"Sherman's March" - a 2000 profile of attorney Mickey Sherman in TALK Magazine (by Gerald Posner)
TALK Magazine
Published May 2000
Sherman’s March
The lawyer for Kennedy relative Michael
Skakel is preparing for what may be the biggest—and last—case of his career.
And he’s loving every minute of it.
By Gerald Posner
"How do I look?" Mickey
Sherman, boasting a new Dolce & Gabbana tuxedo, is striking a pose poolside
at the swank Hotel Bel-Air in Los Angeles. It is Oscar weekend, and the
perpetually tan defense lawyer has just flown in from the East Coast. Officially,
Sherman has come to interview some witnesses for his latest client, Kennedy
relative Michael Skakel, who stands accused of having murdered a Greenwich,
Connecticut neighbor back when both were teenagers. But it's party time in
Hollywood, and when I invite Sherman along to some soirees, he jumps at the
opportunity. "Here, here," he says, shoving his state-of-the-art
digital video camera toward me. "Take pictures of me standing here. Make
them good. I'm going to send copies to all my girlfriends."
Sherman, still boyish at 53, threads
his way through the weekend like a tribal native. "Hey Mickey, when are
you coming on again?" Charles Gibson, cohost of Good Morning America, shouts at him as they pass each other at the
DreamWorks bash. Sherman's out till 3 a.m. most nights, but up in time to snag
a prime table at the Bel-Air's power breakfast. On Oscar night, he unclasps the
velvet security rope when no one is looking and slips onto the red carpet near
Joan Rivers - where he remains, never far from camera range, during her fashion
preshow.
Sherman knows that his representation
of Skakel has made him the lawyer of the moment. He's handled high-profile clients
before, notably Alex Kelly, a championship high school wrestler accused of rape
who fled the country - only to be convicted upon his return (after Sherman had
left the case). But the Skakel matter, a long-dormant investigation rekindled
in part by the 1998 publication of the book Murder in Greenwich by Mark
Fuhrman, the notorious O.J. Simpson detective, is of a different magnitude.
"Alex Kelly was big," says Sherman. "But this is much
bigger."
Sherman also knows the case will affect
his reputation more than anything else he's touched. "Most people expect
me to win. But I prefer to be the underdog," he tells me at a pre-Oscar
lunch for writers and directors. "If I win, people will say, 'Well, it was
an easy case.' But you never know what a
jury is going to do, and if I lose they'll all say, 'Mickey's lost his
touch."
He is not in the habit of losing.
Nobody confuses Sherman with the second coming of Learned Hand. And you won't
find him buried behind a box of documents on a complex white collar fraud case.
"I have self-diagnosed Attention Deficit Disorder," he says, "so
I wouldn't have the concentration." But his playboy image masks a skilled
litigator with sharp tactical instincts and a natural rapport with the jury.
"His flair for humor and easy way belie
a fairly intense and focused intellect and insight," says Richard
Blumenthal, Connecticut's attorney general, expressing a sentiment common among
those who've squared off against Sherman in court. "Mickey thinks very
carefully through all the potential steps and outcomes and how to reach the
ones he wants. He doesn't do anything by chance."
I get a glimpse of Sherman's strategic
thinking one night at Elaine's, the
star-studded Manhattan eatery. Forensic
pathologist Michael Baden brings bis girlfriend, lawyer Linda Kenney, to the
table. After they leave Mickey leans over. "Baden has been hired by the
Moxleys," he says, referring to the family of Martha Moxley, the young
woman Skakel is accused of bludgeoning to death with a golf club on the night
of October 30, 1975. "I hired Linda to help me on the defense."
Born in Los Angeles, Sherman moved with
his family to a town near Greenwich - where Skakel lived- when he was five
years old. But the two never met. Sherman was Jewish in a place that paid
homage to status-conscious WASPs, he lived on the wrong side of the tracks. His
father died when Mickey was 15, and his mother worked two jobs to put her
children through school.
Skakel, meanwhile, enjoyed all the
privileges that a link to the Kennedys (he is the nephew of Ethel Kennedy,
Bobby's widow) conveys - the grand homes and wild weekend parties, the country
clubs and ski trips. Today it is Sherman who flits regularly between Aspen,
Palm Beach, and Las Vegas, while Skakel, now 39, is barricaded with his wife
and children inside their Florida home, avoiding the press.
Sherman did a four-year stint in the
state's attorneys office, where he was working at the time Moxley was murdered
(he had nothing to do with the case). He then joined the defense bar and began
building a practice based mainly on drunk-driving cases. He got his big break
in 1991, when he successfully defended a Stamford apartment custodian charged
with killing a tenant's son in broad daylight. Sherman posited what was at the
time a novel defense: His client, a Vietnam veteran, suffered from
post-traumatic stress disorder.
"That was the first time I ever
saw Sherman," recalls Barry Scheck, the DNA guru and member of the O.J.
dream team. "He was shrewd and had great instincts. You either have the
necessary talents to be a really good trial attorney or you don't, and he had
them."
The trial was one of the first covered
by Court TV and received widespread coverage elsewhere. “That case made me,”
Sherman recalls. “It gave me the
exposure.” He parlayed those appearances into regular face time on Rivera Live,
MSNBC, and the networks. "We actually tried him out for the Court TV
pilot," recalls Steve Brill, founder of the cable network. "He wasn't
right for that, but he was terrific for commentary. He took to the camera like
a moth to light.”
When I was with Sherman, occasionally
someone recognized him from television and wandered over. At a luncheon honoring Oscar nominated
writers and directors the day before the academy awards, a Chicago woman, whose
son is nominated for a production Oscar, was excited only to see Mickey. “I’ve seen you on Geraldo,” she gushes. He beams
It is precisely for his television work
– which he has admitted he finds intoxicating - that he’s taken hits along the
way. Many colleagues charge that Sherman
is too enamored with television. Others
charge he has used the Skakel case merely for self-promotion and access to a
better group of celebrities.
“Hell no,” he says while laughing. “I’ve always been the same way I am now. This case hasn’t changed me. It’s just a
bigger version of the things I’ve been doing for years.”
Sherman uses the exposure to his
benefit. He joined a cluster of defense lawyers (Scheck and Johnnie Cochran
prominent among them, he says) who regularly exchange information before going
on shows - information that one of them might want to leak about his own case
but can't, so he passes it off to the other guy. "We all do it that
way," claims Sherman. "It's a valid second front, the public opinion
front, on which to defend the negative spin put out by the other side."
His television work might have even
landed him his biggest client, Skakel.
“When Skakel had to choose a lawyer, there were probably only half a
dozen of us in Connecticut that he could have gone to.” Courthouse rumors say Skakel only settled on
Sherman after watching him discuss the case on TV. Sherman professes not to
know how his client decided to hire him.
What is undeniable is that since
signing on to represent Skakel, Sherman has had major media outlets lining up
at his door. I first meet him at the popular Fifty Seven, Fifty Seven bar in
Manhattan’s Four Seasons Hotel. When I arrive, producers from CBS’s 48 Hours
are just leaving. “They wanted Michael,” he tells me. “But I told them that if
they get anything it will be B-roll only.” Though every TV news magazine show
imaginable has been after him for an exclusive, Sherman hasn’t produced Skakel
for anyone—yet.
“You always have to stay on top of it,”
Sherman admits. “There is a local bigwig in Connecticut about to be arrested on
child molestation charges. I hate child molestation cases. But I can’t say no,
because otherwise someone else will take it and get the press. It’s like being
the gunslinger in town. You always have to protect your position.”
A few weeks earlier Sherman did just
that when he heard a rumor that the Skakels were set to replace him with Roy
Black, the lawyer who won a 1991 acquittal for William Kennedy Smith. One
weekend, while visiting the Skakels in Palm Beach, Sherman's cell phone rang (a
Motorola on which he has programmed the words 'Oh Shit'.) It was Black. 'So I
placed my hand over the receiver," says Sherman, "and I looked directly
at the Skakels. ‘Are you firing me?'" 'No, no, no,' " they assured
me." Black was calling about a completely different case. But Sherman
wasn't taking any chances.
Sherman is known for settling weak cases
rather than dragging them out at trial. But he is adamant that there will be no
plea bargain where Skakel is concerned. "The prosecutors have almost
nothing.
No hard evidence, No DNA, no witnesses at the scene, a botched crime scene.
Mostly what they have are some statements from patients in a substance abuse
clinic with Michael more than 20 years ago. And at least one of those supposed
witnesses has recently said that he couldn't swear to anything. At least one
recently sold their soul for 15 minutes of fame and some money from the
tabloids. There are some real problems with their stories. And to make it worse
for the prosecution, for years the police had several suspects. Besides
Michael, there was his older brother Tom and [Ken] Littleton, a tutor who was
with the Skakels. Now, all of a sudden, with no real new evidence, they charge
Michael."
Not surprisingly, State's Attorney
Jonathan Benedict disagrees. "Clearly, it being a 25-year-old case, we did
not expect it to be handed to us on a silver platter. But through the 18-month
grand jury investigation we were able to develop diverse enough evidence to
call for prosecution, and we are more than eager to present this case to a
Connecticut jury."
Sherman is also piqued that the media
has focused on Skakel's Kennedy Connection - as if the accused man were using
power and privilege to avoid justice. "Michael actually gets very little
help from the Kennedys," Sherman insists. "In this case, the family
connection will probably work against him."
Members of the Kennedy clan have
reportedly not forgiven Skakel for being the prosecutors' key source in the
investigation into his cousin, Michael Kennedy, who had an extramarital affair
with his children's underage babysitter. And sources familiar with Skakel say
he is upset with what he sees as the Kennedys' feeble support. Moreover, he is
said to be fuming at the way he was treated at a rehabilitation clinic - the
same clinic whose patients are the source of the accounts that he confessed to
murder. There is a danger that his almost obsessive focus on these perceived
wrongs could distract him from preparing his own defense.
"That's not true," says
Sherman, waving his hand dismissively. "Michael knows what is at stake
here and is fully involved in in every aspect of his defense."
The Skakel trial is still six to nine
months away. In June there will be a hearing to determine whether Skakel will
be tried as a juvenile, owing to the fact that he was 15 when the crime was
committed, or as an adult. Sherman professes not to care about the venue, even
though the penalties attending a juvenile conviction would be far less severe.
He is anxious for the action to begin and says his defense will be
straightforward. "I really, truly believe that Michael is innocent,"
says Sherman. "This is not a case with major surprises. There is no bloody
glove here."
Not that he wouldn't relish a few
unexpected
turns. “Some lawyers are so over prepared they can't budge from their script
and they fall apart. I enjoy it when it goes to places I didn’t plan."
Sherman has already been at work
shaping his client's image. During Skakel's arrest and arraignment, Sherman
urged Skakel to dress casually to counteract any resentment toward Kennedy
status and prestige. 'I told him to walk in with his head up high, not downcast
or covered like a Mafia don" he says. Sherman also counseled his client
not to react if a reporter yelled out, "Why did you kill her?" It
happened, "but since he was prepared," Sherman says, “Michael did not
turn around and look at the reporter, which is what they want for tabloid
photos."
I ask about Skakel’s comment at the
arraignment, when he told Dorothy Moxley, Martha's mother, "I feel your
pain, but you've got the wrong guy."
"If I had planned that, I would have made
up a better line," Sherman says. “Whoever thought of doing it, it was
pretty clever. If Michael didn't decide to do that, all the coverage out of the
arraignment is a rehash of the charges against him. But that approach
controlled the news."
Sherman later brags that whenever Mrs.
Moxley sees him she kisses him and greets him warmly. “She likes me," he
announces proudly. "She knows I have a job to do."
A week after our whirlwind Oscars
jaunt, I visit Sherman at his law office, just prior to a hearing over a media
motion to release a batch of documents – including arrest warrant affidavits -
that will do little to aid his client's cause. Mickey is with five attorneys
with whom he is consulting on the case, but he leaves no doubt about who is in
charge. "This is not a team," he emphasizes. "There is no dream
team on this case."
Sherman is dressed conservatively in a
dark blue suit. But the seriousness stops there. Considered the class clown as
a youngster, he is an incessant prankster with a joke for almost every
situation. His private office is filled with joke props: a toy gun, a set of
handcuffs, brass knuckles, a set of chattering teeth, and three bundles of fake
dynamite. The walls are covered with everything from family photos to a gold
record from the singer Michael Bolton, a close friend, to a photo of Sherman
himself at a celebrity ski event. A television is surrounded by dozens of
videocassettes of his recent shows.
"Here, watch this," he
enthusiastically instructs as he inserts a tape. A few days earlier, on Court
TV, he was asked if a son who killed both his parents should receive the death
penalty. “I don't think he should have the death penalty," Sherman tells
the host. "He obviously is not a threat to society. He's only a threat to
his loved ones."
"Isn't that a great answer?"
he asks, as the assembled in his office break out laughing. En route to the hearing, one of the lawyers
states the obvious: "Mickey is
having the time of his life."
Sherman checks the levity at the
courthouse door. He raises no formal objection to the motion to release the
arrest warrant affidavits, even though he earlier confided to me that they
contain
"embarrassing information that will keep the press going for at
least a week." The hearing lasts 20 minutes, and the judge defers her
decision.
We return to his office, where, after
checking his e-mail and a stack of phone messages, he grabs his briefcase and
offers me a ride home. On the way into Manhattan, Sherman uses his Jeep's
speakerphone to return calls to reporters.
"What happened at the
hearing?" is the typical question.
"My client copped to three years
for manslaughter," Sherman deadpans.
"You can't lose your sense of
humor because just because the things you're involved with are serious" he
explains.
What will he do after Skakel?
'Actually, this could be my last big trial," he says - only half-jokin, it
seems. He has two film projects in the works in Los Angeles and has been
approached by lecture agencies and book publishers. "I'm ready to
retire," he says. "I think in a couple of years you'll find me in the
Bahamas, surrounded by 20 girls from Scores."
Copyright@Gerald Posner/2000/2013