‘Diary’ Reads Like Tales of the Office Bore

What’s most surprising about the book “The Private Diary of an O.J. Juror” is that people took it so seriously.

My fellow journalists pored over every word produced by dismissed juror Michael Knox and his ghostwriter, tabloid columnist Mike Walker. Each paragraph was scanned for some insight into the dwindling group of Angelenos who will decide the fate of O.J. Simpson.

The publicity the book has received illustrates how the fascination with jurors has transformed the coverage of trials. In the old days--five years ago in this explosive age--trial reporters directed their energy to covering testimony in the courtroom. Then they would write stories on the verdict. Those reports would be followed up with stories explaining the final verdict, usually containing interviews with some of the jurors.

But these tried-and-true methods have been abandoned in the Simpson trial. Trial reporters have become like political reporters, desperately trying to predict the results beforehand.

At least the political writers use a fairly scientific tool to anticipate the future, the public opinion poll. Trial reporters are stuck with the observations of disgruntled ex-jurors.

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Disgruntled is the perfect word to describe Michael Knox. He was dismissed from the Simpson jury because he failed to give an honest answer to a question asked of every prospective juror: Have you ever been arrested? No, responded Knox, not mentioning a kidnaping bust a few years before.

He explained in the book that the arrest was prompted by a heated quarrel with his then-girlfriend, a stripper. “Suddenly, in the heat of my rage, I grabbed Clare, shoved her into my car and drove off with her,” Knox said. Clare, understandably, called the cops at her first opportunity. Later, he said, she dropped the charges and they made “passionate love in our own bed.” The arrest, however, remained on the books.

But enough of Michael Knox. What most interested the reporters was his assessment of life inside the “first class” hotel that became what Knox described as a plush jurors’ prison.

Hygiene was a big issue. He said juror Tracy Kennedy, dismissed on suspicion of compiling computer notes for a book, “had some really bad habits.” In the telephone room, he would “remove his shoes and socks and put his naked feet up on the windowsill,” Knox said. “It was a disgusting sight [and] his feet stank.”

Another hygiene offender was a juror Knox identified only as “Carl.” That’s because he’s still on the jury and his name is secret. “Some of us used to joke that Carl had ‘hellacious halitosis.’ I’m not talking about the puny kind of unpleasant breath you sometimes get a whiff of when someone hasn’t brushed their teeth. . . . He would sit in the lounge or video room and a foul, funky odor would ooze up like a cloud.”

Minor encounters turned into major fights. A white woman juror accidentally ran into Jeanette Harris--a black juror who complained of racist behavior by white jurors and sheriff’s deputies after she was dismissed--while jogging on the hotel patio, Knox said. He said that “Jeanette went wild. She blew this up into a totally fabricated story that the old white lady pushed her.”

Such small issues apparently occupied much of the jury’s energy during Knox’s tenure. One day, Knox was getting on an elevator when a big, domineering juror he called “Fred” said, “There’s no more room. Take the next elevator.”

Knox, who is African American, said Fred felt he was too friendly with whites. Fred is also African American.

Fred got mad if his fellow jurors chatted in the video room. “I have no problem with anyone talking,” he said, “but extra gibberish disturbs me.”

Another juror Knox called “Mr. Johnson” got mad when anyone talked at the dinner table.

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There was more. A female juror announced she was a lesbian and Knox said the other women shunned her after the revelation. Other jurors gossiped when Knox got a manicure from an attractive female panelist. Days were marked by dirty looks, strained silences, cliques and malicious gossip.

In other words, it’s like your average office. Knox’s stories resemble those you hear from a disgruntled employee who insists on telling boring, one-sided anecdotes about his daily workplace combat.

Think about getting stuck next to such a person on a bus. That’s what it’s like reading “The Private Diary of an O.J. Juror.”