Rodney King was introduced to me as “Glen,” the name by which his family had always known him. It was in Altadena in 1994, a couple of years after That Whole Thing had gone down. He had wanted to write a book and a mutual friend who had known him all his life asked me to speak to him, to see if I might want to represent him. I was in LA on some other business so I got in the car and went out there.
He was a big dude, physically imposing, but he had a very boyish quality about him. He seemed wounded and scared– understandable perhaps after what I knew he had gone through– but somehow this seemed to go back farther than that. He seemed to be a very unsettled person. Despite the leafy suburban environment there was a lot of paranoia about police and helicopters. Then again, for all I know, the fear was entirely well founded. He was surrounded by what seemed to be a very supportive, loving family. They seemed to be very close.
I sat down with him and the fam in the living room and asked him what he wanted to communicate through the book, what he felt he had to say that people needed to hear. His response: “I want to make as much money as possible.” I tried to draw him out, referring to some other books as reference points to try to get a sense of what he was thinking, but he had no familiarity with any titles that I mentioned. What was I supposed to do? Find a ghost writer and shove a book into the marketplace?
By the time his uncle suggested that he too should write a book and that I should also represent him, I had determined that this was not for me. I thanked them, wished him well and left. I never heard from them again.