Executioner's Song, The - Norman Mailer [266]
Greenberg was a man of some decorum, but Susskind could tell he was aroused, "What fascinates me about this Gilmore case," he was saying, "is that it's an open commentary on the utter failure of our prison system to rehabilitate anybody. Why, the guy's been in and out his whole damn life and he just keeps getting worse. It all escalated from car stealing up to armed robbery with a dangerous weapon. That's a devastating commentary," said Greenberg. "Secondly, it could offer a wonderful statement about capital punishment and how godawful it is, eye for an eye. I even think that reaching a large audience can probably save the guy's life. Gilmore says he wants to die, but he's obviously out of his head. I think our production could be a factor in the man's not being executed." That appealed to Susskind. "They can't execute this man," he said to Stanley, "he's deranged. He's insane. They should have understood that way back."
They talked a long time. Finally Susskind said to Greenberg, "Why don't you go to Utah? I think this story's got several layers of importance and interest and could make very exciting, dramatic material. If, on investigation, it holds up, and we can get the releases we need, we might have something here."
Greenberg couldn't go right away because of his contract at Universal, but each day. they talked to each other, and Susskind began conversations with Boaz. He quickly decided Dennis was not your typical lawyer.
Boaz boasted, "I've got releases from everybody. Got them all."
He kept talking about how he had locked up everything. Susskind called Stanley Greenberg and said, "This is a very odd attorney. However, he's got his eye on the money machine."
Dennis said, "Look, I can't cooperate if you don't put your evidence of good faith on the line. Money," said Dennis, "is not to be considered not of the essence," and giggled. "What do you want?" asked Susskind. "Well, now," said Dennis, "it's getting to be a worldwide case." "How can I," asked Susskind, "be sure you have all the releases you say you have?" "You," said Dennis, "have to start somewhere. You better start by trusting me. I have exactly what I told you I have. If you don't believe me, there are ten other people out here who want it. It's just that I like your reputation, Mr. Susskind. I'd like to give you first crack at it." He wanted a goodly sum, in the neighborhood of $50,000 for the rights of all the principals involved in the case, and asked Susskind to put that into a telegram, which David did, and sent it off.
Susskind also enclosed a legal package. It had a contract and release forms. Boaz might have told him that he had it all but when Susskind asked him in what form were the releases, Dennis said, "One-and two-sentence quitclaims."
"Oh, look," said Susskind, "that doesn't work at all, you're going to have to use established legal forms, waiver of rights for the payment, all such. It has to conform to what we do in the motion picture and television business."
Dennis said, "I don't understand why you have to have all that folderol."
"It's not folderol," said Susskind, "it's of the essence. People can change their minds. A one-or two-sentence release probably contains language too loose to bear up under scrutiny. I'm sorry, I have to send you release forms." He did. Susskind went to his lawyers and they sent off the package.
By pure coincidence, Stanley Greenberg arrived at the Salt Lake Hilton on the 16th, the afternoon of the double suicide saga, and so precisely the busiest day of the month for the media. Stanley had telephoned the night before from Kensington in California, where he lived just