Phil Specter, producer of the Beatles’ Let It Be and many other fine records, has been found guilty of murder. Dominick Dunne, Hollywood producer, celebrity journalist, novelist, and for all I know not a bad Catholic, wrote this account of the trial a few years ago. Here’s my favorite passage:
So back to the men’s room. During a break [in the trial], I made for it. It was empty except for one person standing at the center urinal, which was lower than the other two, as if for kids. It was Spector. He had opened his Edwardian frock coat for the business at hand, and it billowed out on each side, half blocking the other two urinals, rendering them unusable. I didn’t have the nerve to ask him to move his coat and free up a urinal, and I also didn’t really want to pee next to him, considering that he was on trial for murder just down the hall, and I was there to write about him. So I waited my turn in silence in the back by the sinks.
He took great care in rolling up his sleeves and elaborately soaping and scrubbing his hands in very hot water, the way I have seen germaphobes do after they’ve shaken hands. When he was drying his hands with a paper towel, he noticed me for the first time.
“Hi, Dominick,” he said.
“Hi, Phil,” I replied.
I found this by way of Mark Steyn (where else?!), who has an even funnier account of the whole messhere
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