Fidler based his ruling on the remote possibility that Phil Spector might testify, which could possibly cause Gibson to be brought to the witness stand. Babydol gagged could very likely be joined by criminalist Dr. Henry Lee and the self-proclaimed son of Raul Julia, the alleged actor “Raul Julia Levy,” as colorful no-shows on the defense’s witness list, thanks to various Fidler rulings, further taking much of the circus excitement out of this spectacle. In the end, Babydol, every ounce the businesswoman, walked out of the courtroom with a truckload of free publicity.
EASILY THE MOST VISIBLE and soul-searching of the bloggers who attend the Spector trial is Betsy Ross (her real name), a semiretired bodyworker and seamstress, whom I first met at the Robert Blake trial and who sits in on every day of Spector testimony. The Sherman Oaks “true-crime junkie,” who rises at 6 a.m. to take public transportation to the downtown courthouse, writes under the name Sprocket, and her highly detailed observations, delivered diary style, appear on her blog, http://sprocket-trials.blogspot.com, as well as on Court TV’s Spector chat board.
Like the handful of other bloggers in Department 106, Ross has no journalistic credentials and must await her turn for available public seating. It seemed to me during the first few weeks that some court personnel and reporters were standoffish to her. Today, however, she is considered a colleague by many and can usually be found animatedly chatting with Vanity Fair’s Dominick Dunne. By now, she has achieved her own blogger fame (as well as critics), and occasionally people in the hall will come up to Ross and ask, somewhat in awe, “Are you Sprocket?”
This was how she got one of her scoops, when adopted Spector son Louis Spector and his longtime girlfriend, both avid readers of Ross, approached her outside the courtroom one morning. Soon, Louis was detailing his estrangement from Spector to Ross over lunch in the court cafeteria.
After Wednesday’s session ended, Ross bolted the courtroom in order to catch the Red Line train so she could make her connection to the Orange Line bus that takes her home. Meanwhile, Louis Spector and his companion entered an elevator filled with Sheriff’s deputies that stopped on a floor on the way down to the lobby.
“Where y’all going?” asked another deputy as she stared into the crowded car.
“We’re all going to hell unless we change our lives,” one of the elevator’s deputies deadpanned, completely serious. Then the doors closed, and down we all went.