by Kim Goldman
Ron called her and said that the letter bothered him a lot. “Kim,” he said, “you’re my sister. I don’t take you for granted. You have to know how I feel. You’re my sister. I love you and I don’t feel like I have to call every week to tell you that. God, you’re my best friend.”
The phone call helped, but Kim had still retained a measure of anger, and she addressed it in her conflict paper. The assignment helped her to understand that she may have transferred—unfairly—some of her resentment from Sharon to Ron.
Kim wrote: “I have talked about this with other people and they can not quite capture the bond that Ron and I share. They see me as being so strong and then to watch my brother hurt me, they wonder how I could be so stupid? How can they say that? Ron and I raised each other, only we know the dynamics of our connection. I do feel genuine love from him and part of me returning that love is accepting him for the whole person that he is, the same way I ask him to love me … unconditionally.”
Both Kim the sister and Kim the psychology major knew that everything was muddled inside. Kim the psychology major knew that she and Ron would work through the rough spots and remain close, perhaps in a more adult manner than before. But it was Kim the sister who declared the bottom line: “My mother and I are not alike at all. I will not walk away when things get bad like she did.”
We live our lives assuming that there is always tomorrow to say “I’m sorry” or “I love you.” What was especially painful for Kim now was to look at the date on the paper, May 10, 1994. It was Mother’s Day, the last time she had spoken with Ron.
We received a letter from Steve Rufo, who was now separated from Sharon. He expressed sorrow over our loss and told us that he wanted us to know that the things that Sharon was saying to the press were untrue. She continually stated how much she missed Ron, what a tremendous relationship they enjoyed, and how often they talked to one another. He told us what we already knew: Sharon had seldom mentioned Ron or Kim and that when she did, it was to complain that the pregnancies had left her fat. He said that her conduct had been outrageous and that he was embarrassed ever to have been associated with her.
I forwarded the letter to Kim in San Francisco.
With Joe listening on the extension, Kim called Sharon. They spoke for about an hour, and the conversation was ugly. Sharon maligned me, repeated her litany of lies, and in general continued to rant and rave. She complained that Kim was a selfish and uncaring person. Sharon would never admit that she was the one who disowned them. Kim tried to point out that a six-year-old boy and a three-year-old girl were not capable of making the decision to sever a relationship with their mother. She tried in vain to reassert her view that I had absolutely nothing to do with her and Ron’s feelings toward Sharon.
The bitter conversation accomplished nothing, and when Kim hung up the phone she felt more isolated than ever.
Things got worse. Over the years Sharon had convinced Kim’s maternal grandparents that it was the three of us—Ron, Kim, and me—who refused to have anything to do with her. Many letters flew back and forth between Kim and her grandparents, but they were never able to accept the reality of the situation. Now Kim received a letter from her grandfather telling her that he hoped God would forgive her for her sins and announcing that he was removing all of Ron’s and Kim’s pictures from his house. They were severing all ties.
Kim responded to the letter tersely: “If you can’t treat me with respect and talk to me the way I deserve, I don’t want to have anything to do with you.” And it was clear they didn’t want to either.
As the holidays approached, Kim tried to remember happier times. “Ron and I were always the youngest in our temple,” she recalled, “and we would sit in the balcony, lean over the side, and giggle while we counted all the bald heads on the men and the pearl necklaces on the women. We would use the bathroom as an excuse, and sneak downstairs and chase each other around. As we got older, religion took on different meanings for all of us. We still went to temple, but mostly out of deference to our dad. It was important for him to have us there, so we went. Still, it took us back in time and often Ron and I resorted to our childish behavior.”
Now, instead of bringing peace, she knew that the holidays would make her sad and lonely.
Supremely frustrated—as she put it, “Everything pissed me off”—Kim quit her job and took a leave from college. We drove to San Francisco to pick her up. Leaving her new kitten, Dakota, with Joe, she returned home.
It was, quite simply, where she had to be.
ELEVEN
The legal system staggered slowly forward.
The defendant’s deep pockets allowed him to assemble a gaggle of attorneys that the media began to characterize as the “Dream Team.” Johnnie Cochran was clearly elbowing his way into the starring role, pushing aside Robert Shapiro. Gerald Uelman handled the intricacies of constitutional law. DNA experts Barry Scheck and Peter Neufeld were brought in from New York. The defendant’s longtime friend Robert Kardashian was technically assigned to the team; this appeared to be a ploy to activate the attorney-client privilege so that Kardashian could not be compelled to testify about his interaction with the defendant in the week following the murders. Attorney F. Lee Bailey was there for show. We were not quite sure why Carl Douglas was part of the team.
But the strategy was clear. Throw a thousand issues—like darts—at Judge Ito, to see if any of them found the target. This resulted in one pretrial hearing after another, and a series of rulings, some of which were vital and some picayune.
Judge Ito ruled that a single television camera would be allowed in the courtroom. And he ordered that the jurors and alternates would be sequestered for the duration of the trial. Handing the defense a clear victory, the judge decreed that, under California law, the prosecution could not introduce material from Nicole’s diary because it was hearsay and because the defense lawyers could not cross-examine Nicole. The press speculated ad nauseam whether or not the defendant would testify. But Judge Ito, by his ruling, made it clear that one of his victims would not.
The defense tried to prohibit any of our or Nicole’s family members from being present in the courtroom on the absurd pretext that some of us might be called as witnesses. Had it been entirely up to them, Ron’s and Nicole’s names would never have been mentioned at all. Judge Ito rejected that motion, and the issue then became a matter of degree. At first the judge decreed that our family could have five seats in the courtroom and the Brown family could have five seats. However, when we learned that the defendant’s family would be assigned seven or eight seats, we raised a heated objection. Marcia Clark reported our dissatisfaction to Judge Ito, who grudgingly assigned the victims’ families seven seats each. But there was a catch. If we were to be allowed seven seats, we had to fill them regularly or we would lose the privilege.
I had to work, but whenever I could get some time off, I would attend. However, Patti and Kim made a commitment to be present each and every day—for me, for Ron, for each other, to support the prosecution, and to witness the process of justice. Patti’s employer, Right Start, responded wonderfully. From the beginning of our ordeal her bosses and co-workers had sent cards, flowers—even pastries—and lots of warm wishes. Now they told Patti not to worry about taking a leave of absence; her job would be waiting for her when she was ready to return. She quit the tennis league that gave her so much pleasure.
Wells Fargo Bank in San Francisco also gave Kim a special form of temporary absence and left her position intact.
Michael and Lauren would be able to attend a few times, but they would be busy with their schoolwork. Our victims’ advocate would occupy one of our seats, but in order to comply with the judge’s nitpicking attendance requirement, we would have to scramble every day. Patti’s parents and our friends would accompany us when they could, but a lengthy trial seemed likely. Some of the pressure was relieved when the people from the D.A.’s office assured us that they would find men and women to sit in our section
whenever necessary.
Many members of the prosecution team went out of their way to make us feel comfortable. We would be welcome in the D.A.’s suite of offices before and after all court sessions. A small room was assigned where we could take breaks and eat lunch. At the hub of this wheel was Patty Jo Fairbanks, an extremely competent woman with a booming voice. Her job description may have read “secretary,” but in reality she was the lifeblood of the place. We came to rely upon her a great deal.
Next, the judge issued a strict set of behavioral rules: no talking, no gum chewing, no sucking on candy, no reading, no eye rolling, no hand gestures, no loud outbursts, no displays of emotion. Keep your face forward. No Kleenex boxes. No drinking cups or bottles of liquid. No beepers or cellular phones going off. The order that really infuriated me was a prohibition against wearing our lapel buttons with Ron’s picture on them. What right did Judge Ito have to tell me I could not have a picture of my son with me? In sum, the judge’s mind seemed to concentrate on trivia, whereas the question at hand was whether or not the defendant murdered his ex-wife and our son.
Nevertheless, we resolved to present ourselves with dignity and maintain a sense of decorum in the courtroom. We would do everything by the book—or almost everything. Patti wanted to have her beeper with her in case Lauren or Michael needed to get in touch with her, but she would disconnect the ringer and put it in a VIBRATE mode so that it would not disrupt the courtroom. She also routinely carries a bottle of water in her purse wherever she goes. She would continue to do so, but would never take it out while court was in session.
Our determination to play by the rules was, in retrospect, a clear symptom of our naiveté.
Alan Dershowitz was the most remote member of the “Dream Team.” This Harvard Law School professor was the appellate attorney. He would watch the case carefully to detect whatever minutiae might present grounds for appeal, if and when the defendant was convicted. Dershowitz’s status as an author allowed the defense team to circumvent its numerous hollow statements about not granting interviews. He was a frequent talk-show guest, appearing under the guise of promoting his latest book, and then freely discussing the case.
A producer from the Oprah Winfrey show called and asked us to appear with Dershowitz to discuss victims’ issues. We were both interested and apprehensive. Here was a chance to counter the oft-seen, oft-heard “Dream Team” member, but we did not relish the idea of going one-on-one with the Harvard law professor. The producer assured us that family members of other murder victims would also be on the show. We were told that we would not be spotlighted or singled out in any way; rather, the conversation would be more of a general forum. I could not attend, due to work responsibilities. Patti, as always, was reticent but felt it might be a good opportunity for Brian to have a voice. So Patti, Kim, and Brian decided to go for it.
Patti and Kim flew to Chicago, where Brian joined them for the taping of the show. Kim specifically requested that she not be seated anywhere near Dershowitz. She detested the man, and she did not want to be put in a position of dealing with him in close quarters.
The show was taped on January 18, only about a week before opening statements were scheduled to begin.
In the green room, prior to the show, Patti, Kim, and Brian made small talk with several other families. A woman approached and tried to fuss with Kim’s hair and makeup. Kim asked to be left alone. Those kinds of details have always made Kim uncomfortable. “I am who I am,” she says. “All that extra stuff makes me feel altered.” Soon, the other families were ushered out of the room. Then the producer came in and announced, “These are the seating arrangements. There will be five seats onstage, the three of you, Dershowitz, and George Fletcher.” Fletcher is a Columbia University law professor, an author, and a victims’ rights advocate.
Everything moved so fast. Before anyone had a chance to protest, they were swept into the studio and ushered onstage. Brian, Patti, and Kim sat in three chairs arranged in a diagonal line. Dershowitz was seated across from them. The other victims’ families, instead of being a direct part of the discussion, were peppered throughout the audience. Kim was furious about the seating arrangements, and she glared at Dershowitz.
They were so new to this sort of thing and did not have the gumption to protest or refuse to proceed.
Patti had asked to be introduced to Oprah prior to taping, and the producer assured her that would happen, but it never did.
The tape started to roll.
During the opening moments Oprah introduced Dershowitz and mentioned that he was promoting his new book, a novel entitled The Advocate’s Devil. She noted, “During his long career of defending high-profile clients, Alan Dershowitz admits that he sometimes knows when they are guilty.”
Kim had the first chance to speak, and she commented, “I just don’t understand how defense lawyers … if they are defending someone that is guilty, then how do they go home at night and sleep comfortably?”
Dershowitz conceded, “I much prefer to defend somebody who is innocent.” Then he immediately plugged his book. He looked at Kim and said, “In Advocate’s Devil, Emma, the young girl, really reflects your point of view.”
In the first few minutes of the show, Dershowitz mentioned his book three more times.
Thus far, the show appeared to be an infomercial for the pompous lawyer’s book.
Oprah attempted to regain control. She turned to Patti and asked, “So, what are you feeling as family members?”
Patti replied: “Our life is an open book as far as I am concerned. There isn’t a day that goes by that we don’t come home and find numerous messages on our answering machine from media and newspaper reporters, after changing our number three times. They come knocking on our door at dinner time, at eleven at night and if we’re not home, they wait for us outside.”
When Oprah wondered if there was any way to reduce the media attention, Dershowitz jumped in. The defense would like to try the case in court, he proclaimed, but they had been forced to speak to the media because the prosecution started it. “We have to level the playing field,” he contended.
“Where does it stop?” Kim asked bitterly. “You level, we level, you level, we level.”
Dershowitz promised that the defense would stop speaking out if the prosecution stopped first. It sounded like little boys scrapping in the schoolyard.
Although Dershowitz tried to interrupt, Brian jumped in with a key point: “You are trying to level the playing field through manipulation and false facts.”
With this, Oprah called for a commercial break, and Patti and Kim had their first real opportunity to protest the format of the show. “We’re not comfortable doing this,” they said. But their concerns were ignored. Patti and Kim felt that they had been “gaslighted.”
After the break, Oprah introduced George Fletcher, who immediately came to our defense, declaring, “It is imperative that you speak out. There is absolutely no way that you are going to keep Bob Shapiro and Alan Dershowitz quiet…. They are going to use the media for every advantage that they can see.”
Dershowitz and Fletcher flew at one another, arguing the fine points of the law’s attempts to balance the rights of the defendant with the rights of the victim. Oprah finally had to interrupt because, she said, Patti “can’t get a word in edgewise.”
Patti said: “We have basically been asked in one way or another to keep a very low profile, and we, for a while, were very quiet, and then we decided that we could not sit back and keep our mouths shut anymore because Ron is not here to speak. We need to represent his rights, and who better—who better than the victim’s family?”
Dershowitz continued to plug his book until a frustrated Oprah interrupted. “—If you mention that book one more time I’m going to start screaming!”
This brought wild applause from the audience. Dershowitz was forced to let it subside before he responded, “I’m going to mention George’s book next, but it makes—”
“IT’S ADVO
CATE’S DEVIL, OKAY?!!” Oprah screamed. “Goodness gracious!”
Undaunted, Dershowitz managed to mention the book’s title two more times in quick succession.
Near the end of the show, Kim once more responded to Dershowitz’s criticism that the prosecution should not be speaking out. She addressed the issue in personal terms: “I have every right that anybody does to speak out about their family members. So if you are going to talk about him, you will know what the facts are. And the fact is that he was extremely loved by our family and we miss him dearly, and that is the bottom line.”
Oprah asked Kim, “Are you dreading these coming days?”
“Yes.”
Patti had the final word, saying, “We’ll be there. It’s very important that everybody remember there are victims here.”
TWELVE
Who would have thought that a double homicide would inspire a theme song? Every time CNN commenced its coverage of the trial, the inane music drove us nuts. The defendant’s face was prominently featured. Then an ethereal picture of Nicole filtered onto the screen. Ron was ignored.
Patti changed that. By now we were on a first-name basis with numerous reporters and news editors, and she called one of our contacts at CNN. She told him how disturbing it was to our family that, once again, Ron was not considered to be as important as Nicole. “Why isn’t he pictured?” she demanded to know. The very next day CNN added Ron’s image to its opening spot.
Still, the predominant face was that of the accused murderer. The victims faded to the background.
And that is precisely how the trial went.
A hush fell across the courtroom as the jury entered. Patti did not want to do anything that might anger or annoy them. She tried to sit very still, facing forward, with her hands folded in her lap. She did not want to stare at the jurors, so she watched them out of the corner of her eye. It was a bit bizarre to look at these strangers and realize that they were the ones who would make the ultimate decision.
