Dancing Naked in the Mind Field

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Authors: Kary Mullis
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think Rocky Harmon realized that. It didn’t say, in their collection of documents describing me, that I had a rare talent for cutting through the garbage to the issue, to pull the forest out of the trees and into the light where the jury could see it for what it was. It didn’t say that I could help them understand, without their knowing anything about chemistry and blue spots and statistical analysis, just what had gone wrong in the LAPD’s lab. I think he figured I was the flake he claimed I was, and he was not afraid of me. He wanted me on the stand as much as I wanted to be there, and we were both disappointed when it didn’t happen.
    I had had a plan of my own for Rocky Harmon on the stand. I had explained to Barry, after reading about Rocky runningroughshod over defense witnesses in previous cases, that I thought it would serve him right if we allowed for him, who had lived by it, to “die by the dirty sword.” Barry has a sense of humor and, for a lawyer, an amazing sense of justice.
    I was going to let Mr. Harmon decide, before the courtroom, that what one had done in the past did indeed have relevance for judging the truth of what one had to say in this case. I would do this with a question that would be out of order, because lawyers are supposed to ask the questions. If I was lucky, he would think I was trying to avoid his questions about my life, and he would quickly answer that yes, it was relevant. Then, with the Q&A rhythm on my side, I was going to slip in another question of my own—about some outrageous thing he had “done” in the past. Something like an incident with two young boys in the park. I would be extremely out of order—he would loudly protest—and Ito would slam his gavel down to silence me. But the answer wouldn’t matter. The question, like so many Rocky had asked in his days of fervent prosecution, would be transformed by the alchemy of the courtroom into a statement.
    Whatever happened after that—maybe a fine for me, maybe a movie contract, or maybe a night in jail—I think my points from direct testimony would have survived intact. Pressing my luck further, I would conjecture that the jury and most of the courtroom would have been happy to see Rocky catch some grief in exchange for what I considered abominable misbehavior. Any further interaction between Mr. Harmon and me would have been related to the DNA issue only on the surface. Underneath it, there would be those two boys. He had been trying to set up a diversion, centered around my LSD use. Ithink LSD would have paled beside fictitious young boys. Innuendo does have its charm.
    Sadly, my favorite cross-examination never happened.
    I was dropped from the roster at the last minute. For those few who were concerned about me—yes, I did get paid. The amount is a professional secret, but I drove back to La Jolla in the same 1989 Acura Integra I had come in.
    Johnnie thought the jury was convinced and saturated on the DNA issue before I was scheduled to testify. He could probably tell by the way their eyes glazed over when they heard the DNA discussed. They had been subjected to tedious and technical testimony for weeks. The prosecution had certainly failed to fulfill its obligation of proving the value of the DNA evidence beyond a reasonable doubt. I felt that the jury would be even more convinced after hearing my testimony, and I thought some of the things I would say could influence the whole case. But the question Cochran rightly asked was, do we need to take a chance by going further when it looks like we’ve already won on DNA?
    My horoscope says I shouldn’t expect to be a corporate kind of guy, and I’m not. Bob Shapiro and Johnnie Cochran couldn’t help liking me—I have good manners, I’m well informed and often funny. But there was a danger there, and they didn’t get to be successful lawyers by holding their hands over their faces and saying, “Well, here goes.”
    In the light of day, the scientists had

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