The Run of His Life

The Run of His Life Plot Summary

Introduction

The courtroom falls silent as the judge enters. All eyes fix on the defendant—a man once celebrated, now scrutinized by millions. Have you ever wondered what happens when fame collides with the criminal justice system? When public opinion threatens to overshadow evidence? The trial that captivated America in the mid-1990s wasn't just about determining one man's guilt or innocence; it became a mirror reflecting the nation's deepest divisions around race, celebrity, and justice. This extraordinary case transformed how we understand high-profile trials and their impact on society. Through meticulous examination of this watershed moment in American legal history, we gain unprecedented insight into the mechanics of criminal proceedings under intense media scrutiny. Readers will discover how skilled attorneys craft compelling narratives from complex evidence, how racial tensions can permeate judicial proceedings, and how public perception shapes—and is shaped by—courtroom drama. The lessons from this trial continue to resonate decades later, offering valuable perspective on our justice system's strengths and vulnerabilities.

Chapter 1: The Dream Team: How Legal Talent Shapes Case Outcomes

Robert Shapiro sat in his Century City office on a glorious summer Saturday afternoon, June 25, 1994, watching as the parade of luxury cars pulled into the nearly deserted underground parking garage. One by one, about two dozen of West Los Angeles' top lawyers arrived for an extraordinary meeting. All white, virtually all men, and mostly in their early fifties, they reflected the culture in which they had thrived – one where workaholism was no virtue and weekend work anathema. Yet they had all forsaken golf and family to answer Shapiro's call. The lawyers gathered in a borrowed conference room, exchanging slightly embarrassed smiles. They had come because everyone wanted a piece of this case – the defense of O.J. Simpson against charges that he had murdered his ex-wife Nicole and her friend Ronald Goldman. But they also came because Robert Shapiro had asked them, and in the gossipy, competitive Los Angeles legal world, an invitation to this conclave was itself a gift. Any lawyer would treasure the opportunity to mention that Bob Shapiro had called to talk about the O.J. case. After the lawyers settled around the large oval table, Shapiro began with a question that instantly revealed the strange nature of this gathering: "So, how many of you think O.J. did it?" Everyone froze. A few lawyers chuckled nervously while others rolled their eyes. Defense lawyers often discuss cases with brutal candor among themselves – is a plea advisable? Is the case winnable? In these private discussions, guilt is typically assumed. But Shapiro was talking about what was becoming the most sensational legal proceeding in American history. What none of these legal luminaries could have anticipated was how this case would transform not just their careers, but the entire American legal system and cultural landscape. The "Dream Team" that eventually coalesced would include F. Lee Bailey, the legendary trial attorney who had defended Sam Sheppard and Patty Hearst; Alan Dershowitz, the Harvard Law professor who provided intellectual firepower; Barry Scheck and Peter Neufeld, pioneers in the use of DNA evidence; and Johnnie Cochran, whose masterful courtroom presence would ultimately define the defense strategy. The assembly of such extraordinary legal talent demonstrated a fundamental truth about high-profile cases: the quality and specialization of legal representation can dramatically alter outcomes. Each member brought unique skills – Bailey's cross-examination expertise, Dershowitz's constitutional knowledge, Scheck's scientific acumen, and Cochran's jury persuasion abilities. Together, they created a defense machine capable of challenging every aspect of the prosecution's case, from evidence collection to witness credibility to constitutional procedure. This case reveals how justice can be shaped by resources and talent. When you witness high-profile trials, consider not just the evidence presented but the quality of advocacy on each side. The most compelling facts can crumble under skilled cross-examination, while seemingly minor details can become case-defining moments in the hands of talented attorneys.

Chapter 2: Race Card Strategy: Transforming Evidence into Narrative

When Johnnie Cochran took over as lead defense attorney, he immediately elevated race from subtext to central theme. In his opening statement, within the first minute, Cochran invoked Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.: "I guess Dr. Martin Luther King said it best when he said that injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." This deliberate framing positioned Simpson's case as part of a larger struggle for racial justice rather than a simple murder trial. Cochran's most effective racial strategy centered on Detective Mark Fuhrman. During cross-examination, F. Lee Bailey asked Fuhrman directly: "Have you used the word 'nigger' in the past ten years?" Fuhrman replied, "Not that I recall, no." Bailey pressed further: "So that anyone who comes to this court and quotes you as using that word in dealing with African-Americans would be a liar, would they not, Detective Fuhrman?" Fuhrman answered, "Yes, they would." This exchange created a perfect trap - when tapes later emerged of Fuhrman using the slur repeatedly, his credibility was destroyed. The defense team's research had identified that black women on the jury felt little sympathy for Nicole Brown Simpson. Cochran skillfully exploited this by portraying Nicole as promiscuous and self-destructive. "Miss Nicole Brown Simpson is a very strong, independent woman," Cochran told jurors. "She picked and chose her own friends, neither O.J. Simpson or no one else could tell her who her friends were to be." He described how Nicole and her friend Faye Resnick would "go out at night... two, three, four nights a week and stay out until five o'clock in the morning." The strategy was clear - shift blame to the victim. When confronted about injecting race into the trial, Cochran was unapologetic. "I've been trying cases for a very long time," he told Judge Ito, "and anybody who doesn't believe that when you have a case like this, when you have a case of murder, that race plays a part in everything—We don't introduce that... There are racial issues. These jurors know it. Everybody knows it... Race plays a part in everything in America." For Cochran, the connections between his millionaire client and "the problems of race in America and the underclass" were self-evident. This strategic narrative transformation illustrates how skilled attorneys can reframe evidence to create an entirely different story. What began as a case about domestic violence and physical evidence became a referendum on police racism and institutional corruption. The defense didn't need to disprove every piece of evidence; they simply needed to change the lens through which jurors viewed that evidence. When you encounter persuasive narratives in legal or political contexts, ask yourself what alternative frameworks might explain the same facts. The most effective advocates don't just dispute individual points—they create entirely new contexts that transform how we interpret information.

Chapter 3: Media's Double-Edged Sword: When Coverage Becomes the Story

The morning of the verdict, America stood still. Offices installed televisions in conference rooms. Schools wheeled in TV carts. An estimated 150 million people—more than half the country's population—paused to watch the outcome. What they witnessed next revealed a nation divided: cameras captured Black Americans cheering while white viewers sat in stunned silence. This split-screen reaction became as much a part of the story as the verdict itself. The unprecedented media coverage had begun seventeen months earlier with the infamous white Bronco chase. Helicopter cameras broadcast live footage of the slow-speed pursuit while commentators filled airtime with speculation. Twenty-five million Americans watched, abandoning even the NBA finals. Networks quickly recognized they had stumbled upon ratings gold. Court TV secured permission to broadcast the trial live, and mainstream networks followed suit. Judge Lance Ito, initially hesitant about cameras, ultimately embraced the spotlight, even appearing on entertainment programs like "The Tonight Show." The daily broadcast transformed legal proceedings into entertainment. Attorneys became celebrities overnight. Marcia Clark changed her hairstyle after public criticism, prompting national discussion. Defense attorney Robert Shapiro appeared on magazine covers. Even peripheral figures achieved fame—Kato Kaelin, a houseguest with minor testimony, received movie offers and talk show invitations. The judge's wife, a high-ranking police officer, found herself scrutinized when her connection to a witness emerged. This media saturation fundamentally altered how the case was perceived. Television naturally emphasized dramatic moments over substantive evidence. A failed glove demonstration received hours of coverage while complex DNA testimony was largely ignored. Legal commentators—many with limited criminal law experience—offered simplistic analyses that shaped public understanding. The prosecution's case, built on scientific evidence requiring careful explanation, suffered in this environment. The defense's emotional appeals and memorable phrases ("If it doesn't fit, you must acquit") thrived. The case demonstrated how media coverage can transform a criminal trial from a search for truth into a cultural phenomenon, where public opinion becomes as important as evidence and where justice competes with entertainment. Even sequestered jurors weren't immune—several later admitted awareness of the media narrative despite court instructions. When consuming news about high-profile cases today, consider how media framing might be shaping your perception. The most televised moments may not be the most legally significant, and the most compelling narratives may not align with the most accurate ones. Media coverage is never neutral—it inevitably emphasizes certain aspects of a story while minimizing others.

Chapter 4: Evidence Collection: Small Mistakes with Massive Consequences

Barry Scheck looked nothing like the other defense attorneys with their expensive suits and polished demeanors. His ill-fitting double-breasted suits and distinctive New York accent set him apart in the California courtroom. But appearances were deceiving. While Johnnie Cochran commanded the spotlight, it was Scheck who methodically dismantled the prosecution's scientific evidence, piece by painstaking piece. The turning point came during Scheck's cross-examination of Dennis Fung, the crime lab technician who had collected blood evidence. For nine grueling days, Scheck exposed flaws in the collection process. "So you didn't tell the grand jury that Andrea Mazzola was actually the one that swabbed that red stain off the handle of the Bronco, right?" Scheck asked. Fung hesitated. "Did you tell them that?" Scheck pressed. "No," Fung admitted. "You said you did it." "Yes," Fung conceded, visibly wilting. By the end of the examination, large purple blotches appeared under Fung's eyes from stress, and he admitted to numerous errors: collecting evidence with bare hands, failing to change gloves between samples, and overlooking crucial items at the crime scene. Scheck's brilliance lay in merging his scientific attack with the racial narrative Cochran had established. He didn't just argue that evidence was mishandled; he suggested it was deliberately manipulated. His dissection of blood evidence found on a back gate became legendary. The blood, collected three weeks after the murders, contained high-quality DNA matching the defendant. Rather than a damning piece of evidence, Scheck transformed it into proof of conspiracy. "Why would blood that had sat outside for three weeks be less degraded than blood collected within hours?" he asked the jury. The implication was clear: someone had planted fresh blood on the gate after the defendant's reference sample was taken. What made Scheck's approach so devastating was his meticulous preparation. While other defense attorneys napped after court, Scheck would bend over documents in Cochran's office, examining every detail of the scientific evidence. He constructed alternative explanations for each piece of physical evidence—blood drops were cross-contaminated, socks were splashed with the victim's blood after collection, fingerprints were misidentified. The strategy created what legal scholars later called "reasonable doubt by a thousand cuts." No single argument completely explained away the evidence, but together they created enough uncertainty to make conviction impossible. Scheck demonstrated that in high-profile cases, scientific evidence—often considered unassailable—could be undermined through skilled questioning and alternative narratives. This case highlights how procedural integrity in evidence collection can determine case outcomes. Even the strongest physical evidence can be neutralized if collection protocols are compromised. When evaluating forensic evidence in any context, consider not just the results but the entire chain of custody and collection methodology. The most sophisticated scientific analysis cannot overcome fundamental flaws in how evidence was gathered and preserved.

Chapter 5: Jury Psychology: Why Perception Trumps Facts

The jury that would decide O.J. Simpson's fate was sequestered for 265 days – the longest sequestration in American judicial history. Cut off from their families, jobs, and normal lives, these twelve individuals and their alternates lived in a hotel under the constant supervision of sheriff's deputies. They couldn't watch television except for carefully screened programs, couldn't read newspapers, and couldn't discuss the case even among themselves until deliberations began. The psychological pressure was immense. The composition of the jury reflected the demographic realities of downtown Los Angeles: nine Black jurors, two white jurors, and one Hispanic. This racial makeup became a subject of intense speculation and controversy. The prosecution had theoretically had the option to try the case in Santa Monica, where the jury pool was predominantly white, but various factors – including earthquake damage to that courthouse and logistical considerations – made downtown the only realistic venue. Still, District Attorney Gil Garcetti complicated matters by suggesting he wanted the trial downtown because a verdict there would have more "credibility" – a coded reference to having substantial African-American representation on the jury. Jury consultant Jo-Ellan Dimitrius played a crucial role in shaping the defense's jury selection strategy. After conducting extensive focus groups, Dimitrius advised Simpson's lawyers that their ideal jurors would be Black women over 30 who had completed high school but not college. Her research showed these individuals were most receptive to the defense's narrative about police misconduct and racial bias. The prosecution's jury consultant, Donald Vinson, reached similar conclusions but from the opposite perspective – warning prosecutors that Black jurors, particularly women, would be their most challenging demographic. As the trial progressed, the defense team skillfully played to the jury's experiences and perceptions. When Mark Fuhrman took the stand, Cochran and F. Lee Bailey meticulously laid a trap. First, they got Fuhrman to deny ever using racial slurs. Then, months later, they produced recordings of Fuhrman using the N-word repeatedly in interviews with a screenwriter. This revelation resonated powerfully with Black jurors who had experienced or witnessed police racism firsthand. The prosecution, meanwhile, struggled to connect with the jury. Marcia Clark, despite her formidable skills as a prosecutor, had difficulty reading the room. In one telling incident, she dismissed a Black female juror who seemed sympathetic to the prosecution, based on the woman's body language during defense questioning. This juror later revealed she had been planning to vote guilty. Clark also misjudged how domestic violence would be perceived by the jury. While she believed the history of abuse would be damning evidence against Simpson, many jurors saw it as a private matter between husband and wife, not necessarily indicative of murderous intent. This case reveals how jurors' lived experiences and cultural perspectives can outweigh factual evidence in deliberations. When evaluating justice outcomes, remember that jurors don't process information in a vacuum—they filter it through their own experiences, biases, and worldviews. The most compelling scientific evidence may be less persuasive than narratives that align with jurors' existing beliefs about how the world works. Understanding this psychological reality is essential for anyone seeking to comprehend how justice functions in practice rather than theory.

Chapter 6: The Civil Trial: Finding Truth Through Different Standards

Fred Goldman sat stoically as the civil jury foreman read the verdict: "We the jury find the defendant responsible for the wrongful death of Ronald Goldman." After seventeen months of anguish following the criminal acquittal, Goldman finally heard the words he had been waiting for. The same man declared not guilty of murdering his son had now been found liable in civil court. The jury awarded $33.5 million in damages. Outside the courthouse, Goldman spoke through tears: "This is all we ever wanted—for the world to know who killed our son." The civil trial differed dramatically from its criminal predecessor. Instead of downtown Los Angeles, proceedings took place in predominantly white Santa Monica. Judge Hiroshi Fujisaki banned cameras and imposed a strict gag order on attorneys. Most crucially, the burden of proof shifted from "beyond reasonable doubt" to the lower standard of "preponderance of evidence"—essentially, more likely than not. This change proved decisive. Attorney Daniel Petrocelli, representing the Goldman family, employed strategies unavailable to prosecutors. Because double jeopardy didn't apply to civil cases, the defendant could be forced to testify. Over four days of questioning, Petrocelli methodically exposed contradictions in his account. When asked about Bruno Magli shoes—the rare model that left bloody prints at the murder scene—the defendant vehemently denied ever owning such "ugly ass" shoes. Petrocelli then produced thirty-one photographs showing him wearing exactly those shoes at a football game months before the murders. The civil trial's turning point came when Petrocelli asked about a cut on the defendant's hand discovered the day after the murders. In the criminal trial, prosecutors suggested it occurred during the struggle with victims. Now under oath, the defendant offered five different explanations for the injury, none convincing. "Which is it?" Petrocelli asked. "You've given us five different stories." The defendant's credibility collapsed as jurors visibly reacted. Unlike criminal prosecutors, Petrocelli could introduce new evidence discovered after the first trial. He presented testimony about the defendant's failed polygraph test and introduced the "suicide" note written during the famous Bronco chase. The civil jury also heard domestic violence evidence that criminal jurors had largely dismissed, including Nicole Brown's desperate 911 calls and photographs of her bruised face. After deliberating for three days—compared to the criminal jury's three hours—the civil jury unanimously found the defendant responsible for both deaths. One juror later explained: "The physical evidence didn't change, but hearing him try to explain it away made the difference. We simply didn't believe him." This remarkable contrast between criminal and civil outcomes demonstrates how procedural differences can produce opposite results with identical facts. It reminds us that truth-seeking in our legal system isn't absolute but contextual—dependent on rules of evidence, standards of proof, and procedural frameworks. When evaluating justice outcomes, consider that our legal system offers multiple pathways to truth, each with different thresholds and methodologies. Sometimes justice requires a second chance and a different forum to emerge fully.

Summary

Justice is never simply about evidence—it exists at the intersection of law, media, race, celebrity, and human psychology. When these forces collide in high-profile cases, the pursuit of truth can become secondary to competing narratives and social dynamics. The most important takeaway is that our legal system, while designed to uncover facts, remains vulnerable to external influences that can dramatically alter outcomes. Approach high-profile cases with healthy skepticism about both media coverage and your own biases. Remember that courtroom drama often obscures rather than illuminates complex evidence. When evaluating controversial verdicts, consider the full context—including historical grievances, media influence, and procedural differences between courts. Most importantly, recognize that justice sometimes requires multiple forums and perspectives to emerge fully. The initial verdict, however definitive it seems, may represent only one chapter in a longer story of truth-seeking.

About Author

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Jeffrey Toobin

Jeffrey Ross Toobin (J.D., Harvard Law School, 1986; B.A., American History and Literature, Harvard University) is a lawyer, blogger, and media legal correspondent for CNN and formerly The New Yorker magazine. He previously served as an Assistant United States Attorney in Brooklyn, New York, and later worked as a legal analyst for ABC News, where he received a 2001 Emmy Award for his coverage of the Elian Gonzales custody saga.

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