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Though Simpson resides in the most populated jail in the country (about 6,200 prisoners, with more than 1,000 newcomers a day), he lives, paradoxically, in complete, not-so-splendid isolation. He is assigned to "7000," the second-floor ward of the hospital section, reserved for severe mental cases who require "behavior observation," defendants who would be at risk among other prisoners, or notable figures like Simpson, who need "special handling" for their own safety. "There are inmates who would ! attack him just because he is a celebrity," says Sheriff Block. "You know the kind: 'Hey, look at me -- I'm the guy who shot Abe Lincoln.' "
For a day after his incarceration, Simpson's next-cell neighbor was Erik Menendez, the younger of the Beverly Hills brothers who murdered their parents. To ensure that Simpson and Menendez would not overhear each other's telephone conversations, Block ordered Menendez moved to another part of 7000. (Brother Lyle is in a different, equally high-security block of the jail.) That left Simpson alone in an isolated row, or module, of seven cells.
Because he is a murder suspect, Simpson wears the red wristband of a high- security inmate. When he is taken to meet with his defense lawyers in the large attorney's room on the ground floor, he wears handcuffs and a waist chain. When the lawyers give him legal papers to read, they are extended first to a deputy sheriff, who searches through them before handing them to Simpson. He has so far not had much time to read books. When he does, they will have to come directly from the publishers; no privately delivered reading material is allowed, since the pages could be soaked with drugs.
The jail receives more than 2,000 letters a day addressed to Simpson; of these, his lawyers select a handful for him to read. Block reports that his office gets 50 to 100 phone calls every day asking about Simpson. Many are messages of sympathy and support. Most are merely curious -- people, says the sheriff, who "want to know what he's wearing and what he's eating." One irate Minnesotan phoned last Thursday demanding to know how the sheriff's department was planning to celebrate O.J.'s 47th birthday, which, coincidentally, fell last Saturday, one day after he was remanded to trial. Simpson could not have been in much of a mood to celebrate.