celebrity justice

In the spirit of full disclosure I must admit to having held a one-man vigil outside the Van Nuys Courthouse for most of the Robert Blake trial. It was I who you may have heard chanting “bring back Baretta” as a string of attorneys and witnesses made their way into the courthouse. I dressed as the character of plainclothes cop Tony Baretta and constructed my own paper mache replica of Fred the Cockatoo. I waved it jubilantly behind Wolf Blitzer and Geraldo Rivera. I made my own poster board signs with phrases like “Free Baretta” and “What else has Robert Blake been in?”

It was a lonely time. You probably didn’t see me.

So I understand blind fanaticism. I understand the legions of fans, nearly all foreign, camped out at the courthouse and at the ranch where Jackson actually molested any number of little boys. I understand the happiness, the jubilation, and the throngs that link arms and stand along the roadside to welcome Michael back.

I would have loved some of that camaraderie at the Blake trial. I would’ve loved a throng of my own to line the streets of Van Nuys. I would have preferred someone to have at least accompanied me in my AMC Pacer as I followed Blake’s SUV from the courthouse, as it was quite difficult to wave the signs, throw confetti, yell through the bullhorn, cry, hug myself, and trail the star at the same time. They managed to lose me at a traffic light.

I wish I had been as cool as this guy.