Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, December 7, 1994 TAG: 9412070083
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-9 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MARSHALL FISHWICK
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Shooting stars have their parallel on Earth: in war, peace, politics, sports, entertainment. They appear as if by magic. The meteor is the message. For a brief moment they are ours, and we are theirs. We love them. Then they go into that long good night.
Why do we yell for the Player of the Week, the new rock singer, the No. 1 hit tune? Like water caught in our cupped hand, they will soon slip through our fingers. But our thirst persists, and we remain devoted star-gazers.
We gazed in awe and disbelief on Friday night, June 17, at a white Ford Bronco, cruising slowly down a California freeway, followed by police cars. It was O.J. Simpson, superstar, running away from the Los Angeles police who had failed to arrest him on a double-murder charge. He was said to have a gun to his head, contemplating suicide.
The media's leading analysts and "experts" mouthed banalities and exhibited confusion. This was not a television show, but reality. They weren't equipped to handle it. Finally, the Bronco reached Simpson's luxury home. Out came Al Cowling, Simpson's friend; but O.J. wouldn't budge. The crowd outside, joined by many media people, shouted, "O.J.! O.J.!" The nation seemed to hold its breath. He finally emerged to be taken to Men's Central Jail where he became prisoner K4013970.
How could it be? "It's a giant jigsaw puzzle," admitted Commander David Gascon of the Los Angeles Police Department. A nearby female admirer shouted: "They can't do this! O.J. is not a normal person!"
Nor was O.J. a normal falling star. He was a celebrity prisoner caught somewhere between a bogged-down judiciary process and a media blitz that has come to be known as Simpsonmania. He was frozen on the information highway, making a daily appearance on television, news reports and newspapers all over the world, then taken back to his cell. The pretrial items seemed to go on forever. We sensed this was something different - not the garden-variety immorality that turned up daily, but a glimpse of things falling apart - of chaos replacing order. Three of the major themes of the '90s - violence, racism and sexual abuse - were coming together, and the world was watching.
How could all this occur in the optimistic, life-affirming, progressive 20th century? Was the high rhetoric of our times betrayed by its actions and attitudes? Did we talk peace and act so as to destroy it? Was Walker Percy right when he called ours "The Century of the Love of Death?"
And was this, as some began to say, the "Crime of the Century?" What are the ingredients necessary for a wrongful act to achieve the legendary fame of Jack the Ripper, Lizzie Borden, Charles Manson or Son of Sam? How do some crimes transcend time and lodge themselves permanently in our consciousness, to be endlessly discussed, debated and depicted in the media?
A numbed but intrigued public began to ask other questions. Just who or what is on trial? A man, a football legend, a police department, the judicial system, the media? In a culture drowning in information overload, how could an impartial jury be selected? A jury pool of a thousand melted away when candidates were asked, "Do you have prior information and opinions about this case?" To be excused one only had to answer "Yes."
Judge Lance Ito plowed ahead, month after month, chastising the media, trying to plug leaks, hoping to find unbiased people. Finally a jury of 12 was selected. But by mid-November, the court was still interviewing over yet another hundred people, hoping to get a backup jury of 15.
By then Faye Resnick's sensational tabloid account had hit the bookstands, the tabloids and the talk shows: "Nicole Brown Simpson: The Private Diary of a Life Interrupted." The judge forbade any jury candidate to read it, and asked TV networks not to discuss this - all of which turned the book into a best seller and increased the exposure on TV news and talk shows. The whole process was turning into a California nightmare, full of camera hogs, false leads, peacocking lawyers, tabloid excesses, exasperated citizens. Now the suspended star O.J. created a cluster of lesser stars, such as defense lawyer Robert Shapiro, prosecutor Marcia Clark, and various camp followers of both O.J. and the murdered Nicole. What would Marcia Clark wear to the trial, reporters asked. And how would feminists react?
What evidence would be admitted - the bloody glove, the missing knife, the flesh-encrusted threshing machine, the DNA findings, the llama entrails? And what of the thousand of "tips" that had come in when the defense solicited them on a free 1-800 number? Who would sort them out? It was all enough to make even Sherlock Holmes shudder.
One final gimmick topped the list. Why don't you decide the case, a smart entrepreneur asked, even before it goes to trial? What a great news story that would make! Just dial this 1-900 number and vote by pressing the appropriate number: 1).O.J. is guilty. 2) He didn't act alone. 3) He wasn't even there. 4) He was framed. 5) He had plastic surgery and escaped to South America. Is this what our Founding Fathers had in mind when they insisted on trial by jury?
How best to celebrate Halloween in 1994? Latch onto Simpsonmania. Why not buy an O.J. Simpson costume - complete with a bloody knife? They were available in the local mall - and proved to be the most popular item of the season. O.J. in jail was proving to be more popular than O.J. in uniform.
As months passed and the circuits, cameras and channels continued to turn out daily Simpson bulletins and updates, one wondered what the long-range effects of all this would be. Who had created Simpsonmania, and what kept it spreading like an unchecked virus? The media? The lawyers? The public? Were we in the position of the Sorcerer's Apprentice, who could command the brooms to carry water, but couldn't make them stop? Would the falling star never fade or fall?
What did all this portend as the battered and bruised 20th century staggered toward the finish line? Where were we headed? Had popular culture become the tail that wagged the dog? That, indeed, was the question.
Marshall Fishwick is a professor of humanities and communications studies at Virginia Tech.
by CNB