Remembering the Mike Tyson Trial

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The United States’ most-publicized jury trial of a professional athlete has an undisputed champion. The Feb. 2 debut of the FX miniseries “The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story” drew an audience of five million-plus viewers, a record for the network, and again drew attention to the double-homicide of Simpson’s former wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend, Ron Goldman. It also reintroduced us to a cast of characters that became as familiar to many Americans as any TV stars: prosecutor Marcia Clark (played by Sarah Paulson), defense attorneys Robert Shapiro (John Travolta) and Johnnie Cochran (Courtney B. Vance), surfer-boy house guest Kato Katelin (Billy Magnussen) and, of course, Simpson himself, with Academy Award winner Cuba Gooding Jr. as the celebrated former football star/actor accused of a horrific, violent crime. A nation stood transfixed, from the infamous police chase after Simpson’s white Ford Bronco through the eight-month trial, which ended with Simpson’s acquittal on Oct. 3, 1995.

What the Simpson trial indirectly accomplished was to surpass, at least as far as the level of public attention is concerned, another high-visibility trial which had concluded in Indianapolis three years earlier and involved the former heavyweight champion of the world, a ferocious fighter who, to his devoted legion of fans, still was hailed as the “Baddest Man on the Planet.” Maybe that’s because the courtroom proceedings in the Simpson trial were nationally televised and the trial of Mike Tyson was not, or maybe it was because the Simpson trial involved a grisly double-murder and Tyson was being tried on lesser but still-sordid charges of rape and deviant sexual conduct. Mostly, the difference was that Simpson ultimately heard a verdict of “not guilty” while Tyson, so used to winning by devastating knockout, was determined by an Indiana jury to have committed the crimes he was accused of against an 18-year-old beauty pageant contestant.

As it turned out, nothing and no one died in Indianapolis during Tyson’s disastrous 1991 visit to the Miss Black America contest except, maybe, “Iron” Mike’s reputation as the most feared individual ever to have stepped inside the ring -- a human force of nature no less frightening than a tornado, earthquake, volcanic eruption or Category Five hurricane making landfall. Separated from the sport he had for the most part utterly dominated by a 10-year sentence (four years suspended) given him by presiding judge Patricia Gifford, he served a little more than three years. After his release, Tyson -- whose aura of invincibility had previously been cracked by his 10th-round stoppage by 42-to-1 underdog James “Buster” Douglas on Feb. 11, 1990 in Tokyo -- was clearly a diminished fighter. His skills had atrophied, his focus on boxing had blurred and the intimidation factor he had generated like a nuclear reactor was dialed way down.

Although what remained of the prime Tyson still managed to win another version (WBA) of the heavyweight title in a one-round blowout of the seemingly petrified Bruce Seldon, he was emphatically dethroned in his first defense against Evander Holyfield. The loss accelerated a slide that ended with defeats in three of his last four bouts -- to fellow future hall of famer Lennox Lewis, which was hardly a surprise, and to Danny Williams and Kevin McBride, which were.

At 49, Tyson remains one of the most recognizable fighters ever, like 74-year-old Muhammad Ali much better known to boxing fans and non-fans alike than the three men who presently hold versions of the championship Tyson possessed during his pre-Douglas reign of terror: Tyson Fury (who actually was named in honor of “Iron” Mike), Deontay Wilder and Charles Martin; and while his devotees are adamant that Tyson was and is among the greatest of heavyweight champions, there are others who, while appreciating all that he had been in a professional sense, regret that his reckless lifestyle prevented him from becoming all that he should have been. The post-rape trial Tyson became as much of a punchline as a puncher, with critics dismissing him as (Behind) Iron (Bars) Mike and Rusted Iron Mike. Somehow, the $300 million fortune he had amassed dissipated through profligate spending and his misplaced trust in members of his inner circle who treated him as their personal ATM.

Perhaps it all would have turned out differently -- which is to say better -- for Tyson had he decided not to accept that invitation to attend the Miss Black America pageant. Perhaps his fate would have been the same in any case. Any conclusion reached now is purely speculative. Despite the jury verdict, the fact remains that only two people, Tyson and Desiree Washington, absolutely know what happened in that Indianapolis hotel room in the early-morning hours of July 19, 1991. Their versions of the story were and are markedly different, and what is true or not true came down to the perceptions of 12 human beings who bore the grave responsibility of determining the guilt or innocence of another -- and a controversial celebrity at that. What we know of the case is compelling stuff nonetheless, some of which bears re-telling.

It was viewed by some as a miscalculation when Tyson’s defense was handled by Vincent J. Fuller, a prominent Washington, D.C., attorney who had successfully defended Tyson’s promoter, Don King, on a tax-evasion rap. He was hired by King to represent Tyson. Fuller, who was 74 when he died of lung cancer in 2006, argued not only that the sex between his client and Washington was consensual but that Tyson’s reputation as a ruffian and indiscriminate womanizer was such that Washington should have known better than to go out with him if she was not prepared for his advances.

There were several prosecution witnesses who testified about Tyson’s callous attitude toward women, with Fuller countering by detailing the circumstances of the fighter’s rise to prominence and the insular environment that might have contributed to that attitude.

“He lived in an all-male world,” Fuller said. “He had no people skills with girls his age. He did not grow up appreciative of how he should conduct himself.”

One of the pageant contestants, Parquita Nassau, said Tyson had told a group of the young women, “I want to [expletive] you and you and you -- and bring your roommates because I’m a celebrity and we do that kind of thing.” Nassau said she was offended by such talk and added that when she rebuffed Tyson’s crude come-on, he said, “Doesn’t matter. I could have any of you bitches here.”

Nassau’s damaging testimony was countered by another contestant, Madelyn Whittington, who recounted a conversation she had with Washington in a restroom following a pageant rehearsal. Washington was primping, putting on lipstick, and allegedly told Whittington she had been asked on a late date by Tyson.

“Are you going to go?” Whittington asked.

“Of course I’m going,” she claimed Washington replied. “This is Mike Tyson. He’s got a lot of money. He’s dumb. Did you see what Robin Givens (Tyson’s first wife) got out of him?”

As Fuller and prosecutor Gregory Garrison made their cases in a courtroom in which television cameras were not allowed, the scene outside and around the country was a chaotic circus, with Tyson’s supporters and detractors jostling for TV face time and loudly offering thoughts and opinions that the sequestered jury wasn’t going to hear anyway.

Billionaire Donald Trump had brought Tyson to Atlantic City for five title defenses funded in no small part by the hefty site fees put up by Trump. He proposed that Tyson be allowed to give “millions and millions” of dollars to rape and abuse victims rather than to be incarcerated in the medium- to high-security Fairfield Youth Center in Indiana, where he would be paid $1.25 a day to perform the standard menial duties of a prisoner. Claude Lewis, a prominent black Philadelphia newspaper columnist whose position was that Tyson finally had been forced to face up to his litany of misdeeds, took exception to Trump’s offer, writing that “the public should ignore the irrational ravings of Trump, who apparently possesses a selective outrage and an attachment to ‘checkbook justice.’”

When Tyson was convicted, about a dozen protesters who had been bused in from Chicago -- as reported by the Chicago Tribune -- stood in front of the courthouse. They chanted “Free Mike Tyson” and waved small Mike Tyson flags with the insignia of King’s company on the back.

During the sentencing phase on March 26, 1992, Tyson, during a rambling, 12-minute statement, continued to proclaim his innocence of the charge. However, his words were chilling and more than a little scary: “I’m not guilty of this crime. It’s something that occurred, but I didn’t hurt anybody. No black eyes. No broken ribs. When I’m in the ring, I break their ribs. I break their jaws. To me, that’s hurting someone.”

In addition to the 10-year sentence, Gifford mandated that Tyson -- who had faced a maximum of 60 years imprisonment -- be placed on four years’ probation after the jail term, as well as mandatory psychotherapy and 100 hours of community service with delinquent youths. He also was ordered to pay $30,000 in fines and $113 in court costs. A request to pay the $150,000 cost of staging the trial was denied.

Even in prison, Tyson continued to command headlines. It was revealed that Gifford had disallowed testimony from two potential defense witnesses who claimed they saw a couple resembling Tyson and Washington acting in a “highly affectionate” manner in the lobby of the hotel where Washington was staying. The fact that Washington had hired an attorney, Ed Gerstein, to handle a planned civil suit against Tyson on a contingency basis was not revealed to the jury. Washington did in fact file a civil suit in which she alleged that Tyson had infected her with not one but two venereal diseases. That suit was settled out of court for an undisclosed sum in June 1995.

In an attempt to gain early release, which was denied, Tyson wrote a letter to Gifford in July 1994. In it, he stated, “I want you to know, and I want the Washingtons to know, that my conduct was inexcusable. I should not have expected a woman to come to my room late at night, not knowing her, and to expect her to have sex with me.”

It was the closest thing to a conciliatory gesture ever offered by Tyson, but Michael Weisman, another attorney representing Washington, contended the letter to Gifford was self-serving and that the boxer had not demonstrated “even a glimmer of remorse” for “the trauma inflicted on Ms. Washington.”

Once free, however, Tyson renewed his verbal attacks on Washington, who had withdrawn from public view. During an appearance on Fox in May 2003, Tyson reiterated to interviewer Greta Van Susteren that he was innocent of the crime for which he was convicted, describing Washington as “slimy,” “lying” and “reptilian.” He also said that, although he had not raped Washington, he now “really (did) want to rape her and her mother.” In Philadelphia, Curtis Douglas, a former assistant district attorney in the Family Violence and Sexual Assault Unit, reacted with revulsion to Tyson’s venomous spiel. “The victim could take this as a terroristic threat,” Douglas said. “It indicates a coldness of heart. Obviously, the experience hasn’t taught him anything.”

Tyson continued to plead his case in director James Toback’s 2009 documentary, “Tyson,” and in director Spike Lee’s 2013 movie, “Undisputed Truth,” which was a film version of Tyson’s one-man stage show. In both films, Tyson admitted to many of his failings but not the one that has stuck to him like lint to Velcro.

Tyson -- whose boxing license had been suspended and revoked in 1997 for biting Holyfield’s ears in their rematch -- later had a return engagement behind bars. In February 1999, he was sentenced to two years (one suspended) for a road-rage attack on two motorists in Maryland. The conviction might have been considered a breach of his parole on the rape conviction and resulted in his being returned to Indiana to complete the unserved three years of that conviction. Tyson’s lawyers had paid substantial amounts -- reportedly $250,000 apiece -- to Richard Haddick and Bimelic Saucedo in return for their requests for clemency, which Judge Stephen Johnson declined.

“Imagine what you must feel to have an agitated Mike Tyson coming toward you,” assistant district attorney Carol Crawford told the jury. “Mr. Tyson has said in the past that he is a time bomb waiting to blow. The bomb exploded that day.”

Johnson expressed concern with Tyson’s apparent pattern of behavior.

“The defendant repeatedly reacts compulsively and violently,” he said. “He is almost predictable in this way.”

The lyrics to a Linda Ronstadt song tell us that “time washes clean, life’s wounds unseen.” Maybe that is at least partly true. If Washington indeed had been violated, one can only hope that in the intervening years she has found some measure of peace. Tyson, married for a third time, has known agony beyond that which he felt in the ring and in prison; his 4-year-old daughter, Exodus, died in a freak treadmill accident in May 2009. His inner demons presumably under control, Tyson claims to have kicked his cocaine habit, and he has pared down from 300-plus pounds to a weight within reasonable proximity of his onetime fighting prime of 220 or so.

Meanwhile, Simpson is back in jail, sentenced to 33 years for his part in the theft, at gunpoint, of sports memorabilia in 2007. He is eligible for parole in May 2017, when he will be 69 years old; and the wheel, as always, goes round and round.

Bernard Fernandez, a five-term president of the Boxing Writers Association of America, received the Nat Fleischer Award from the BWAA in April 1999 for lifetime achievement and was inducted into the Pennsylvania Boxing Hall of Fame in 2005, as well as the New Jersey Boxing Hall of Fame in 2013. The New Orleans-born sports writer has worked in the industry since 1969 and pens a weekly column on the Sweet Science for Sherdog.com.