Man, Richard Jewell Hit Home!
Article by George Zimmerman in "The American Thinker":
I love just about all Clint Eastwood movies, but Richard Jewell
is in a class by itself. This one was personal. This one Clint Eastwood
made for me. Only a handful of people in America know what it’s like to
be Richard Jewell and unfortunately, I’m one of them. Mr. Eastwood got
it right. Two thumbs up!
I
rarely ever go to the movies. Nearly seven years after my acquittal in
the shooting death of Trayvon Martin, I still have to be very cautious
about where I go. A few years ago, a man took a shot at me and missed my
head by inches. He will be in prison for another dozen years or so, but
every time I see my name trend on Twitter, I am reminded there are
people out there who would like to pick up where the assassin left off.
My gut reaction in watching Richard Jewell
was sadness. The film reminded me just how much heartache an accusation
this heinous puts a parent through. For those who don’t know the story,
Richard found a suspicious backpack in Centennial Park in Atlanta
during the 1996 Olympics. He alerted authorities to the backpack and
helped clear the area.
Two
people were killed when the bomb inside the backpack went off, but many
more would have been killed if Richard had not acted on his suspicions.
For a brief period, people called him a hero, but then the media and
the FBI turned on him and accused him without evidence of being an
attention-seeking security guard. They call it “trial by media,” and it
is beyond horrible.
This
movie hit home. I absolutely identified. Richard and I were both cop
wannabes -- or so the media told us. We were both gullible. We both
believed law enforcement had our best interests at heart. We both
believed reporters wanted the truth. We both believed everyone was
basically good and then we both realized what fools we had been to
believe all that.
As
I sat there in the dark, my stomach in knots, I found myself wishing
Richard was still alive so I could reach out and hug him and tell him,
“Yes, Richard, you are a hero.”
I
know as only a few others do how gut wrenching it is to be at the
center of the storm like this. You can only imagine what people think of
you. You worry that everyone thinks you are the monster the media
created.
Emotionally,
I struggled. I imposed a kind of house arrest on myself. I did not want
to see people or be seen. I questioned everyone’s intentions, even
those close to me. Yes, I was acquitted, but after the trial, when the
head prosecutor Angela Corey was asked to sum me up in a word, she said
“murderer.” I was devastated. In watching the movie, I was reminded of
how my mother must have felt to hear this.
After
the trial it took me years to regain my balance. At the time I was
thinking if people want to look at me as a villain, I will be that
villain, the hell with them all. Without the unconditional love of my
parents I never would have pulled out of that spiral.
This
is something else Richard and I had in common -- a fierce, loving
mother. Kathy Bates, who played Richard’s mom, gave a heart stopping
performance. She is nominated for an Academy Award. She deserves to win.
One
advantage I had over Richard was a father who loved me just as much as
my mother did. One advantage we both had was a gladiator of an attorney
who always had our back. For me, that was Don West. I am thankful Mark
O’Mara took my case, but it was West who won my confidence. When you go
through an ordeal as intense as the one Richard and I did, it is
essential to have someone who totally believes in you.
Richard
died at 44 of natural causes. I have got to believe the stress of it
all shortened his life. He did not get the chance to see himself
vindicated on screen. Yes, he was cleared before he died, but that story
was buried. So many people who just read the headlines still remembered
him as a glory-seeking loser.
The
people who just read the headlines still think I stalked and murdered a
little boy because he was black. They have no idea that Trayvon was a
skilled street fighter, a half a foot taller than me, who attacked me
out of nowhere as I was walking to my car.
I am grateful for the vindication that Joel Gilbert’s brilliant new film, The Trayvon Hoax,
provides me. Joel may not be Clint Eastwood, but he is a truth teller
of the first order. I am thankful too to all those people who stood by
me when the world told them not to.
At the end of the day, Richard Jewell and I had something else in common -- we knew who our real friends were.
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