His Name Is Ron (28 page)

When Brian asked the coroner to demonstrate how the final, fatal blow to Nicole could have been inflicted, Dr. Lakshmanan rose, stood behind the deputy D.A., grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head back, and sliced a ruler across his neck.

With each passing day, the testimony grew more ghastly. Dr. Lakshmanan, using the forensic evidence, reconstructed the sequence of events. He theorized that the killer first confronted Nicole, face to face, and inflicted four thrusting wounds to her neck. At least one of them would have been
fatal without immediate medical attention. Wounds to the back of her left hand indicated that she attempted to ward off the blows, but her defensive wounds were minimal, which showed that the attacker had quickly overwhelmed her. The coroner then suggested that Nicole was knocked unconscious by a blow to the head. She fell to the ground. The killer then apparently paused in his attack. Dr. Lakshmanan testified that the fall caused a bruise on Nicole's head, which took one minute or more to develop, and which would not have appeared if her throat had been slashed then, and her blood pressure had dropped to zero.

This was the minute of Ron's death.

Patti and Kim continually, quietly, asked one another, “Are you okay?”

In Dr. Lakshmanan's scenario, the killer may have been interrupted, and turned his fury upon the interloper. A minute or so later he returned to the unconscious Nicole, grabbed her by the hair, exposed her neck, and administered the vicious, maniacal coup de grâce.

Dr. Lakshmanan testified that, in his opinion, the wounds were administered by a right-handed assailant using a single-edged knife. Hearing this, the killer leaned forward and jotted a note to Carl Douglas.

Patti noted that he wrote with his right hand.

Lou Brown, acting as executor of Nicole's estate, filed a civil suit against his former son-in-law. Now three separate cases were active: Sharon's, ours, and the Browns'.

As we spent the weekend finalizing plans for a candlelight vigil to commemorate the first anniversary of Ron's death, a new issue began to preoccupy us. During the past year we had been astounded by the volume of mail that poured in. Only a few people knew our address, but thousands found creative ways to get mail to us. If a letter was sent to “The Goldman Family” in Los Angeles or Agoura or Westlake Village or even Brentwood, the post office managed to get it to us. All the letters contained messages of sympathy and support. Some people sent monetary contributions to help us with unforeseen expenses, and we appreciated them very much. The most poignant letters came from a legion of people who could sincerely empathize because they, too, had lost family members to senseless acts of brutality and evil. Our anguish was in the national consciousness, but every one of these other stories was just as painful and infuriating.

An idea flickered within us. Could we begin to direct our sorrow to
some useful end? We did not know where this concept would take us, but it was comforting.

We expanded the concept of our candlelight vigil to honor the memory of other victims as well. Because Ron loved tennis so much, initially we thought we would conduct the service at the high school tennis courts, but we did not want candle wax to damage the playing surface. Patti contacted Dennis Anderson at the Rancho Simi Parks and Recreation Department, and he graciously allowed us use of the facilities at Oak Canyon Park. He even offered to supply park rangers and police to direct traffic.

The service was set for 8:30
P.M
.

Monday, June 12, 1995.

Ron had been gone for one year. Who could believe it?

Dr. Lakshmanan was attending an international scientific conference, and court would not convene until the afternoon.

Judge Ito, seeking to maintain “some final shred of dignity” for Ron and Nicole, had barred journalists from viewing the autopsy photos but, under pressure, he relented. This morning forty-eight reporters filed into the empty courtroom, where eight large charts containing fifty-eight photographs were set up on easels. Judge Ito, in shirtsleeves, sat in the jury box with two prosecutors and a law clerk, observing.

No one spoke above a whisper.

Andrea Ford of the
Los Angeles Times
described what she saw as “ugly, powerfully violent images.”

After a time, Dominick Dunne found a seat off by himself, and stared blankly toward the front of the room.

Twenty-eight minutes later a bailiff called out, “Time.”

As the journalists filed out, a CNN reporter kept asking them, “Are you all right? Are you all right?”

Kim asked Dominick Dunne if he had seen the autopsy photos. He simply turned his head; he could not look at her.

That afternoon, Dr. Lakshmananan turned his attention to the one minute that took Ron from us.

Patti, Kim, and I sat as close together as we could, gripping each other for support. One of the prosecutors handed us tissues.

Close-up photos of Ron's head and face were displayed to the jury. One of the older jurors, a man, gagged and choked. He wiped his face with a handkerchief.

Dr. Lakshmanan told the jurors that Ron was stabbed and slashed to death, and that all of the wounds could have been caused by a single knife. Some of the wounds suggested that Ron put up a fight, but a variety of cuts to his throat, lung, and abdomen robbed him of blood pressure and vitality, rendering him helpless.

Two of the cuts appeared to have been made when the killer was holding Ron still, drawing the knife across his throat in a threatening manner. The coroner said, “You can see this type of injury when somebody is immobilized, and you are threatening to do bodily harm to them.”

He added, “Without medical treatment …” Ron “would have died within five minutes.”

I dropped my chin to my chest. Unstoppable tears streamed down my face.

A bailiff approached us, offering three small cups of water, which we accepted gratefully. Incredible, horrible phrases rebounded inside our heads: thirty wounds, five of them could have been fatal; Ron lay there, gasping for breath; he was found with one eye still open. Kim caught Marcia's attention and mouthed the words “I'm out of here.”

Marcia, in turn, met Judge Ito's gaze and said the same thing to him. He nodded and we rushed from the room.

All we could do was pace the halls and cry. And cry. And cry.

No family should ever have to endure such a thing.

TWENTY

As twilight faded into night, carloads of people descended on Oak Canyon Park. Police allowed them to park on one side of the narrow, twisting entrance road, but soon the spillover extended onto Kanan Avenue. Hand in hand, families—many with small children—made their way to a secluded amphitheater in a natural dish sculpted into the surrounding hills. Before long, more than a thousand people had assembled. Everyone carried a candle. We were overwhelmed by the turnout.

Kim was the first to speak:

My name is Kimberly Goldman. My brother, my best friend, was brutally murdered one year ago tonight alongside his friend, Nicole Brown Simpson. My brother was only 25 years old, and just on his way to a happy, healthy, prosperous future when he was literally stopped dead in his tracks. He lost his life at the selfish and savage hands of another, a type of hate and rage that was never a part of Ron's life. He was a warm and caring soul, who would do anything for anyone, and the reality here is, he did. He died trying to help his friend.

Ron would tell me not to stand here and be angry, but to remember the good and happy memories, and to keep him alive in all of us. I would tell you that Ron had a zest for life that I was envious of. He had a glow about him that was amazing. He held his head high, all his days. He was beautiful, charming,
loving, caring, dedicated, and he wanted nothing but the best for everyone he knew. I miss him so much. I need him and I want him back. I am holding Ron closest to my heart, and I know that anyone I will ever meet in my life will know Ron's life through me. He deserves the best now. I owe him that.

We come together tonight not only to remember Ron and Nicole but others who have lost their lives to violence. Let's extend that to anyone who knows the pain and sorrow of losing a loved one. Please take tonight to give those people the respect, the honor and the love that they deserve….

We have been overwhelmed with the sense of community we have experienced, from people all over the country, strangers, people that have just extended themselves to us, shared their pain with us, and just wanted us to know they cared. Everybody gets really down on the world, and you think there is so much violence but I have come to learn that for every one violent and horrible person there are twenty thousand who are wonderful. That shows up in all of your faces and all of the tears you have shed. I am very honored to be a part of that and very proud to share it with all of you. My brother would be very happy.

Our friend Loren Lathrop sang Eric Clapton's “Tears in Heaven.” The poignant words wafted softly through the park. Lauren dissolved into tears. She knew that Clapton had written the song as a tribute to his own lost son.

No one spoke when the sad strains of the song came to an end. Only sniffling sounds could be heard.

Rabbi King's closing words were:

Let us take the hands of our loved ones' souls, and together work to make this world a bit more just and a little safer. In this way, their light will fuse together with our own and shine beyond transient headlines to the very gates of eternity itself. Thank God for the lives of Ron and Nicole, and each of our beloved victims of violent crime. …

May their memories be a blessing for us, and for all humanity, and let us all say Amen.

Colleen Campbell, the former mayor of San Juan Capistrano, spoke as a representative of victims and their families everywhere. Her empathy was
obvious. Her own son had been murdered when he was about the same age as Ron. The extended justice system took seven years to bring the killer to trial and, during the trial, Ms. Campbell's brother and sister-in-law were also murdered.

Then Dominick Dunne, who earlier in the day had sat dumbstruck in the quiet courtroom where Ron and Nicole's photos were on display, addressed the crowd:

I am not here this evening as a journalist, I am here because, I, like Fred Goldman, am the father of a murdered child. I am here because I understand as one who has been through what they are currently going through, the pain, grief, and rage of the Goldman family.

Six months ago, on the eve of this trial, Judge Lance Ito assigned me a seat in his courtroom next to the Goldman family. In the months that have followed, I have come to know Fred and Patti and Kim, whom I think of as the conscience of the trial. My admiration for this family has no bounds. Their devotion to each other is simply a beautiful thing to observe. They are that wonderful, old-fashioned, gone out of style word, they are a family.

Dunne was interrupted by heavy applause. Then he continued:

I have loved watching the love that Fred and Patti feel for each other. I have loved watching the deep affection that exists between Patti and Kim and I have loved watching the loveliest kind of parental love, which is the love of a father and a daughter for each other.

It is difficult to sit there in a courtroom and listen to graphic descriptions of your child's violent death. Yes, it is. Would it have been easier to skip the trial and go out of town until the whole thing was over? Yes, it would have been. But that is not what the Goldmans would ever have done. They are where the jury can see the devastation that has been caused. They are attending to the last business of Ron Goldman's life. During this past week, horrifying photographs and equally horrifying descriptions and reenactments of the terrible crimes that happened a year ago tonight, they have remained throughout like the thoroughbreds they are. With Fred in the middle, with Patti
on his left, with Kim on his right, clinging to each other, I feel honored that they have allowed me a place in their lives.

It has been thirteen years since my daughter's death. From the time the telephone call came, at five in the morning, to tell me the terrible news, my life and the lives of my former wife and our two sons were changed forever, as will the lives of the Goldman family be. I had never been to a trial until I attended the trial of the man who killed my daughter. My eyes were opened by the experience. I learned that the rights of victims do not equate with the lives of the defendant on trial. I learned that the victim becomes the forgotten person in the trial. I learned that days, sometimes weeks, go by and the victim's name is barely or rarely mentioned as attention shifts to the defendant on trial. My life took a new turn after the trial of the man who killed my daughter. I have rarely been out of a courtroom since….

You will go to parties. You will go to the movies, but what has happened is always there. A part of everyday life. But now, when I think of my Dominique, my lovely daughter, I no longer dwell on her dreadful death. I think of her beautiful life and the good times that we had. And that is going to happen to you. The time will come that when you think of Ron, you will hear his laughter.