His Name Is Ron (57 page)

“Yes.”

“Juror 294?”

“Yes.”

Patti silently counted: One, two, three, four. She made a conscious attempt to make eye contact with each and every juror. She whispered to each of us, “Look at them. It's the only way we'll ever have to thank them. Look at them.” The silent tally continued:

“Juror 266?”

“Yes.”

“Juror 257?”

“Yes.”

“Juror 369?”

“Yes.”

I kept hoping and praying that we were going to get all twelve to say “Yes.”

“Juror 290?”

“Yes.”

“Juror 326?”

“Yes.”

They sat up straight in their chairs as they answered. Kim and Patti sensed a firm, indignant tone in their voices.

“Juror 400?”

“Yes.”

“Juror 88?”

“Yes.”

“Juror 227?”

“Yes.”

Finally the clerk declared, “Twelve to zero.”

We nailed him, Patti thought. We didn't just beat him, we nailed him!

The process continued for many minutes as the clerk polled every juror on each of the eight questions. Only with supreme effort did we maintain the necessary silence; our emotions bubbled toward the surface.

Finally the last juror intoned the last “Yes.” Judge Fujisaki thanked the jurors and dismissed them for the day.

We jumped to our feet. Patti, Lauren, and Kim ran in front of the railing. Our friends and attorneys encircled us. We wept and smiled and embraced one another. The communal hugs held an intensity none of us had ever experienced before. The room seemed to swirl around us.

The bailiff yelled out, “The jury's still here!”

We did not care. We had been silenced at the conclusion of the criminal trial and muffled for months by Judge Fujisaki's frustrating gag order. This was our time. This was our moment.

I wrapped my arms tightly around Kim, and she hugged back, more tightly than she had in a long time. We both said, “We did it. We did it for Ron!”

The killer and his attorneys slipped out of the room quickly, like thieves in the night.

We stepped outside the courtroom to find ourselves engulfed by cheers from a crowd that seemed to have grown even larger. As we began the walk across the street, still holding hands, we raised our arms in the air. “This is your time, Fred,” Dan encouraged.

The scene reminded Kim of the throngs who had come to Ron's funeral. For a few moments, all Kim could see was her brother's smile, captured on the photograph of him holding a baseball bat.

We were smiling, crying, shaking, completely overwhelmed by the crowds and their shouts of support. Patti's hands were numb from squeezing Kim's and Lauren's so hard, for so long.

Our group spilled into the hotel lobby and we managed to cram inside an elevator. Away from the media and the spectators, we let loose with shrieks of joy and relief.

Up in Room 205 Dan ran about yelling, “Twelve-zip! Twelve-zip!”

Bottles of champagne appeared.

It was a strange, intoxicating feeling. Our relief and gratitude, our excitement and euphoria were tempered by the knowledge of what had brought this all about. Yes, we had won. But Ron was still gone.

I offered a toast: “Today marks two and a half years and we finally have justice. Our family is grateful for the verdict.”

Dan said, “Ron would be proud.”

Kim corrected, “Ron
is
proud.”

My voice cracked as I proclaimed, “Thank God! Thank God for some justice for Ron and Nicole.”

I turned to my family and said, “Twelve-zero. It is just what we wanted. The only thing that could have been sweeter was to see Ron walk through that door.”

The comment reminded Kim of the image that Dan had evoked during his closing argument, of Ron striding through the courtroom door. She said to all of us, “Do you know how honored and grateful Ron would be to Dan, to everybody here, for what they've done? I can see the look in his eyes, the expression on his face. Remember how he looked when he watched Jimmy Connors or Andre Agassi play flawless tennis? That's how he would have looked watching Dan demand justice for him. He always recognized and appreciated excellence.”

She could see the firm handshakes, the pats on the back, the exuberant high-fives he would share with everyone. She could feel the heat of his infectious, radiant smile and hear him bellow, “Way to go!” Then she could hear his voice soften and see his brown eyes, flecked with green, widen as he said, “Thanks, guys, you did me proud!”

If the killer had been convicted at the criminal trial, we would have presented our victims' statements prior to sentencing. But we never had the opportunity, until now.

We have composed our statements independently, choosing not to share them with each other until they appeared in print.

Lauren

I wish I could have said this directly to you, but I wasn't given the chance.

You won't hear me refer to you as “Mr. Simpson,” or “O.J.,” because our family refers to you as the “killer” who took our wonderful Ronny away from us.

When I stepped in that courtroom for the first time, I expected to see a man in a blue jail uniform. Instead I saw a coward. A man with a grin on his face wearing a newly pressed suit.

I shuddered at your size—I almost vomited when I realized that your big hands murdered my innocent brother.

Your psychopathic mind has probably convinced you that you didn't commit these murders. You have probably placed the blame on your battered wife or better yet, Ron. You held the knife that lunged into my brother's body so many times.

Did you ever think of Ron and the family that he was leaving behind? Did you ever realize that there were many other people who love Ron and would miss him? Did you ever stop and wonder if Ron might have dreams and aspirations? Did you even care, for that matter?

My life has fallen apart. I have lost my faith in the justice system. My oldest brother was ripped away from me, and you are still alive to talk about it.

Ron will never have the opportunity to watch me grow up. There are things that I want to share with him on a day-to-day basis. I'm sure that
you know what that's like with your children. I want to ask him advice, I want to make sure that I'm taking the right path. Now I can't!

My brother wanted to have children; he wanted to settle down and get married. He had dreams to live and to fulfill, and you stopped him dead in his tracks.

A hero is someone we all look up to, someone to admire, someone who would do anything for anyone. Ron was a hero. He risked his life to stop your malicious hand from striking violence on your ex-wife one last time, but unfortunately, he was unsuccessful.

My life has a huge gap which I will feel forever. I often get emotional at the drop of a pin, and I sometimes have dreams about Ron and what his future would have been like. These dreams should be a reality.

When I thought of Ron's death, I thought car accident or some sort of everyday accident. I never thought about a murderer—with a knife. You took a knife and stabbed it into Ron. You took two wonderful human beings off this earth—and everyone is suffering now except you.

I was brought up not to use the word “hate,” but I have made an exception. I HATE YOU!!! I hate the fact that you are able to breathe. I hate the fact that you are able to function as a human being. I hate the fact that you are alive. I hate the fact that you ruined my life. I hate the fact that another murderer is loose in our society.

Was Ron afraid? Do his pleas haunt you every night before you go to sleep? Do you realize that Ron will never get to do anything that you are doing? Ron suffered because of your ignorance and your disgusting, jealous behavior.

I would love to have you in a room and pound on you until you told me—How? Why? There are no answers. Murder is final.

Is it fair that all that I have left are videotapes, memories, and pictures? I deserve to have Ron as a part of my life. Ron deserved to live. It should be your useless body six feet under, not Ron's!

When I sat in the courtroom and made eye contact with you, I had to restrain myself from jumping over the railing. I wanted to put you through torture. I wanted you to suffer like Ron suffered. Unfortunately, this was only a daydream.

Not only did you break the hearts of millions of people across the country, but you broke my heart. You broke the circle of love that once knit my family together. You took a huge piece of me when you took Ron.

Ron was the type of person whom I could always count on. He would listen to me for hours on end, comforting me and telling me that everything
would turn out for the better. Well, nothing is better. My life is a mess. I had to teach myself to be happy again. I had to try to stop thinking about the murder scene. I had to try to find some kind of normalcy. Do you know what it's like to have a huge chunk of your life missing because of one ignorant human being?

Ron didn't even get a chance to see me off on my first date, to lecture me about guys, to guide me with my dreams. He was always waiting for that chance. He wanted to protect me from everything and make sure that no one would ever hurt me. I didn't get a chance to protect Ron. I didn't think I would need to.

As I sit here with tears rolling down my cheeks, all that I feel is hatred toward you—a murderer!

You will never get to see our Ronny again because you are going to burn in hell with all of the murderers, drug dealers, and robbers of this world, while Ronny rests peacefully in heaven!

Michael

I have spent countless numbers of hours thinking about what I would say to the man who killed my brother if I had the chance. Now that chance is mine. The hate that I feel toward you cannot be paralleled. I think about what you did to my brother—on a day-to-day basis. To think that a human being was capable of that kind of brutality makes me sick. The way you pranced into the courtroom with your “Scheme Team” made me sick. When it was all said and done, and you heard the verdict, I hated you for the way you stared at Kim when she was in tears. Then it happened. Juror 6 decided to throw up a black power sign. That summed it all up. It was not about you killing my brother and Nicole. It was about racism. I bet you felt great when you walked on the streets as a free man—something my brother will never have the chance to do. I have a little news for you, Mr. Killer: You are not a free man. Life just can't be the same for you anymore. You used to be an athlete, but now all you are is a coward and a murderer. You took something from me that I can never replace. Ron was a caring person who gave up his life to save a friend. I really do not know what your fate holds, but I do know that one day you will have to answer to a much higher justice. A justice that does not see color and does not hear racism. What are you going to do then? Think really hard, because life has a strange way of giving things back to people. I have gone over what happened that night thousands of times in my head. All is see is a
HERO
running in to save a friend, and a coward stabbing him to death. When you took Ron away, it was not only my family's loss, it was the world's loss, because that's the
kind of person Ron was. All I can tell you is, you are lucky that I was not there the night of June 12, 1994, because you would be the one who was six feet under now. You say that you feel like the victim; what about Ron and Nicole. What about their families and loved ones? They are the true victims. Like I said before, What goes around, comes around. I believe that yours is on the way. To look at the emptiness in Kim's and Fred's eyes is enough to make me want to kill you. I understand that killing is not a way to fix a problem, but the thought has crossed my mind many times. You killed my brother, and with him a piece of me. I hate you, and there will be a day when you will have nowhere to run. One more thing. Ron and Nicole know when you are coming, but you will be in a place where the heat will be scorching your corrupt soul. You were never a football hero, a hero is my brother, not someone who murders. I hope your life is miserable. I hate you.