Backstage at The Price Is Right: Memoirs of A Barker Beauty (13 page)

Holly declined to give testimony because she didn’t want anything to do with it. She had always felt that the whole ordeal and relationship between Dian and Barker was inappropriate and in poor taste. It was her prerogative and she exercised her rights to stay clear of their debacle. Two things you learn while working in Barker’s kingdom: you don’t want to cross him under any circumstances, and you never want to go against his wishes. Holly elected to do the latter, which would later blow up in her face.

After we all had given our testimonies, and they were carefully reviewed by Dian’s attorneys, they realized that they would be fighting a losing battle and opted to throw in the towel. In April 1995, Dian dropped the lawsuit, but stood by her charges. Her attorneys issued a statement, saying that her doctors had advised her that she was not physically or emotionally strong enough to withstand the stress of pursuing the case. Barker’s attorneys said it was clear that Dian did not have a case and fabricated the story because she was scorned. Barker considered suing her for malicious prosecution, but decided against it.

Shortly after she dropped the lawsuit, Dian began receiving threats from Barker’s devoted fans. Her days were pretty much numbered as far as working in Hollywood any time soon, with the exception of her devout
Playboy
family. Hollywood is a very close-knit society, and if she would go so far as to try and pin false sexual harassment allegations on America’s number one, most-beloved game show host, Bob Barker, there would be no telling who her next target might be. If she thought it was quiet and the phone wasn’t ringing much before this incident, there was a vacuum after she had hammered the final nail into her own coffin. Dian became a recluse for several years and was not seen or heard from, with the exception of a couple of sightings by a few of the stagehands who lived near her home in San Fernando Valley. Reportedly, she had gained about ten pounds, but still looked great, and the extra weight was in all the right places.

Chapter 22

The Simpson Saga,

Green Room Drama

O
.
J. Simpson is a two-time all American from the University of Southern California and the 1968 Heisman Trophy winner. His name was reverently spoken in the late sixties and seventies and his thrilling runs in college football and in the pros caused electrifying excitement. In 1979, Simpson became a highly respected and much sought-after sports announcer, and in 1985, he was enshrined into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. But, on a warm summer night in Los Angeles on June 12, 1994, a horrible incident took place that shocked the world and would overshadow all of Simpson’s greatest feats and achievements. Simpson’s former wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend, Ronald Goldman, were found murdered at her Brentwood condominium. Within a week of the brutal murders, Simpson became the primary suspect and would soon be known and remembered as the NFL Hall of Famer charged with murder.

After a lengthy, internationally publicized criminal trial in 1995, Simpson was acquitted of the murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman. The verdict would change millions of lives, creating additional race divisions. Backstage at
The Price Is Right
would be no exception. During the trial, the racial tension backstage at Studio 33 and in
The Price Is Right
Green Room and throughout the entire CBS building was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The O.J. Simpson trial had taken the focus off of the political conversations on talk radio, newspapers, and television talk shows. No other legal case has ever garnered so much of the world’s attention as did the days of the Simpson arraignment and trial.

Our Green Room served as the guest relaxation room and production meeting room, but as the Simpson trial began, the Green Room became the hangman’s room, where, for some, O. J. was already tried and convicted.

I was exceptionally sensitive regarding this case and had mixed feelings about what was revealed during the trial of the century. My co-workers did not realize that I personally knew nearly everyone involved in the trial, from the female victim, to the defense attorneys, several witnesses, and mainly, the accused: O.J. and Al Cowlings, AKA, A.C. (or Allen as I refer to him), two of my dearest friends, whom I had known since 1970. For as long as anyone can remember, it was O.J. and Al, boyhood pals, teammates, soul mates, who were together through pro football careers and beyond— together to the end.

Allen became my first love interest when I arrived in Los Angeles from Ohio. I was introduced to Allen through my play-sister, Terrie Jackson, who was dating USC defensive lineman Willard “Bubba” Scott before their marriage in 1973. Bubba and Allen were members of the famed 1969 USC Trojan’s defensive line, nicknamed “The Wild Bunch.”

By 1970, O.J. was playing professional football, and when he was home, we would all hang out at his plush home off Mulholland Drive. Allen, Terrie and Bubba, O.J. and his childhood sweetheart and first wife, Marguerite, and I all shared many special and memorable times together in the early seventies, and we loved to party. It was big fun hanging out with O.J. because he was treated like royalty, as was everyone who accompanied him.

On a few occasions, Allen took me to Robert Kardashian’s home. Kardashian was one of O.J.’s devoted friends and confidants. He had allowed his state law license to become inactive before the Simpson case, but he reactivated it to aid in Simpson’s defense as a volunteer assistant on his legal team. It was Kardashian that read the now famous suicide letter before the chase and was a constant figure in the courtroom.

I also recall meeting another crucial member of O.J.’s legal dream team, attorney, Robert Shapiro. Allen, O.J., Marguerite, and I had previously had dinner with Bob Shapiro and his wife, Linell, at a famous Beverly Hills restaurant.

Marguerite had hosted Terrie’s baby shower for her first born daughter, Nicole Jennifer Scott, in 1978 at their Rockingham estate. Eventually, O.J. and Marguerite divorced. No sooner than Marguerite walked out the door, Nicole Brown had walked in.

When I first met Nicole, I thought she was a real beauty and a sweet young lady. It took some time for Terrie and me to get accustomed to seeing Nicole in Marguerite’s kitchen. When Nicole was pregnant with their first child, Sydney, knowing it was going to be a girl, she confided in Terrie and me that she was afraid that the baby’s hair might turn out like O.J.’s—coarse, tightly-coiled, dry, and unmanageable—and she wouldn’t know how to manage this type of hair. Terrie and I chuckled, but reassured Nicole that because the baby was of mixed blood, more than likely, she would have fairly nice and manageable hair, much like her side of the family. But, if at any time she needed our expertise, we would be more than happy to help her out. That day, after Terrie and I left the Simpson’s Buckingham estate and as soon as we got in the car, we laughed all the way home until we cried.

It was Friday, June 17, 1994, and my hubby and I were having a great weekend getaway at the luxurious Caesars Palace hotel in Las Vegas. We had just walked back into our hotel room at about 5:00 p.m. when the phone rang. It was Terrie, who asked, “Are you guys watching this shit on TV?”

“Watching what?” I asked.

“Allen and O.J. on the freeway with the police behind them. Allen is driving, and O.J. is down in the back seat with a gun to his head, saying he’s depressed about Nicole’s death and he’s contemplating suicide.”

Terrence and I sat in front of the TV, watching as Allen drove the now infamous 1993 white Ford Bronco with O.J. concealed in the back seat with a caravan of police cars behind them on the 405 Freeway in Los Angeles. It had become official: O.J. Simpson was a fugitive and his longtime buddy and closest friend had now become an accomplice.

Allen and I remained friends throughout the years, mainly because of our ties with Terrie and Bubba. We were both godparents to their two daughters, Nikki and Rena. The whole ordeal was nerve wracking, especially when the chase ended and Allen drove into O.J.’s Brentwood driveway, where the negotiations began. It became more intense when Jason, O.J.’s son, came running out of the house, trying to get to his father. He was immediately apprehended and pushed back into the house. I had been around when Marguerite was pregnant with both daughter, Arnelle, and son, Jason, and had watched them grow up. My heart immediately went out to the family. All we could do was hope and pray that there would be no bloodshed.

That following Monday, we were back at work and in the Green Room for our normal morning production meeting. A buzz had already begun to engulf the entire CBS building. I could feel the tension mounting in the air as soon as I hit the main entrance. We could barely get the meeting started because everyone was affixed to the TV screen, watching the never-ending news reports regarding the freeway chase that had taken place the previous Friday afternoon.

Initially, I remained silent while in the Green Room as others discussed their views regarding this case. I had never felt as uncomfortable in my life as I did during that time, with the exception of when I was in high school in the late sixties and racial tension ran high.

The media and tabloids enticed the vigilant crowds to try, convict, and crucify O.J.; his legacy and fame were fleeting fast. It was difficult for me to sit in that Green Room every day and listen to the accusations, nasty jokes, name calling, and insinuations that “O.J. did it.” I sincerely did not want to believe in my heart that O.J. could possibly be capable of such a vile act. I couldn’t imagine that this strong, fine specimen of a black man and athlete extraordinaire could end up spending the rest of his life behind bars.

At times, I avoided going into the Green Room. I had confided in a few close friends on the set about my significant ties and history with O.J. and Allen. It wasn’t that I was ashamed to share this information with everyone, but I felt it was to my advantage to lay back and observe. I knew it would be just a matter of time before I would go off on someone who made the next disparaging remark or derogatory comment about O.J. or Johnnie Cochran.

Even prior to representing O.J. Simpson, Johnnie Cochran had gained wide recognition and the utmost respect from the underprivileged and minority population because of his legal skills, courage, and fortitude to challenge the system. When I first started working on
TPIR
, I was a very popular and sought-after celebrity spokesperson. I was well loved and respected by the African-American community for my breakthrough contribution to the television industry. Thus, I had been invited to serve as mistress of ceremonies for numerous charitable and philanthropic events at which I would occasionally run into Johnnie and his lovely wife.

It was amazing how the Simpson trial had progressively developed into a racial issue and further polarized the friendship and division of our cast, crew, and production staff; it clearly made everyone on the set feel uneasy. However, the day finally came when I decided to reveal my connection with the defendant and the members of the defense team. But before I began to elaborate, I simply stated in a stern and direct tone, “Sometimes, what people perceive to be the truth can be overpowering and misguided lies or what some of
you
people want to believe to be the truth. The rumor mill and the grapevine are almighty—whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” A hush fell over the room and, after that day, whenever I walked into the Green Room, the tone was a little lighter.

Whenever Barker was around, he had very little to say about the situation, but did comment, “What a terrible thing to have happened.” He felt really bad for the parents and families of the victims. Barker particularly had a lot of compassion and sentiment for Ron Goldman’s father. He also stated how he had admired and respected O.J. for many years for his fine athletic abilities and what he had contributed to the world of sports. Barker seemed to never imagine that O.J. could be capable of such a horrible act of violence. However, I later learned by a close, reliable source to Barker that he stated his real feelings about O.J. while in his dressing room. He felt that if O.J. did commit the murders he should be hung by his testicles and left out in the desert to rot.

When it came time for former LAPD detective Ron Shipp to take the witness stand to testify, he was in turmoil, extremely upset that his dear friend, Nicole Brown Simpson, was brutally murdered and that, O.J., his longtime, close friend of twenty-six years, was the main suspect. For so long, Ron and many other LAPD detectives were under the spell and command of the famous O.J. Simpson and would go out of their way to make sure he, his family, and close friends were always protected.

My husband and I had known Ron and his family for well over fifteen years at the time. Ron had come to our home several months after the crime was committed to tell us that he had been subpoenaed. He knew he had to take the witness stand and tell the truth, the whole truth, so help him.

After Ron’s testimony—which was clearly damaging and hurtful to the defense—the African-American community was angry and labeled him a snitch, saying Ron had turned on his longtime friend. Even the majority of our close friends didn’t want to have anything to do with Ron anymore. Over at
TPIR
, however, everybody loved Ron and applauded his testimony. When I stated that he was one of my dearest friends, they wanted me to invite him to the show. Shortly before the trial was over, Ron paid a visit backstage at
TPIR
as my guest. He was welcomed with open arms and considered a hero.

The trial lasted about one long, agonizing year. The massive media attention and sensationalism was becoming more than we all could stand. The racial tension, arguments, heated discussions, and debates continued. We were burned out by this trial and looked forward to judgment day.

We just happened to be working the day the verdict came in, and, as fate would have it, we were on a break between shows. The producers, director, models, stagehands, makeup artists (anyone who happened to be near the Green Room entrance) crowded the little space, which only holds about twenty people comfortably, to witness this historic event. As the verdict was read, the entire Green Room stood in silence. Finally, the moment the whole nation had waited for: “We, the jury, in the case of Orenthal James Simpson, find the defendant
not
guilty.” Some people broke out in tears, while others had to walk out of the room in total disbelief and disgust. At that defining moment in history, it became categorically clear that we had all learned a great deal more about each other, be it good or bad. We had certainly become more educated about the American judicial system. Even my children learned that if they wanted to talk with me or their dad in private, they could request a “sidebar.”