1998

20.3

Dennis Russell
"Insider" Narratives of the O. J. Simpson Case: A Klappean Analysis of Hero or Fool

In the aftermath of O.J. Simpson’s acquittal in his high-profile double-murder trial, questions abound as to whether justice was served or whether Simpson got away with murder. This persistent public fascination with the case has resulted in a virtual cottage industry of works about the "Trial of the Century." Particularly intriguing are the "insider" narratives of various participants and players in the case. Each narrative provides its own idiosyncratic interpretation of an event in contemporary history that remains poorly defined because more questions were raised than were answered within the confines of an adversarial justice system. As playwright David Mamet has observed, it is inherent in human perception to connect seemingly unrelated images to create a story, "because we need to make the world make sense" (61). This urge to create narratives in an attempt to bring order to the chaos of daily life is also reflected in Joan Didion’s assertion that people "live entirely . . . by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the ‘ideas’ with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience" (11).

Interestingly, a number of these "insider" Simpson narratives sidestep the complex task of constructing a reality that seeks to discover how Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman came to meet such a gruesome end, and how O.J. Simpson came to be tried and exonerated. Instead, many of these works involve the authors in constructing a "reality" about themselves, in relation to the Simpson case, that essentially portrays them as symbols of heroism or victimization, while simultaneously characterizing other Simpson players as villains or fools. This method of reality construction is underscored in the following "insider" Simpson narratives that are the focal point for this article: I Want to Tell You: My Response to Your Letters, Your Messages, Your Questions by O.J. Simpson; O.J. Simpson: The Interview, a 160-minute videotape; In Contempt by Christopher Darden; The Search for Justice: A Defense Attorney’s Brief on the O.J. Simpson Case by Robert Shapiro; Reasonable Doubts: The O.J. Simpson Case and the Criminal Justice System by Alan Dershowitz; Madam Foreman: A Rush to Judgment? by Armanda Cooley, Carrie Bess, and Marsha Rubin-Jackson; Nicole Brown Simpson: The Private Diary of a Life Interrupted and Shattered: In the Eye of the Storm, both by Faye Resnick; and I’m Not Dancing Anymore by Terri Baker.

The theoretical framework for this study is sociologist Orrin Klapp’s examination of participants in public dramas. Klapp uses a system of social typing that helps the public to perceive a public-drama character by transforming the person into a recognizable abstraction of a familiar type; that is, hero, villain, or fool. A Klappean approach is useful in bringing clarity to the ways in which the media chronicle the complexities of contemporary existence by placing newsmakers in simplistic, easy to comprehend, symbolic categories (such as hero, villain, or fool). The media’s reliance on such symbolic characterizations is shaped, in large part, by the demands of deadline, time and space limitations; and journalistic concerns of imparting information to a mass, rather than elite, audience (Itule and Anderson (18–27, 89). Even memoirs (the main purview of this article) reflect the urge to characterize newsmakers as categorized abstractions.

According to Klapp, heroes are subdivided into winners, splendid performers, heroes of social acceptability, independent spirits, or group servants. Winners appear to live in a world in which life is a battle of champions, and only the strong survive and prosper. Splendid performers seem to live in a world of showmanship, in which everything is done for the grand impression and developing a positive impact in front of an admiring audience. The concept of heroes of social acceptability suggests a world of conformity in which people want to be accepted and loved unconditionally, regardless of whether a person is recognized for or is capable of great achievement. The independent spirit emphasizes standing alone, embodying a frontier-like spirit that thrives on freedom and eschews conformity, confinement, and group membership. Meanwhile, group servants epitomize team spirit and solidarity—a world in which everyone is loyal to the cause and works for and with their neighbor (27–49).

Fools, according to Klapp, fall into five categories: incompetents (clumsy, rash, simple, weak) who illustrate ludicrous role failures; those who refuse to take others seriously (status abuser, pretentious fool); nonconformists who ridicule others; ultraconformers who suffer comic rebuke because they have been too enthusiastic in complying with group standards; and generic fools who serve as outlets for the aggression of others (68–91). Toward that end, each narrator in this study portrays himself or herself as either hero or fool, but they lack the self-reflexivity that would allow them to interpret at least some of their actions as less than savory (that is, as "villainous").

Under Klapp’s theory, symbolic creation requires that a story be told, sung, or printed. In relation to the Simpson case, the press obviously played a major role in this process, characterizing various players in this public drama as either heroes, villains, or fools in countless news stories, headlines, editorials, and commentary pieces. However, what is fascinating about this process within the arena of the "insider" Simpson works is that, rather than applying the symbolic creation of hero, villain, or fool to others involved in the case, the narrators primarily use the works to create their own symbolic realities. Admittedly, there are moments in which certain narrators describe other players as villainous or foolish; however, the central thrust of the narratives hinges on symbolic self-creation. Along the way, villains are subdivided into those symbolizing usurpers and abusers, threats to order and status, villainous strangers, traitors and sneaks, and social undesirables (50–67).

A logical starting point for examining the application of this Klappean theory to these "insider" narratives is Simpson’s 1995 book I Want to Tell You, which was published while he was in jail awaiting trial. The format of the book is taped responses to letters Simpson received after his arrest. In declaring himself in the book as "one hundred percent not guilty," Simpson never casts himself in the role of villain—not even as a usurper or abuser in relation to the spousal-abuse problems during his marriage with Nicole. In fact, Simpson asserts that spousal-abuse groups have misrepresented the facts of his marriage with Nicole, implying that the advocates blew the incidents out of proportion because of his celebrity status in an effort to garner publicity for their cause. Eschewing the role of usurper or abuser, Simpson states, "I don’t believe any good can come out of deceit and I’m suspicious of any person or organization that’s willing to use deceit to gain any kind of good" (15, 107–108). Similarly, this narrative does not contain a hint of culpability for the murders, with Simpson proclaiming that he can’t understand how one person could kill another, and that he could never kill the mother of his children. He says his only chance of "total vindication" is for the killer or killers to come forward, but doubts that the public will ever accept his innocence (15–17, 24). In I Want to Tell You, Simpson essentially attempts to create the image of himself as a "generic fool" or victim who is afflicted by the hatred and aggressions of others. For example, he believes he has been forced to play the role of fool through victimization at the hands of the press. Simpson says he feels "murdered" by a lazy, sensational, ratings- and circulation-obsessed press that routinely disseminated falsehoods about him. "They never investigated the information they were receiving, whether it was truthful or not," he writes. "What the press basically did was wait for the next leak or the next rumor" (68–72, 75–77).

Simpson further casts himself in the generic fool role by maintaining that the prosecution in the double-murder case took all of his activities in the last five years and deliberately made them look like a sinister plot leading up to murder. "The prosecution has an agenda to try to tear down who I am, to imply I’m someone other than the person I have been all these years," Simpson writes. By this, he believes that the prosecutors actually placed in the jurors’ minds the notion that the O.J. they see on television isn’t the real O.J.; that the real O.J. is a controlling, obsessive man capable of committing murder (88, 94, 98).

The development of the fool-as-victim symbol also emerges in Simpson’s 1996 videotape O.J. Simpson: The Interview, in which Simpson asserts that the Los Angeles Police Department planted evidence to frame him for the murders, and that the mishandling of evidence by police and the coroner’s office jeopardized the integrity of the case. In both the book and the videotape, Simpson at times also casts himself in the role of hero. Employing a Klappean theory to these two narratives, it appears that Simpson is a combination of the "hero as winner" and "splendid performer." Simpson emphasizes his rags-to-riches rise from the projects in Oakland, California, to his becoming a football legend, an actor, and a product endorser. In other words, as a winner, he has overcome obstacles in the past and will do so in relation to the murder case and its aftermath. The splendid performer aspect originates from Simpson’s preoccupation with restoring his tattered image and getting back into good graces with the public. In fact, in both the video and his book (19, 129, 167) Simpson insists that he will emerge from this ordeal with his dignity intact and a more spiritual person, and that this experience ultimately will make him a better man. And in a controversial article published in February 1998 in Esquire magazine, Simpson echoes that sentiment, saying that "I believe in my heart I’m going to get it all back in spades. And maybe that’s what my life’s mission is" (Farber 64).

Meanwhile, socialite Faye Resnick, a close friend of Nicole Brown Simpson, simultaneously interprets her role in the Simpson saga as both the generic fool (victim) and hero of social acceptability. Resnick says her victimization occurred at the hands of O.J. Simpson, the defense team, and a biased, sensational press. In Nicole Brown Simpson: The Private Diary of a Life Interrupted, Resnick claims O.J. is a master manipulator whose public persona could charm and persuade those in his orbit, including her. Eventually, she says, this image of O.J. was dispelled once she saw how his public face "could transform itself into a terrifying, sweat-soaked mask of naked rage." According to Resnick, this rage, more times than not, was used by Simpson to control who he perceived as the "enemy"—women (6, 112, 114). Resnick writes that O.J. used her by frequently calling her and complaining about Nicole, even when he and Nicole were no longer a couple. Also, Resnick claims that Nicole told her that O.J. had threatened to kill her. Because of these two factors, Resnick says she had a "constant feeling of doom" and felt that her own life also was in danger. Resnick maintains that O.J. once said to a number of people around him, "There are two people I would like to kill: Denise Brown and Faye Resnick." She then says that O.J. raised his hand to his throat and drew his finger across it (1994: 207–208; 1996: 208). Resnick also characterizes herself as a victim of Simpson’s defense team, saying it had floated "the astounding and absolutely groundless claim" that Nicole was murdered because Resnick and Nicole had borrowed money from Colombian drug dealers (3–4). In addition, she claims in both of her books that the defense team engaged in a campaign of smear tactics by labeling her a profiteer, liar, and drug addict (1994: 3–4; 1996: 68). In fact, a major component of her second book Shattered concerns itself with the idea that a press feeding frenzy focused more on assaulting her lifestyle than on engaging in a search for the truth. The press hounded her so much, she says, that she ended up "walking around wearing hoods and scarves and sunglasses, and at one point I even tried to cover my face" (71, 74, 79, 83, 85).

Along with portraying herself as a victim, Resnick also at times fits the Klappean definition of hero of social acceptability. For example, in her 1994 book, she refers to herself as a "mediator" in the ongoing disputes between Nicole and O.J. In addition, Resnick sees heroism in going public with her allegations of spousal abuse targeting Simpson, noting: "I know that if you are willing to tell an unpopular truth, you have to be willing to be attacked—and willing to become unpopular yourself" (124–125).

The hero (social acceptability) syndrome also arises in Madam Foreman, the memoir of Armanda Cooley, Carrie Bess, and Marsha Rubin-Jackson, three Simpson criminal-trial jurors. Despite public criticism of the jury’s quick exoneration of Simpson, they maintain "we did a hell of a job" of enduring the months of sequestration and weighing the evidence in the case. They report that they voted for acquittal based on several reasonable doubts: problems with the eyewitness testimony of limousine driver Allan Parks; concerns that Detective Mark Fuhrman planted evidence; and concerns that some of the evidence was contaminated. The jurors contend that they understood the DNA evidence more than people thought, but that they had to acquit because even one doubt would have required it (140–141, 157–158).

The jurors’ memoir also contains elements of the fool-as-victim syndrome, with foreman Armanda Cooley stating that the jury was not prepared for the level of criticism it would receive in the trial’s aftermath. "The way I see it," Cooley says, "I’m the one on trial now. We all are. O.J.’s running around having a ball and here we are. We’re the ones on trial. The people that have you on trial don’t even know you. They just know of a position that you held. It’s just not fair judgment. It puts you in an impossible situation." She notes that the jury was shocked at the notion that Simpson was acquitted based on race, adding that "it proved to me that they felt that we had no intelligence whatsoever" (28, 182–183).

One of the strongest examples of employing the fool-as-victim technique is Christopher Darden’s In Contempt, in which the Simpson prosecutor admits that he is haunted by the thought that the mistakes he personally made during the trial may have allowed a murderer to go free. Darden emphasizes that the trial took a hard emotional toll on him because he believed that it was his duty to "seek justice, no matter how famous, rich, and black the defendant." He conveys with conviction that he thought African Americans were just people who would convict a "black icon" when they saw "the butchery, the pattern of abuse, and the overwhelming evidence." Darden felt betrayed when Simpson was acquitted, adding that he was "ashamed of a jury that needed just four hours to dismiss the lives of two people and a year’s work" (9-11). Darden fleshes out the victim theme by emphasizing his discouragement at being labeled an Uncle Tom and a traitor to his own race who allows himself to be used by white people. He claims that he became a "lightning rod" for the bigotry, insecurity, and misunderstanding of an entire nation. Darden adds, "The civil rights movement and the sense of black solidarity and pride that had saved me from a meaningless life of poverty and crime had been reduced by (defense attorney) Johnnie Cochran to nothing more than the taking of two sides, nothing more than a lawyer’s trick, a smooth bit of strategy." In fact, Darden felt so let down by the jury’s decision that he decided to end his law career and never prosecute a case again (11–12). Despite underscoring his victimization in the Simpson affair, Darden ultimately transforms these experiences into the image of the Klappean narrator as an independent spirit hero. He points out that black prosecutors now have a term for the pressure they feel from those in the community who criticize them for standing up and convicting black criminals, and it is named after him: the "Darden Dilemma." Because he was outspoken in his belief of Simpson’s guilt and his condemnation of the predominately black jury unable to convict a black celebrity, Darden said it will make it easier for his children and their children to challenge the status quo and "to stand up for what is right." Darden concludes his memoir by saying that he bears the jury no ill will, but does hold the justice system in contempt. And he claims to have reconciled his anger toward Simpson, noting: "I will lose no more sleep over O.J. Simpson because he will be judged again one day" (375–384).

Meanwhile, the bulk of Simpson defense attorney Robert Shapiro’s memoir, The Search for Justice, consists of casting himself in the role of an independent spirit hero who defies public criticism in the name of doing his job on behalf of the system. Shapiro holds that the acquittal verdict was the right one based on the concept of reasonable doubt, rallying around William Blackstone’s enunciation more than two hundred years ago: "It is better that ten guilty persons escape than one innocent suffer" (xiii–xix, 355). He says he decided at the beginning of the case to devote all of his energy and resources to proving that reasonable doubts existed, adding: "Im proud of the stance and positions I took. I knew that the case would provide the pinnacle of my career as a criminal defense attorney, at any rate, I suspected that it would be the last major criminal case I would try" (358). Interestingly, both Darden (214, 222-24, 231) and Shapiro (149, 192-93, 225-26, 347) blame Johnnie Cochran for introducing the volatile "race card," both claiming they had no idea Cochran would do such a thing. In this particular instance, both men unwittingly placed themselves in the Klappean incompetent fools department, from which neither can escape. Only toward the end of his memoir does Shapiro paint himself as the fool as victim, although nowhere near to the extent that fellow attorney Darden did. Shapiro simply decries the loss of privacy in the aftermath of the trial, saying that even panhandlers on the street call out his name. He notes that the autonomy that comes with privacy is gone, "and with that comes constant judgment." According to Shapiro, this judgment often comes in the form of people angrily shouting "Guilty" at him from across a street, which he finds particularly disturbing when his wife and children are with him (356–358). However, Shapiro doesn’t spend much time dwelling on these aspects, instead preferring to characterize himself as someone who has endured a difficult experience and has grown because of it. Hence, Shapiro comes full circle, creating the Klappean image of hero as winner: "Like any other experience with peaks and valleys," he writes, "time will help me continue to put it in perspective. As a name partner in a major law firm, I’m looking forward to new and different challenges, ones that don’t include the day-to-day roller coaster rides of a criminal defense attorney" (358).

Like Shapiro, appellate lawyer Alan Dershowitz emerges in his Reasonable Doubts book as an independent spirit hero, but demonstrates none of the characteristics of the fool as victim. Dershowitz describes himself as an "insider" in the Simpson case in his capacity as a constitutional strategist and appellate expert for the defense team, but also as an "outsider" as a law professor and critic of the American justice system. From this dual perspective, Dershowitz serves as a champion or protector of the system that hinges on the reasonable doubt standard. Although acknowledging that many people believe the Simpson verdict was unjust, he says that doesn’t mean that the justice system is broken. Dershowitz adds, "There are many miscarriages of justice in the freeing of the guilty, and some in the conviction of the innocent. But there is no way of reducing the former without increasing the latter. Every time we make it easier to convict the guilty, we also make it easier to convict the innocent" (17, 98, 199–201).

The most recent example of an "insider" Simpson narrative emerges from Terri Baker, the niece of the former football legend. In her 1997 memoir I’m Not Dancing Anymore, Baker describes what it was like to be a Simpson family member during the tense periods of O.J.’s criminal and civil trials. Baker portrays herself as a loyal family member, but one who increasingly comes to question the veracity of her uncle’s story. Although Baker never accuses Simpson of committing murder, she implies that her doubts about her uncle have grown.From a Klappean perspective, Baker at first portrays herself and her family as fools (that is, incompetents) who illustrate ludicrous role failures. According to Baker, the family put O.J. on a "pedestal, like a living Heisman Trophy." Baker continues, "O.J. Simpson had become the family deity. In their heart of hearts, I came to believe my parents were afraid Uncle O.J. would shut us out of his life. Somewhere along the way, the self-esteem of my entire family had become inextricably tied to my uncle’s success. Without Uncle O.J., we feared, the Simpsons would just be another bunch of nobodies from the projects" (33–34). Baker’s memoir is replete with examples of Simpson’s attitude of superiority over fellow family members, such as the time family members were too intimidated to ask O.J. for the use of his Bentley to drive to the courthouse during the criminal trial, even though there wasn’t room for everyone in Baker’s Volkswagen (166). Baker’s implication is that Simpson at times played his family members as fools by treating them as second-class citizens who were dependent upon his generosity and notoriety.

As the book unfolds, however, Baker relates the story of a victim turned hero of independent spirit. Wracked with the knowledge that the majority of people believe her uncle got away with double murder, the pressure of the civil trial mounting, the press coverage of the Simpson family at full tilt, and her doubts about her uncle increasing, Baker turns to alcohol and her life spins out of control. When her drinking problem, which was hidden from her family, results in the loss of her job and the diminishment of her health, Baker convinces her mother to check her into a rehabilitation center (243–252). Two months later, Baker emerges from the treatment program "frightened but determined to get on with my life." She says the recovery period had left her energized and refreshed, noting that she was excited about putting into practice all the things she had learned "inside" (262–263). By the end of her memoir, Baker transforms herself textually into a hero of independent spirit, ready to overcome life’s obstacles and the built-in problems of her family:

Now that there was no alcohol to cloud my judgment, I was objective enough to realize that although some things about my family system were unhealthy, there was little I could do to change it. My family and I had danced around each other for years. We had not confronted issues that affected all our lives—particularly our relationship with Uncle O.J. We put him on a pedestal and left him there, always concerned about his life, his career, his image, or his money before our own. I realized how unhealthy it was for me and knew I couldn’t dance anymore. If I wanted to be respected, I was going to have to stand up for myself and demand it. (264)

The nine "insider" narratives examined in this article do little to piece together a coherent reality of how and why the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman occurred. Instead, the value of these narratives, at least from a popular-culture perspective, exists in the act of self-creation on the part of the narrators. The application of the Klappean theory to these participants in one of the most public dramas of the twentieth century demonstrates the overwhelming pattern of the narrators’ need to transform themselves into heroes or fools who are oppressed by other players to the point of victimization. In some cases, the narrators create an image in which both characteristics emerge. Although these works provide idiosyncratic interpretations that underscore a nebulous reality, it is the process of this textual self-creation that warrants further scholarly inquiry.

The narrators’ acts of self-creation are particularly reflective of a culture of celebrity in which both the famous and the obscure recast life as a film, placing themselves, as Richard Schickel says, in the roles of director-writer-star in one’s own manufactured drama (7). Within a celebrity-obsessed culture in which the worst sin is to be "ordinary" rather than unique, narratives are being produced that often cast the narrator in the unique role of hero or victim. This growing concern with being bestowed with a public affirmation of uniqueness stems, according to Leo Braudy, from the urge for fame for specific achievement being superseded by a desire for public recognition for its own sake (584–598). According to Richard Schickel, television is the primary catalyst for the American preoccupation with celebrityhood because it broke down the barriers that formerly existed between the well-known and the unknown. "This, of course," Schickel writes, "has something to do with the way it brings famous folk into our living room in psychically manageable size. By that I mean that we see them not from the alienating distance of the stage or lecture hall...nor are they projected for us on very large screens, as they are in the movies, where scale helps to keep us humble before the image" (10). Schickel argues that television has created a false illusion of intimacy with celebrities, spearheading a culture in which styles, attitudes, and goals are problematically influenced by the mass-mediated icons of fame (7–12). In this light, we can see that by textually forging realities in which the O.J. Simpson "insiders" emerge as symbols of heroism or victimization, the narrators are seeking to perpetuate the perception of uniqueness—perhaps the major component of the culture of celebrity.

Dennis Russell
Associate Professor
Walter Cronkite School of Journalism and Telecommunication
Arizona State University
P.O. Box 871305
Tempe, Arizona 85287-1305

Braudy, Leo. The Frenzy of Renown: Fame and Its History. New York: Oxford U P, 1986.

Cooley, Armanda, Carrie Bess, and Marsha Rubin-Jackson. Madam Foreman: A Rush to Judgment? Beverly Hills: Dove Books, 1995.

Darden, Christopher, with Jess Walter. In Contempt. New York: Regan Books/ HarperCollins, 1996.

Dershowitz, Alan. Reasonable Doubts: The O.J. Simpson Case and the Criminal Justice System. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1996.

Didion, Joan. The White Album. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1979.

Farber, Celia. "Whistling in the Dark: You May Think O. J. Simpson Killed His Wife. But Does That Mean You Can’t Be Friends?" Esquire Feb. 1998: 54+.

Itule, Bruce D., and Douglas A. Anderson. News Writing and Reporting for Today’s Media. 4th ed. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1997.

Klapp, Orrin. Heroes, Villains, and Fools. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1962.

Mamet, David. On Directing Film. New York: Penguin, 1991.

Resnick, Faye, with Mike Walker. Nicole Brown Simpson: The Private Diary of a Life Interrupted. Beverly Hills: Dove Books, 1994.

———, with Jeanne V. Bell. Shattered: In the Eye of the Storm. Beverly Hills: Dove Books, 1996.

Shapiro, Robert, with Larkin Warren. The Search for Justice: A Defense Attorney’s Brief on the O.J. Simpson Case. New York: Warner Books, 1996.

Simpson, O.J. I Want to Tell You: My Responses to Your Letters, Your Messages, Your Questions. Boston: Little, Brown, 1995.

———.The Interview. 160 minute videotape, H and K, LLC Production, 1996.