SHORT BIOGRAPHY
Marcia Clark may be most famous for her work as a Los Angeles prosecutor handling high-profile murder cases, but she’s also been a defense attorney and an appellate lawyer. A compelling and talented storyteller who has written about both her own life and fictional lawyers she created, Clark is also the author of a #1 New York Times bestselling memoir and nine legal thrillers.
Now, Clark takes on a historical true crime from 1950s Los Angeles in her nonfiction narrative, TRIAL BY AMBUSH: Murder, Injustice, and the Truth about the Case of Barbara Graham. The case became the 50’s version of “the Trial of the Century” and resulted in Graham’s conviction and execution. TRIAL BY AMBUSH shines a modern light on the crime, the investigation, the trial, and the judgment. Drawing on her vast expertise and perspective as a female lawyer in often male dominated, sexist courtrooms, as well as her meticulous research and analysis, Clark exposes the fallacies in the demonizing picture they painted, the critical evidence that was never revealed, and the countless legal mistakes and errors that were made.
Readers will see that this is the story that Marcia Clark was meant to tell as she examines the power of sensationalized crime, revealing its sexism, the flagrant disregard for the truth, and, ultimately, the dangers posed by an unbridled prosecution.
INTERVIEW
LYNN: From a lawyer’s perspective, is there a difference between prosecuting a murder case and any other type of criminal case? If so, what?
MARCIA: There’s a huge difference. A burglary leaves you feeling violated and unsafe. A robbery is even more traumatic. The experience of being physically attacked or held at knifepoint or gunpoint is terrifying. The emotional scars in either case can last a long, long time. But you do survive, you have a chance to heal, your friends and family still have you in their lives.
A murder not only takes the life of the victim, but it also rips through the lives of everyone who knows the victim like a giant machete. Their world will never be the same. Unlike a death due to illness, there’s no chance to prepare for it. And unlike a death due to accident, it can’t be absorbed or understood as one of the sad, unfortunate possibilities we accept as a part of life.
Survivors experience an outrage at the injustice that’s uniquely deep and profound. The perpetrator may be caught, the evidence may prove their guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. But survivors are nevertheless left to wonder why it had to happen to their friend, their mother, or their father.
As a prosecutor, seeing the heartbreak and devastation of the survivors, knowing the only real solace would be to bring back their loved one and that the only help you can offer is the chance to lock up the killer is the most difficult part of the job.
LYNN: How much of your job did you take home with you, and did it affect your personal life?
MARCIA: I took every case home—and everywhere else—with me: to the grocery store, the dry cleaners, the post office…wherever I went, the case came with me. And everything I saw and heard became fodder for ideas about how best to present the evidence. And I was always trying to seek out other points of view. I’d ask, “What would you you think?” questions about this witness’s testimony or that piece of evidence, badgering everyone I could get my hands on: friends, co-workers, the night cleaning crew at the office—who put up with me and my endless questions for reasons that still remain a mystery.
Did this affect my personal life? It must have, though I was too mono-focused to notice. You can imagine what a fun dinner date I was (not at all).
LYNN: The Barbara Graham case is fascinating. What was so different about the legal system in the 1950s that it turned her trial into such a circus?
MARCIA: Although a number of very important laws and cases have come down since then to change the rules of engagement for both the defense and the prosecution, with regard to the media circus of it all, the primary difference between then and now actually lies in the proliferation of media outlets in today’s world.
Back in the 50’s there were three or four major news outlets and there was very little dissension among them. Far too often—indeed almost routinely—the press accepted the story put out by police and prosecutors as gospel. In Barbara’s case, that was certainly true. Every news outlet lined up to take a crowbar to her image and character, branding her as “Bloody Babs,” a murderous, icy blonde temptress with a heart of stone. I was struck over and over again by the credulous reporting of all news outlets that overlooked glaring deficiencies in the prosecution’s case and particularly in their “star” witness—an accomplice who was a far more likely participant in the vicious murder of the innocent victim than Barbara.
Today, the media landscape—and particularly the news landscape—is fractured; no single outlet (or even two or three outlets), monopolizes the narrative. I have no doubt that we’d hear questions and opposing points of view, whether via podcast, Substack, or YouTube. Just the degree of debate I’ve recently observed regarding the bid to reduce the sentences of the Menendez brothers is a sign that we’re exposed to a more diverse range of opinions and have access to a more diverse array of sources. Although this has its downsides—not all sources are equally reliable or well-informed—all in all, in my opinion this expanded landscape is a good thing.
LYNN: The book examines sexism and the effect it had on her case. In fact, you mention that almost every story you read about her from that time begins with comments about her hair, her make-up, and her clothes, all of which you have experienced in the courtroom yourself. What can we learn from that?
MARCIA: Every time I think about this question I come up against the interplay of two issues: the primitive mind and the axiom that we’re most attracted to news that counters an accepted norm, i.e., when “man bites dog.” From the primal standpoint, women were—from time immemorial—held to represent the standard for beauty. While we’ve come to recognize that there’s a lot more to a female than her looks, that primitive instinct to home in on a woman’s appearance still seems to be entrenched. I’ve read that this is a matter of instinct, of hard wiring, that it’s insurmountable, not just a matter of socialization.
From the standpoint of “man bites dog,” it’s very rare for a woman to commit a crime as violent as murder—particularly when it’s the murder of an innocent, elderly female like the victim in Barbara’s case.
Put the two together: the primitive mind instinct to focus on a woman’s looks and the shock of seeing a woman accused of a heinous murder, and it adds up to the kind of hyperventilated, sensationalized coverage shown in every case involving a female defendant; be it Barbara Graham, Casey Anthony, or Amanda Knox.
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"For a long time, I missed being in the courtroom every day. I missed trial work. It was so much a part of my life. It was what I did and who I was. But over the years I did find the opportunity to realize my childhood dream of writing crime fiction."
--Marcia Clark
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LYNN: In the book’s foreword, you talk about your visceral reaction to seeing a picture of Barbara Graham and why you decided to write the book. Now that you’ve written it, what one truth did you come away with that you carry with you today?
MARCIA: That picture of Barbara embodied the stark contrast between who she really was and the cruelly distorted picture of her that was sold to the public by the prosecution and their reporter handmaidens. The fact that biased reporting can twist the truth wasn’t exactly a big revelation. What got to me was how deliberately and heedlessly it was done. The press consistently and willfully opted for the most damning possible conclusions despite the many—and glaring—flaws in logic and countervailing facts that refuted those inferences.
But even more upsetting was the degree to which the prosecution played a part in it. The prosecution is supposed to be the guardian of a defendant’s right to a fair trial, and the most critical aspect of that responsibility is the duty to ensure that the truth sees the light of day. But in this case, the prosecution willfully buried the truth, both actively and by false insinuation.
I felt that story had to be told, because this particular kind of malfeasance can—and does—still happen today. But I want to be clear about the fact that this is by no means a common occurrence. I’ve handled thousands of criminal cases both as a defense attorney and a prosecutor. In the vast majority of cases, the prosecution honors their duty to seek a fair trial. But there will always be a few who succumb to the temptation to push boundaries and take unfair advantage, prizing the “win” over the search for the truth and a defendant’s right to a fair trial. Barbara’s case is an extreme example, one that actually had a deadly consequence.
LYNN: Did her story change you in any way or in how you approach life?
MARCIA: It didn’t change me. If anything, it reaffirmed my overarching goal since I first decided to go to law school. I started out as a defense attorney and when I left private practice to become a prosecutor I did it with the intention of being the kind of prosecutor I’d always hoped to come up against in court. I wanted to be the “good guy.” By that I certainly don’t mean I aimed to be a pushover who gave away the courthouse. Rather I wanted to be a prosecutor who did the right thing, who fought hard, but fought fairly.
Justice demands that both sides—the prosecution and the defense—get a fair hearing. That was always central to my dedication to the field of law. Barbara’s case inspired me to write about the importance of fairness in our justice system, but it was always a core belief, a driving ambition for me as a criminal lawyer.
LYNN: I’ve been intrigued reading your books at what a good writer you are. Is that ability a holdover from your days writing closing arguments, or did you receive additional training in storytelling?
MARCIA: Before I answer that question, I have to say I’m so glad you like my writing!
But no, writing closing arguments (to the extent I ever actually wrote anything out ahead of time) wasn’t much help. Closing arguments don’t usually make for great reading. They can be interesting if the facts themselves are unusual—but that seldom happens. In most cases, the facts aren’t all that intriguing. And we can’t just tell a story anyway. We have to talk about the application of the law to the facts. That, as you can imagine, doesn’t make for the kind of fiery oratory you see in movies. So, closing arguments definitely didn’t do much for my writing.
While I didn’t have any formal training such as a tutor or creative writing classes, I did have the good fortune of getting to work with amazingly talented people. I had the great benefit of working with the brilliant writer, Teresa Carpenter, on the Simpson trial book Without a Doubt, which was my first experience writing something other than a brief or motion. Then, when I moved into writing fiction, I had the gift of a fantastic agent, Dan Conaway, whose editing—especially in the first installment of my Rachel Knight series—taught me so much I’m embarrassed to think about it now. And in all subsequent work, I’ve had wonderful editors. So, I guess I’d say I had a lot of on-the-job training!
LYNN: Marcia, thank you so very much. Like so many others, I was glued to the Simpson trial, but always dismayed at the press coverage you got. I remember thinking back then, “Who cares if she changed her hairstyle?” Although that experience had to be life-changing in so many ways, I’m glad you have gone on to do some really great writing.
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