving us revealing glimpses of the defendant and the others whose names became so familiar: Johnnie Cochran, F. Lee Bailey, Marcia Clark, Barry Scheck, Chris Darden, and Judge Lance Ito.
At the heart of the book is the dramatic story of how Shapiro planned the defense strategy against what appeared to be overwhelming odds. Within minutes of his first meeting with O.J., he started “thinking like the prosecution,” lining up a powerful arsenal of lawyers, investigators, and expert witnesses to counter what the prosecution claimed was an open-and-shut case. In the midst of mounting the legal defense, Shapiro also had to deal with the tumult of a media circus, a fractious defense team, and his own priorities as a husband and father. Through it all, he maintained a steady hand and the quiet belief that justice would prevail. Confronting the prosecution ’s “mountain of evidence,” Shapiro and his defense team uncovered the elements of reasonable doubt in the faulty handling of blood samples and other mistakes made by the police as they rushed to erroneous conclusions.
Robert Shapiro ’s reasoned and principled arguments about the Bill of Rights and the role and duty of a defense attorney will deepen our understanding of the verdict, the trial, and the place this story occupied in the American culture. Answering critics who charge that “loopholes” and legal tactics prevailed over justice, Shapiro convincingly demonstrates that the only possible verdict—even without the race card Johnnie Cochran flung on the table—was the conclusion of “reasonable doubt” reached by the jury.
The Search for Justice Page 37