In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

14 —————————— THE LIBEL TRIAL OF THE CENTURY The trial got under way on October 10, 1984, in overheated Room 318 of the U.S. Courthouse in Lower Manhattan. Judge Pierre N. Leval delivered a one-hour-and-fifteen-minute lecture to the members of the jury, discussing libel law and the historic nature of the case that they were about to hear. Leval told the jurors that they would not be sequestered, but he cautioned them against speaking or reading about the trial outside court during what, he said, would likely be very lengthy proceedings. To ensure that the trial would not go on forever, though, Leval also explained that he was limiting the two sides to 150 hours each for examination of witnesses. The twelve jurors and four alternates, nine men and nine women, had been selected from a pool of hundreds. Those who made it onto the Westmoreland v. CBS et al. panel pleaded innocent of knowing anything about the Vietnam War or, for that matter, anything about past events, current affairs, or public officials. Names such as Colby, Helms, McNamara, Bunker, and Rostow meant little or nothing to the jurors and alternates, all drawn from New York City and suburban areas. Among those picked to decide the case were a thirty-two-year-old insurance underwriter, a twenty-six-year-old dental assistant, a thirty-three-year-old accountant, a fifty-five-year-old customer service representative, and a twenty-six-yearold laboratory research assistant. About a third of the eighteen men and women had a college education. Two of the jurors spoke only broken English. Also listening intently to Leval’s every word on opening day was the plaintiff at his desk, white-haired William C. Westmoreland sitting ramrod-straight and, at their desk, the defendants: bespectacled Mike Wallace with his slicked-back black hair that was so familiar to millions, George Crile looking every inch the handsome broadcast journalist, and 240 Hiam_A MONUMENT TO DECEIT_text_Layout 1 1/28/14 9:43 AM Page 240 Sam Adams, who was furiously scribbling down everything being said onto a yellow legal pad. The plaintiff never so much as glanced at the three men who were the subject of his wrath, and they in turn averted their eyes from him. Watching Westmoreland at all times, though — while also doing her needlepoint, as she would throughout the trial — was his wife, Katherine “Kitsy” Westmoreland, seated in the audience.1 Missing in the courtroom was Van Gordon Sauter, whom Dan Burt had just dropped as a defendant. Also missing was a major part of Westmoreland ’s case. Burt had suddenly decided to leave unchallenged the network’s assertion that Westmoreland had deceived the press, the public, and the Congress. Burt would now only contest CBS’s accusation that Westmoreland had misled his military superiors and President Johnson. The next day judge, jurors, lawyers, plaintiff, defendants, court officers , artists, reporters, and the CIA and NSA “mystery” men, there to monitor the testimony, all took their designated places. Burt introduced himself to the jury and then launched into his newly refined argument. For dramatic effect he pointed to a CBS publicity poster depicting General Westmoreland saluting President Johnson with the American flag flying in the background. His voice heavy with sarcasm, Burt said, “Here’s the culprit, General Westmoreland, lying to President Johnson against the American flag.” Burt told the jury that CBS had tried to “ambush” his client, had tried to “shame and humiliate” his client, had “utterly” stained the honor of his client, had accused his client of “criminal ” charges, and had “rattlesnaked” his client. Burt said that the documentary was nothing more than “a work of fiction” that created “an illusion of wrong where none existed.” Then Burt ran the tapes. Although Leval had ruled earlier that no television cameras would be allowed inside the courtroom, this was still very much a TV trial; throughout the proceedings the lawyers would struggle with a mass of video monitors, cables, and tape machines as they made their respective cases. Burt got the first opportunity, assisted by two technicians, to fumble with the assembled equipment. He showed parts of Mike Wallace’s unused interview of Walt Rostow. In one segment that Burt ran, Rostow was seen advising Wallace not to pursue the story. “You’re gonna do great damage to the country,” Rostow warned, “and you’re gonna get it wrong.” During The Libel Trial of the Century 241 Hiam_A MONUMENT TO DECEIT_text_Layout...

Share