By Terrence McCoy
By Scott Fishman
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Allie Conti
By New Times Staff
By Ryan Pfeffer
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Kyle Swenson
After the Anna Nicole Smith burial hearings that grabbed the nation by its nethers were over, I needed a bath. Hell, after that spectacle, the whole town needed a bath. In a tub of lye. Sadly lacking any caustic chemicals, I settled for whiskey in the place where the famous corpse was born: the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel & Casino.
I sat down among the large-screen plasma TVs in the casino bar and ordered a double shot of Jack. CNN was showing highlights of the hearings, focusing on Broward Circuit Judge Larry Seidlin's weepfest at the end. I looked across the circular bar and imagined that Seidlin was sitting there. It was like I could see that unmistakable tanned dome, that face like the bastard son of Dick Vitale and Robert Duvall.
Wait a minute. This was no 24-hour cable news network mirage. It was Seidlin. He'd come, surely, to pay homage to Smith. There was no way I wasn't going to ask him some questions, so I walked over, sat down one chair from him, and ordered another drink.
"What brings you out here, Judge Seidlin?" was my rather lame opening.
"Marilyn Monroe, Camelot, Knights of the Round Table, one for all, all for one, loyalty," he answered as if in a haze. "Anna didn't realize that life is a roller coaster. As we all know, it's got its ups and downs, and you hold on tight. It's unfortunate she didn't have the strength to fight the currents." *
Yep, it was Seidlin all right.
"Well, I'll give you this: That was one hell of a gripping hearing," I said. "But did you really have to delve so deeply into the sleaze? It was obvious she needed to be buried in the Bahamas before it started."
"I'm always going beyond," he said. "I'm always marching on."
"Yeah, but it seemed like you were angling for the spotlight. On the first day, you referred to Anna Nicole's slowly decomposing corpse as 'that baby' and said, 'This body belongs to me now. '"
"Not to be corny, but this is the only country in the world where you can start with nothing and end with something."
"I know, I know. You came from humble roots in New York and drove a taxi to pay for night law school at Hunter College. The whole country knows that now. And you wound up controlling the remains of a gold-digging, drug-addicted reality-TV star. But did it have to become such a circus?"
Seidlin obviously didn't like that. With real anger in his voice, he said: "There is no circus here, my friend. Don't use that term. It turns me off. Sometimes we were a little casual."
"A little casual? You spent half a morning talking about Virgie Arthur's job as a female deputy in Texas. We now know more about Larry Birkhead's personal finances than his own accountant. What did any of that have to do with where the body was going to be buried?"
"Now we're getting a little nitty gritty."
"Yes, but seriously, it seemed like you were trying to delve into the sleaze of this story just to get attention. They said you were auditioning for a TV show and wanted to be the next Judge Judy."
"Let's face it, money is the root of all evil," he said. "Am I wrong? Is there an honest man among us?"
"Did you have to drag the whole country into this sordid story to satisfy your own ego?"
I was actually getting a little angry, and he could obviously sense it.
"Instead of fighting, you should join hands because it's only in this country that you can join hands," Seidlin answered. "We gotta look like a poker player... or, to make it more poetic, we gotta be as silent as a Sphinx on the river Nile. I got a little Shakespearean there."
"What the hell are you talking about? A lot of people think you're a lunatic, judge."
"If you were alone in my chambers, my blood pressure would go up. Thank God it's OK... I want to leave here standing erect. I wanted to walk out of here healthy."
"Don't worry, I don't want to fight you, judge. It's just that it was so ridiculous, the whole thing. And it made Broward County look idiotic, as usual."
"I did a lot of talking, and the more you talk in this business, the worse off you are," Seidlin explained. "I may have bored you, but I at least wanted you to know what I was thinking."
With that, he began to weep. I figured he'd put down a few too many drinks. In front of him was a frozen red drink that looked like a daiquiri. The bartender, who looked as if he'd walked out of a damned fashion magazine, came around.
"Give me another," I said. "But hold off on the judge here. Looks like he's had enough juice for now."
As the judge wept, the bartender told me, "He hasn't had a thing, old sport. That's virgin."
"Oh," I said dumbly.
"This is life," Seidlin said, trying mightily to control his emotions. "We all come with broken suitcases. Not everybody here is the devil, are they?"