With apologies to F. Scott Fitzgerald, I’d have to suggest that it is the famous who are very different from you and me. Being rich is a prerequisite all right, but I’d wager even Jay Gatsby would have been convicted if he’d ever been indicted and tried for the crimes that bought him his palatial spread in the Hamptons. Before Fitzgerald immortalized Gatsby (there were several real-life models during the Roaring 20s, after all), he was a smooth thug in tux and patent leather, but he was not famous. To truly subvert the American justice system, there are two overriding requirements: celebrity and commission of the crime somewhere within a 50 mile radius of downtown Los Angeles.
The summer antics of Paris, Lindsay and Nicole have given way to the autumn of Phil Spector, and the fundamental truth of Southern California justice once again rears its ugly head: celebrity equals a slap on the wrist or, in the worst cases, no court consequences at all. Witness O. J. (the first time, of course, when the crime was actually committed in L.A. instead of Las Vegas) and Robert Blake. It’s nothing new. Lana Turner’s kid literally got away with murder 50 years ago and Clark Gable didn’t even suffer a DUI for running over a guy in Beverly Hills. To my knowledge, the only Hollywood celebrity who has done hard time in the past 20 years is Robert Downey Jr. and even he had to go back to court dozens of times before a judge reluctantly brought down the gavel. Let’s face it: if you’ve got a name and a $1,000-an-hour mouthpiece anywhere within sight of the Hollywood Sign, there’s little short of child rape that you can’t get away with.
This all came to mind in part because I’m currently on the promotion trail for my new book, Five Easy Decades: How Jack Nicholson Became the Biggest Movie Star in Modern Times (John Wiley & Sons). While the Joker’s crimes over the years can usually be described as venal, it is worthwhile noting that many of them would have landed mere mortals like you and me in jail, at least until we made bail. His most famous rampage 15 years back, when he wailed on the windshield of a Mercedes with a golf club, would have at the very least resulted in a booking and arrest for assault with a deadly weapon. If you don’t believe me, try doing it yourself. Most folk simply can’t beat the crap out of a guy’s car with a five iron while the driver’s sitting behind the wheel. Police frown on this. Prosecutors rub their hands with glee. Judges go for incarceration, even if it’s a first time offense because such wanton public displays of temper are broadly viewed as symptomatic of deeper and potentially lethal behavior. Left untreated and unpunished, violence tends to escalate.
But that, of course, isn’t what happened with Jack. After the proper out-of-court settlement paid for the victim’s silence, all charges were dismissed over a deputy District Attorney’s loud and angry objections. Jack’s tantrum then became a part of his legend. For years afterward, Jack and the golf club incident were a standing joke at the Oscars and celebrity roasts. Leno and Letterman had a field day. Jack and his golf club. Ha. Ha.
While not nearly so well known, there was also the time a few years later when Jack bounced a couple of women he’d invited up to his gated Xanadu for a little midnight ménage. In her sworn statement after the fact, one of the women recounted a raging Jack dragging her by the hair and banging her up to the point that she ruptured a breast implant. This time, the D.A. didn’t even bother to take the matter to court and it was left to the woman to hire a lawyer and seek justice herself. She might have been flaky. What woman who responds to a Jack request to show up with a friend wearing a little black dress and heels after midnight could be described otherwise? But she had the medical bills to prove she was indeed a very injured party.
But guess what? You got it: out-of-court settlement and the whole thing goes away. She returned to court a few years later with more medical bills and a plea that her injuries had long-term residual effects, but again, something happened outside of court and the whole matter disappeared off the docket.
And then there was the left-hand turn on Mulholland a few years later, when Lara Flynn Boyle was sitting in the Mercedes next to Jack. Neither of them saw the other Mercedes speeding west on Coldwater. In the subsequent police report that the LAPD suppressed, it was noted that the impact was so strong that the bumper to Jack’s car was thrown several yards away. Lara Flynn got out and ran off before the cops showed and wasn’t identified as his passenger until more than a week later.
And while the stop signs at the intersection were such that, even today, it is clear that the driver who makes a left onto Mulholland from the eastbound lane of Coldwater would be at fault in the event of an accident, Jack was not charged. In fact, it was the driver of the other car who was left behind to answer the cops’ questions while an LAPD cruiser chauffeured a dazed Mr. Nicholson back to Xanadu. Again, the headlines were brief, the other driver’s civil suit was dismissed, and the D.A. didn’t even bother to enter the picture. Put yourself in a similar situation. Would the cops give you a free ride home or a free ride to the nearest breathalyzer?
These are the three most public transgressions in Jack’s felony-free life, but his well-known use and abuse of all manner of controlled substances over the years is rivaled only by that of the late Gonzo king and Jack compatriot Hunter S. Thompson. Better than half of the two million Americans who currently reside behind bars may have landed there for trafficking in or committing crimes while under the influence of drugs or booze, but you’ll never see a Nicholson or a Thompson or a Lohan or even a drunk and disorderly Mel Gibson joining them. Justice may indeed be blind elsewhere in these United States. Had he lived, the fictional Jay Gatsby might have heard the harsh metal-on-metal clink of the door to a Long Island hoosegow.
But not in L.A. where celebrity justice remains an oxymoron, and if you don’t believe me, then you don’t know Jack.
The summer antics of Paris, Lindsay and Nicole have given way to the autumn of Phil Spector, and the fundamental truth of Southern California justice once again rears its ugly head: celebrity equals a slap on the wrist or, in the worst cases, no court consequences at all. Witness O. J. (the first time, of course, when the crime was actually committed in L.A. instead of Las Vegas) and Robert Blake. It’s nothing new. Lana Turner’s kid literally got away with murder 50 years ago and Clark Gable didn’t even suffer a DUI for running over a guy in Beverly Hills. To my knowledge, the only Hollywood celebrity who has done hard time in the past 20 years is Robert Downey Jr. and even he had to go back to court dozens of times before a judge reluctantly brought down the gavel. Let’s face it: if you’ve got a name and a $1,000-an-hour mouthpiece anywhere within sight of the Hollywood Sign, there’s little short of child rape that you can’t get away with.
This all came to mind in part because I’m currently on the promotion trail for my new book, Five Easy Decades: How Jack Nicholson Became the Biggest Movie Star in Modern Times (John Wiley & Sons). While the Joker’s crimes over the years can usually be described as venal, it is worthwhile noting that many of them would have landed mere mortals like you and me in jail, at least until we made bail. His most famous rampage 15 years back, when he wailed on the windshield of a Mercedes with a golf club, would have at the very least resulted in a booking and arrest for assault with a deadly weapon. If you don’t believe me, try doing it yourself. Most folk simply can’t beat the crap out of a guy’s car with a five iron while the driver’s sitting behind the wheel. Police frown on this. Prosecutors rub their hands with glee. Judges go for incarceration, even if it’s a first time offense because such wanton public displays of temper are broadly viewed as symptomatic of deeper and potentially lethal behavior. Left untreated and unpunished, violence tends to escalate.
But that, of course, isn’t what happened with Jack. After the proper out-of-court settlement paid for the victim’s silence, all charges were dismissed over a deputy District Attorney’s loud and angry objections. Jack’s tantrum then became a part of his legend. For years afterward, Jack and the golf club incident were a standing joke at the Oscars and celebrity roasts. Leno and Letterman had a field day. Jack and his golf club. Ha. Ha.
While not nearly so well known, there was also the time a few years later when Jack bounced a couple of women he’d invited up to his gated Xanadu for a little midnight ménage. In her sworn statement after the fact, one of the women recounted a raging Jack dragging her by the hair and banging her up to the point that she ruptured a breast implant. This time, the D.A. didn’t even bother to take the matter to court and it was left to the woman to hire a lawyer and seek justice herself. She might have been flaky. What woman who responds to a Jack request to show up with a friend wearing a little black dress and heels after midnight could be described otherwise? But she had the medical bills to prove she was indeed a very injured party.
But guess what? You got it: out-of-court settlement and the whole thing goes away. She returned to court a few years later with more medical bills and a plea that her injuries had long-term residual effects, but again, something happened outside of court and the whole matter disappeared off the docket.
And then there was the left-hand turn on Mulholland a few years later, when Lara Flynn Boyle was sitting in the Mercedes next to Jack. Neither of them saw the other Mercedes speeding west on Coldwater. In the subsequent police report that the LAPD suppressed, it was noted that the impact was so strong that the bumper to Jack’s car was thrown several yards away. Lara Flynn got out and ran off before the cops showed and wasn’t identified as his passenger until more than a week later.
And while the stop signs at the intersection were such that, even today, it is clear that the driver who makes a left onto Mulholland from the eastbound lane of Coldwater would be at fault in the event of an accident, Jack was not charged. In fact, it was the driver of the other car who was left behind to answer the cops’ questions while an LAPD cruiser chauffeured a dazed Mr. Nicholson back to Xanadu. Again, the headlines were brief, the other driver’s civil suit was dismissed, and the D.A. didn’t even bother to enter the picture. Put yourself in a similar situation. Would the cops give you a free ride home or a free ride to the nearest breathalyzer?
These are the three most public transgressions in Jack’s felony-free life, but his well-known use and abuse of all manner of controlled substances over the years is rivaled only by that of the late Gonzo king and Jack compatriot Hunter S. Thompson. Better than half of the two million Americans who currently reside behind bars may have landed there for trafficking in or committing crimes while under the influence of drugs or booze, but you’ll never see a Nicholson or a Thompson or a Lohan or even a drunk and disorderly Mel Gibson joining them. Justice may indeed be blind elsewhere in these United States. Had he lived, the fictional Jay Gatsby might have heard the harsh metal-on-metal clink of the door to a Long Island hoosegow.
But not in L.A. where celebrity justice remains an oxymoron, and if you don’t believe me, then you don’t know Jack.
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