Unraveling Erik Menendez’s Story of Family, Fame, and Fear
Part of the one case, three perspectives set of articles.
Much has been said about the case of the Menendez brothers. Search the internet, and you will find a hundred articles about them. Opinions are divided. Should they stay in prison until they die, or should they be released?
The fact that they committed the murder is not in doubt. The brothers have both admitted their part in the killing; the circumstances surrounding why they killed is the part people dispute.
As part of the one case, three perspective challenge I am doing with two other fantastic crime writers, I wanted to do something different. Below is Erik's account of his life; although the narrative is a piece of fiction, the facts are not. I hope you enjoy this unusual way of presenting a true crime case.
Erik's Story
It is hard to say when I first realised I was a disappointment to my father. I think I always knew it. I was the youngest son of a very successful man. He had left Cuba and became a huge success; we had cars, money and houses.
We were the all-American dream, the family that was always together. We went out together and stayed in together. We lived in a $5 million mansion on Elm Drive. It was on a sedate tree-lined street in one of the best areas of Beverly Hills.
Despite my father's success, he was always home for dinner, and we sat down the four of us to eat every meal together. Many would comment that my father was utterly devoted to his family, devoted to ensuring we knew our place, and didn't disgrace him more.
My older brother Lyle started as the family's tennis player. My father obsessively coached him. I was the spare, my grades were average, and I never pleased my father until I stepped onto a tennis court. He saw what an excellent athlete I was and knew he had his tennis star.
The pride lasted all of two seconds. Then he went back to his default of disappointment. Every match, I missed an easy shot, didn't return quickly, and lost an easy point. On and on, the disappointment flowed. Even being ranked in the top 50 for my country didn't please him.
My Family
This was all the stuff that people saw. The successful father who encouraged his son to succeed sometimes a little aggressively. What they didn't see was what went on behind closed doors. The secret my father controlled us all not to tell.
Lyle told me that for him, the sexual abuse stopped when he was eight; for me, it never stopped. My brother claims he never realised I was now the new object of my father's treatment. I have to believe him.
To be fair, I never told Lyle what happened to me in the shower. I told him a few days before we decided to protect ourselves from further harm. Lyle confronted my father about what he did for me. My father's response left us in no doubt he was going to kill us.
Who could we tell? Who would believe us, and who would stop my father from killing us to protect his secret? If we had told anyone he had molested us for years, he would have killed us. My dear mother would have done nothing to protect us. She never had and never would.
I hear stories about mothers killing their abusive partners; my mother was a drug-addicted enabler. She knew what was going on but chose not to see it. Maybe the guilt is why she took the drugs and tried to kill herself, but it is more likely that she was distraught at not being the only woman in my father's life.
That Terrible Night
I know why you are here; you want me to talk about the night of 20th August 1989. The story we told was that when we got home from the cinema, we found our parents gunned down in the lounge. You now know that was not the truth.
We entered through the side doors. Lyle had been staying in the guest house, so it was easier to cut across the lawn and enter that way. We shot my father six times. The first shot was point-blank through the head. I don't know why we kept shooting. People say it was because we wanted it to look like a mob hit; we weren't thinking that far.
We shot my mother nine times because she would not stop moving. For a woman who had tried to commit suicide, she hung on to life with all she had. She moved towards the hall, but Lyle shot her in the side of the head, and she didn't move again.
After the shooting had stopped, we went around and picked up the shotgun shells. We had seen a program where fingerprints could be taken from shells, and all we wanted was our freedom. We waited for the police to respond; someone must have heard the shooting, but no one came.
That was when we decided to drive to the movie theatre and buy tickets for a movie. Along the way, we tossed the guns, bloody clothing and shells in many different locations. We then went back home, and Lyle rang 911 to report our parent's murder.
The police arrived, and we told them our story about the cinema. We said we had gone to see the new Bond movie, License to Kill, but in case they asked us questions about the film, we said the queue was too long, so we saw Batman instead.
We answered every question they asked. But then they found that bloody play I wrote about a man killing his parents, which made them suspect us. Can you imagine if the things you wrote were used against you by the police?
A Free Life
The police left us alone, though, for a time, and with our inheritance, I will admit that we both went a little crazy. We both bought new cars and clothes. I hired a tennis coach to improve my game, and Lyle even bought a chicken shop.
The things didn't help me, though; soon after the murders, the dreams and guilt started. I managed as long as I could, but I needed to talk to someone, and Lyle didn't want to talk, so I went to my old counsellor.
A few years before, I had got into trouble with Lyle; we robbed some houses. My father told me I had to take the blame for the crimes because Lyle was older, and I would get a lenient sentence as a child. One of the stipulations of my charges was that I had counselling with Dr Jerome Oziel. So I rang him for a session.
We started going for a walk and then returned to his office. I am unsure why I did it, but I told him everything.
It wasn't long after this that Lyle was arrested. We found out afterwards the doctor's mistress had told the police. We were not worried; we had doctor-patient confidentiality on our side, or so we thought.
I was in Israel at a tennis tournament when I heard Lyle had been arrested. I knew I had to get home; an Israeli jail was not where I wanted to end up. So I returned to America, and on March 11th, I turned myself in.
The First Trial
The first trial was televised. We were tried separately by two different juries. We both used the defence of 'imperfect self-defence.' We honestly thought that our lives were in danger and that our father would kill us to protect his secret.
We received good support from neighbours, coaches, family members, and friends. All took the stand and told us how our father was a demanding and abusive man. They had seen the strict rules in our household. They told about the times they had been banned from going down the hall if we were behind a closed door with him.
Our cousin, Alan Anderson, told them there was always an odd feeling in our house; he found it strange that my father still took showers with us and that my dear mother never let anyone near the room when this happened.
The jury deliberated for what seemed like years. When they eventually called us back, the judge announced that the jury was hopelessly deadlocked and could not make a decision.
Retrial
The retrial was where everything went wrong. For a start, Judge Stanley Weisberg stated that cameras were not allowed in the room. He also prohibited the jury from voting on a charge of manslaughter. It had to be murder. This time, we were to be tried together
He refused to let the jury hear all the evidence of the physical and sexual abuse. They painted a picture of two spoiled rich kids who killed their parents for money and then went on a massive spending spree.
This time, the jury found us both guilty. We were going to spend the rest of our lives in prison. They didn't believe I was abused because I was a man. I sometimes wonder if I had been a girl up there telling my story, would the outcome have been different? But, men were not abused in those times.
We tried to appeal the decision so many times, but in the end, the Supreme Court of California, the United States District Court, and the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit all refused.
We Weren't Lying
Lyle and I were separated when we got to prison. We spent over twenty years apart, but in 2018 we were reunited. We cried like babies when we saw each other again. We now work in the prison with others who have been abused. We have worked through most of the education curriculum and rehabilitation programs.
You see, we know we did wrong. It was wrong for us to take two lives, but at the time, we saw no other way out. But, whatever you think of us, we were telling the truth, and finally, we may have the evidence to prove it.
The first piece of evidence is a letter I wrote to my cousin Andy Canó in December 1988, about eight months before we killed our parents. In part, the letter says, "I've been trying to avoid dad. It's still happening Andy but it's worse for me now… Every night I stay up thinking he might come in."
That on its own would probably not be enough, but we found out it was not just us that my father abused. When he worked for RCA Records, there was a Puerto Rico boy band called Menudo. When he was fourteen, my dad sexually assaulted Roy Rosselló, one of the band, in our home in New Jersey.
We now wait for the new hearing in November to see whether the judge believes all the evidence and whether the world has moved on enough to understand men can be abused. It has taken thirty years to get to this point, but I think we will finally be free.
One Case, Three Different Perspectives
This article is part of a challenge I completed with two other fantastic crime writers, Author Ed Anderson at Coffee and Crime and Karen Marie Shelton at 2 Sides 2 Every Crime.
We are all friends. We are all crime writers. We all have different perspectives on the story. Too often, writers, especially those in the crime genre, fret about discussing cases with their friends. There is a worry that someone will steal an idea or find success with research done for them.
We are not those crime writers. There’s a joy that comes from talking about cases with one another. Ideas are formed. And sometimes, yes, we are swayed by what someone else says.
Enjoy all three pieces. Let us know your perspective on the case. And please like and subscribe to the other two amazing newsletters.
This is a fantastic piece! I love how your take and the way you told it
This...is...so...cool. I didn't know if you peeps could pull off three perspectives in interesting ways but you all nailed it. So interesting, and all together it puts together an interesting picture. I read it all in the wrong order lol, but I don't care.
Excellent, excellent job Sam, Ed and Karen.