Sept. 25, 2008
He Dunne it
How a famous writer taught me to savor my O.J. Star Blight
By STEVE FRIESS
As recently as 10 days ago, I was just like most of you out
there. I had absolutely, positively, 100 percent no interest
in whatever tawdry affair would unfold in a criminal trial that
was news solely because it involved one Orenthal James Simpson.
Heck, I can go one further. I wasn’t just indifferent; I was
actively resentful that I was about to have to turn over my
career and life—in the middle of the most fascinating election
of our time, no less—to sit in a courtroom for weeks just because
this maniac took some screwy characters on a misadventure in
search of some keepsakes. And I felt the lash of condescension—and
thought I deserved it—from Review-Journal columnist Jane Ann
Morrison when she explained her disdain not just for the topic
but even for the journalists documenting it.
Then I met Dominick Dunne, and I fell in love with this story.
I don’t expect any of you to take more interest in what’s
taking place on the 15th floor of the Regional Justice Center
right now. I understand why you may be repelled. And I don’t
pretend that it has the broad societal significance of, say,
Jane Ann’s series on naming her kitten.
But my assigned seat in the courtroom is beside that of the
diminutive white-haired man with the Coke-bottle glasses, a
latter-day (and heterosexual) Truman Capote who feeds anecdotes
and observations about such events to high society via his monthly
pieces in Vanity Fair and his TruTV appearances.
That was a bizarre glitch of fate, because the night before
I met him, I had read Dunne’s latest column. In it, per the
occasion of Vanity Fair’s 25th anniversary, he reflected on
his career as a film producer, on his turn toward journalism
at 50 after his daughter’s murder, about being in the thick
of the trials of Claus von Bulow, William Kennedy Smith, the
Menendez brothers, Phil Spector and, of course, O.J. Simpson.
Alongside this piece, VF ran the classic photo of Simpson at
his 1995 murder trial trying on that glove—you know, “if it
doesn’t fit, you must acquit”—with a riveted Dunne as the most
distinctive presence in the audience.
Here’s the last line, the last thing I read before turning
off the lights on September 14: “What a swell party it’s been.
Next, it’s off to Las Vegas for O. J. Simpson’s trial for armed
robbery and kidnapping.” The next morning, I entered the courtroom
to sit down, and, holy cow, there he was!
I took to Dunne instantly; everybody does, because he’s warm
and funny, and his smile draws you in. The lot of us journalists
were groaning about having to cover that damn O.J. and this
convoluted tale of hotel confrontation populated by unsympathetic,
equivocating victims and prosecutors with no flair at all. We
felt like posers, bummed we were charged with chronicling the
weak sequel. We’d missed the Trial of the Century and now were
stuck with this bloodless hangover edition.
Dunne, however, was thrilled to be here. Oh, this is far from
the most interesting case he’s handled, but at 82 and battling
bladder cancer he nonetheless forced himself against his doctor’s
orders to sit in the courtroom as a witness to something he
felt was worth the hassle. He fell ill Monday to the point of
needing hospital attention, but there he was again in his seat
on Tuesday. This is his final celebrity trial, he says, and
when a journalist of that stature is taking his last at-bat
and doing so with such courage, it behooves his admiring colleagues
to take a closer look at what we’ve got here.
So what do we have? Well, there’s the most famous murder defendant
of our time facing a possible life sentence, for one thing.
Should he be convicted, the events in District Judge Jackie
Glass’ courtroom will become part of the lead sentence in what
will someday be a front-page obituary everywhere.
We also have an armed robbery and kidnapping case. Those are
usually run-of-the-mill, but this one sure isn’t. Part of that
is the O.J. factor, but this is also a setup by an ex-con to
take things from victims who talk first about calling the tabloid
press. And—get this!—someone audiotaped the whole thing, including
the private chatter of the cops processing the scene!
How often does that happen? Uh, never. These are wacky, unpredictable
people who say wacky, unpredictable things both on the tapes
and on the witness stand. How could that possibly be boring?
Why, with the intersection of bizarre crime and historic celebrity,
should this story be ignored?
I’ve watched Dunne closely as he scribbles on the notepads
he has with his own likeness sketched on every page. (Uh, I
want one. So badly.) Here’s what I’ve learned: There’s the story
most see, and then there’s the rest of the story. Daily scribes
report what’s happening on the witness stand, but Dunne seeks
a broader yarn. He’s entranced by weird offshoot angles, like
the fact that Simpson’s co-defendant’s attorney once killed
a man in a bar fight or that Phil Spector once sang at the bar
mitzvah of one of the victims’ lawyers.
When I started cozying up to Dunne, my colleagues assumed
I was working on a story about him. And I did go on to profile
him for The New York Times on September 21. But the story came
much later, after our two breakfasts and my being privy to his
many tales of an extraordinary life.
No, I didn’t want to know him because he was good copy, although
he is. I wanted to know him because when you’re an ambitious
young writer and you get a chance to sit next to, dine with,
speak to a living legend, you go for it.
Evidently, I’m not the only one. Dunne’s dance card has been
full while he’s been ensconced in a suite at the Wynn. On September
19 he dined with the Associated Press’ Linda Deutsch and the
R-J’s Norm Clarke, the next day he was out with Simpson attorneys
Yale Galanter and Gabriel Grasso, and the day after that he
was eating with Elaine Wynn.
Dunne leaves Vegas this weekend after two weeks in court for
a biopsy in New York. Then he plans to be back for the close
of this trial. I’ll miss his companionship, but I’m grateful
for the validation.
Because, contrary to what the Jane Ann Morrisons of the world
may think, this is a good and worthy story. It’s got loads of
twists and turns, there have been terrific courtroom exchanges,
and the outcome is a total mystery to everyone.
If it’s good enough for Dominick Dunne, it’s good enough for
me.
###
