After Mixed Verdict, King Looks to the Future

Acquitted of three of four misdemeanor charges Thursday in Alhambra Municipal Court, Rodney G. King says he now wants to get on with the rest of his life.

He wants to take singing lessons.

He wants to experiment with vegetarianism and perfect his surfing. He wants to go skiing this winter. And he wants to practice tai chi.

What the reluctant cultural icon does not want to do is continue living as he has been--in and out of court in and out of trouble, in and out of the press.

After deliberating for three days, the jury came back with a verdict that seemed to please both the prosecutor and the defense: King, charged after a July 1995 fight with his estranged wife, Crystal, was convicted of misdemeanor hit and run, which carries a maximum penalty of one year in County Jail. But he was acquitted of assault with a deadly weapon, reckless driving and spousal abuse.

“We always thought the strongest count was the hit and run,” said Donna Wills, deputy district attorney with the Family Violence Division.

The defense team simply shrugged its shoulders at the one conviction and rejoiced in the outcome, confident that King will simply be fined--and not serve jail time.

After attorneys rested their cases Tuesday, King’s 6-foot-3-inch frame became a fixture in courthouse hallways. On Wednesday, waiting for the verdict to come in, he sat on a cold marble bench in a long hall and said he hoped this will be the last verdict in his last criminal case. Ever.

“You won’t hear about me anymore,” he promised, then added with a smile, “Maybe just a ticket. A parking ticket.”

Once the verdict came in, said King, 31, “I can close this chapter. It’ll all be rolled into the ’91 package.”

The “’91 package” is what King calls everything that has happened to him since his amply aired videotaped beating by police five years ago and his $3.8-million settlement with the city of Los Angeles.

Included in the package is a knee that still gets sore, frequent headaches and a nasty divorce proceeding that was supposed to take place this week. King’s marriage fell apart after the 1991 beating, he says, but because this case got in the way, the divorce hearings had to wait.

On Wednesday, King’s attorneys also waited for a verdict. They parked themselves inside the courtroom, but King preferred to sit outside.

“I don’t like the feeling in there,” he said. Courtrooms are filled with uniformed police, the kind of people who still make regular appearances in his nightmares, he said.

“It always reminds me of 3/3/91. I get a picture of that day and that night any time I see a police officer,” he said. “But I try to shake the picture from my head, you know. I try to keep the positive.”

With the jury deliberating, King was fidgety and slightly nervous. He glanced frequently at the double doors of the Division 4 courtroom. He said he was confident he would win, and he didn’t mind discussing the case. But he would much rather talk about anything else.

The hallway was silent.

“I’ve started surfing,” he offered. “You surf? It’s fun, isn’t it?

“I’ve decided I want to make surfing, like, my religion. You feel like a totally different person when you get back from the ocean.”

Raised as a Jehovah’s Witness, King said he is not terribly interested in organized religion, but he does want to try forms of meditation.

“There’s that kind of therapy where you breathe,” he said, taking in deep breath and closing his eyes. He exhaled into a slouch. “I forgot what it’s called.”

While King waxed philosophic, a man carrying a court notice to appear paced back and forth, peeping at the celebrity with an “aren’t you . . .?” look on his face.

King noticed him and smiled.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” the star-gazer said, slapping King a high-five that wrapped into a hand grasp. “How do you like Alhambra, man?”

“It’s cool,” King said. “The people are cool.”

“I got this thing,” the man said, leaning in to show King his order to appear. “They’re trying to give me a year.”

“Yeah, man, they’ll mess with you,” King sympathized.

The man walked back into court, but the ice was clearly broken. Soon other guests of the court scuttled toward King to share their stories.

A young parole violator moved close to King and spun a yarn from court back to conception, explaining the injustice that got him where he is. King listened and nodded sagely.

Other people just smiled and slapped him five.

“It’s nice sometimes,” he said, but mostly King laments his notoriety.

“You really do lose a lot of your friends,” he said. “Through jealously and stuff like that. They do [offer support] in the start, but toward the end, they’re like, if there is not enough in it for me, [forget] the friendship, you know?

“All I know is . . . I’m going to take my time now, you know. I’m not going to rush into anything. Life is too short.”

That’s not to say that King is ready to disappear from the public eye altogether. There is still this matter of the “ ’91 package.” And as he brought up the reference again, it became clear he was not speaking in metaphors.

“I’m going to get this whole thing down,” he said.

Down? As in, on paper? As in, a book?

“Yeah. Oh yeah. Edi [M. O. Faal, King’s defense attorney] is going to help me put it together,” he smiled. “My next job is to put the whole thing together so I can complete this whole chapter.”

To King, selling his memoirs is a matter of alleviation and remuneration: Spiritually, he said, a book would bring closure to the last five years of his life. And with much of his money tied up in lawsuits and legal fees, he said he also hopes his story sells well.

“This all has cost a pretty penny,” he said. “I need to start making money.”