The phone rang.
An authoritative voice on a speaker phone announced that he was
looking for Mmmm Par-trish-err Roth.
I thought this was a joke. No one calls me that in real life. I answered
in the same tone.
He again announced: “You were a JUROR on the Westmoreland ver- sus CBS Trial.”
“Who is this?” I demanded.
***
Four days later my husband and I were entering the lobby of The Scottsdale Princess Hotel in Arizona. I’d been invited by the American Bar Association to be on a panel representing the Westmoreland CBS trial’s tenth anniversary. As I signed in at the counter, I saw the brochure announcing the event we were to attend.
The panel’s names were in alphabetical order: Boies, Dorsen, Kovner, Leval, Smith, Vradenburg, Wallace.
The name Roth was nowhere to be found. Boies was nowhere to be seen at the convention neither was Smith. I laughed to myself, I wondered which one I replaced at the last minute?
I felt like a country bumpkin surrounded by hundreds of first amend- ment attorneys from all over the United States.
There was a cocktail party upstairs for anyone that wished to attend.
My husband and I stayed close together as we navigated the sea of suits and ties.
It seems that many old friends were in attendance. I heard my name, I looked over my shoulder, and saw Mike Wallace motion for us to sit with him.
I can’t describe how that gesture made me feel.
He greeted both Bob and I with incredible warmth.
As we were about to sit, Senator John McCain appeared. Mike and John shook hands.
Mike immediately introduced Bob and I to the senator. “Pat was a juror on the Westmoreland trial; she’s going to be on the panel Saturday; she wrote a book about her jury duty experience,” he said a lot more that I can’t remember, being too busy processing the fact that hard-nosed Mike Wallace was promoting my book to the senator of Arizona.
The moment John left, Mike turned to Bob and me, “Watch, he’s going to be president some day!”
The place was packed, I didn’t know where to look but someone came into focus walking toward us and I froze; it was David Dorsen, the attorney for Westmoreland that I wrote about so unflatteringly in my book.
I wanted to hide.
He shook hands with Mike. I thought maybe he didn’t recognize me. I focused on the crowd around us. I’d written that “he moved around so much he made me nervous, no wonder he’s almost bald with all that activ- ity in his head, hair just falls out.”
It’s easy to write stupid things like that in a diary that you think no one will see.
Mike’s voice brought me back to the table. “David, you remember Patricia Roth, she was a juror.”
Before Mike could finish his sentence, David leaned over to shake my hand then Bob’s.
“Of course! I remember her, we all stared at each other for eighteen weeks, how do you forget?”
I breathed a sigh of relief! Obviously, he didn’t read my book, he’s acting too friendly.
“That book you wrote about the trial is a perfect addition to my law classes.
Law students must be reminded how the jurors are judging them.”
“You mean, you read the book?” I asked in disbelief. “You read how unprepared I thought you were?”
Dorsen laughed.
“You were absolutely correct, our team was fighting with each other,” he waved his hand in the air. “That was ten years ago; what are you up to these days?”
He was so totally different in person; away from the courtroom he was humorous and entertaining. He was also a food critic for some big newspaper in Washington.
It surprised me how curious these courtroom experts were about my opinion.
I was surprised at how friendly the lawyers are to each other even though they argue like cats and dogs in court.
But the most talked about event for the entire weekend!!
The Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky scandal had just made headline news the night before. The story was on everybody’s lips.
One of the most eye-opening experiences for me was to hear how these lawyers processed the information before they had time to analyze it and spew it out for public consumption. Everyone had a different view. Our table was no exception. My husband leaned into the table and asked, “What kind of an ego does this guy have anyway?”
Mike Wallace leaned in and asked, “What kind of lack of an ego?” as he went on to give us his opinion.
I realized that this guy with the reputation of being so aggressively hard on his news interviews was one of the more empathetic, caring people I’ve met.
“That poor girl, her life has been ruined!” He shook his head.
The American Bar Association went out of their way to put on an unforgettable event. In addition to lavish breakfasts and wonderful din- ners, they arranged tennis matches and golf games and special trips for the spouses while the lawyers were attending seminars.
The barbecue after Bob’s golf game was especially memorable. Bob Roth’s name was called as the winner of closest to the pin. He won $50.00 to spend in the pro shop. Our table yelled and applauded as if he had broken an Olympic record.
Saturday was the big day for the Main Event.
The panel discussion, ten-year anniversary of the Westmoreland vs. CBS trial.
I went to bed early but it ended up the worst night’s sleep; I had a nature call every half hour. I ate a simple Danish and coffee for breakfast but was doubled over with indigestion.
We’d been milling around the breakfast tables set up in the large hall outside of the Forum Rooms. I was wearing my badge with the red ribbon speaker label. A few individuals stopped to talk to me. I worked hard at keeping on my smiley face.
I was shocked at my body. My mind was so eager. I have always enjoyed public speaking. But I was suddenly aware of my audience.
There were some interesting people at our table. A woman from Seattle had just arrived from Colorado where she’d been taking a deposi- tion in a maximum-security prison. She said everyone was there; Timothy McVeigh; the Unabomber; a few serial killers. She re-counted what a sobering experience it had been. She was a criminal attorney married to a media attorney like most of the guests here this weekend. She introduced us to him.
He shook my hand and told me he was looking forward to hearing the inside story of the Westmoreland trial; he had followed it closely when it was happening back in the eighties.
His comments put my stomach into a ball of knots.
Finally, it was time for the panel to assemble. I followed George Vradenburg, who was chief counsel for CBS and America on line, Judge Pierre Leval, Mike Wallace, David Dorsen and Victor Kovner who was Crile’s personal attorney from the trial, into the large assembly hall, past rows of seats for the audience up to a platform in the front of the room. Our names were printed in big bold letters on plaques. There were five leather seats with microphones in front of each one. My seat was between Mike Wallace and Judge Leval.
There was a glass in front of each chair. Pitchers of water were on the table to share. Thank God! I needed a drink the moment I sat down.
There was a platform against the back wall, behind the audience filled with cameras and other technical equipment. One of the technicians pinned a microphone on me and put a battery pack in my jacket pocket.
I felt wired technically and figuratively.
The lights in the room dimmed, speakers were turned on, and Victor tapped the microphone. He proceeded to address the audience. He intro- duced himself then introduced each one on the panel along with their bio. When he came to me he also held up my book. My heart started skip- ping beats.
There was a large screen to our left where we were instructed to watch the documentary that started This whole thing: ‘The Uncounted Enemy’ a Vietnam Deception.
Seeing it brought back memories; I began to study the faces in the audience just as I used to do back in court after I’d seen it the ump- teenth time.
After fifteen minutes, Victor turned off the TV and addressed Judge Leval.
“Here is the man that was presiding over the libel trial of the century. Judge tell us how you felt. What did you do to prepare for this trial and what prompted you to make the rulings that you did?”
Victor made a presentation gesture and stepped back.
The judge leaned forward tapped on the mic and said, “Can you hear me?” He adjusted his glasses and began. I can’t remember his exact words but he sounded good. He sounded like a judge. He described the long pro- cess of preparations. He re-counted why he deemed certain information not admissible. He went on for about ten minutes.
Thank you, your honor.” Victor Kovner made a few more comments and looked over at me.
“Pat Roth; could you tell us your thoughts and how you prepared for jury duty.
“Well,” I began. And suddenly my mouth got dry. I had to take a drink. I tried to remember those public speaking lessons I’ve had in the past.
Take a deep breath, push your feet into the floor.
I looked at Victor Kovner. I looked at the audience. I looked at the judge and I laughed.
“My preparations were slightly different.” I laughed again.
“I was a teacher. I had to get a substitute and plan lessons for 500 students in grades K-6.
Now, I find out for 4 or 5 months. I also was a Real Estate agent working on the biggest deal I had in four years of real estate; I was closing a million-dollar deal that I now would have to share with my colleagues.
I firstly considered myself an artist and was working on a commis- sion for an art gallery’s holiday show that was due by Thanksgiving. I was to make life-size sculptures of the Brothers Grimm and was still researching my subject when jury duty began.
Now I’ll have to add a one and a half-hour commute to Manhattan, every morning and every night.”
I shook my head and looked at the audience shrugged my shoulders and chuckled, “How did I feel?”
The audience returned a thunderous applause. “Phew” That broke the ICE.
A sheepish voice from the end of the table piped up “Does anyone want to know what I was doing?” David Dorsen quipped into the micro- phone. The audience chuckled and gave a welcoming clap.
It turned out to be a wonderful session. Each person spoke. Some were serious, some light, and quite honest; I enjoyed the give and take.
Mike Wallace told us how he felt as a defendant. “When the Plaintiff ’s attorneys would be at the sidebar so jovial while I sat like a victim in my seat.”
Pierre Leval interrupted. “Mike we’ve all heard from some of your guests that were on sixty minutes feeling that same way.
The audience roared.
Victor shared more of the Documentary. Then the panel had an open debate session.
Our Forum began at 9:45 and was to end at 11:15. It was now 11:45. Kovner turned to the audience and invited questions. There were many for everyone on the panel. Victor raised his hand, appearing to end the Q and A, when a woman in the second row yelled out my name, “Did you really heed the judge’s warnings to not watch or read the news?”
“YES, my husband is a channel surfer so I knew I had to stay away from TV,” I couldn’t have been more honest. I paused “as far as newspa- pers!” I stopped and raised my hand leaning into the mic, “Influences come from all directions. This was a high-profile case. As soon as anyone found out that I was on the jury they wanted to talk about the trial. We were going to Florida for a long weekend. My husband warned me that Richard our host was going to want to talk about the trial. Just firmly tell him you can’t. The minute we got into his car at the airport he began telling me he knows what’s going on. Carver’s on the stand showing these guys they don’t.
“Richard, stop do not say another word you are trying to influ- ence me.”
“I’m not trying to influence you. Everyone knows that Mike Wallace and sixty minutes is nothing but a Witch Hunt.”
The laugh monitor shot over a ten. Mike’s laugh might have been the loudest.
When the laughter subsided, a new voice yelled out the question on everyone’s mind. “How would you have voted if you went to deliberations?”
Pierre Leval leaned into his microphone like a judge “You don’t have to answer that question!” Everyone laughed some more.
“I know that, but I feel obligated after the American Bar Association went to all this trouble and expense to bring us all here. I was leaning toward CBS. But I’m not sure what would have happened in deliberations.” I pointed to Leval.
“The judge made it very clear that we were to only consider the Defense’s state of mind. Were they guilty of attempting to ruin the General’s reputation?”
It was noon. Victor Kovner pointed to the clock. “I think this is a good time to end. Thank you all for coming.
The judge leaned over to me “You were great,” he said as I was saying “It turned out good!” at the same time. Mike grabbed my hand. “You were the star.” He was grinning from ear to ear. All five of us on the panel con- gratulated each other and shook hands.
Mike and I started to leave when he stopped to give me a hug. “I’ll say goodbye now. I’m taking a plane back this afternoon, so I won’t be see- ing you at tonight’s Dinner
“Mike,” I hugged him “It was great to see you again. You look terrific and I want to thank you for being so public with the mental issues you had to deal with. Our family had suffered with my father’s bipolar disorder back in the fifties before they discovered the proper medications. I could tell when my dad entered the room if he was manic or depressed by the dif- ference in his body odor. People like you being so open about the suffering helps to take away the stigma. Having lived for several years with it I know the pain and what you endured.” He grabbed my hand with both of his and kissed me on both cheeks. I was beyond touched by his display of gratitude; his presence, his voice of such strong conviction: but as he held my hand within his, I felt his frailty
Yes, He is eighty years old.
