I woke up yesterday morning to the news of Orenthal James (O.J.) Simpson's death; O.J. is No More. What should have been the story of the American Dream ended in infamy. For many Americans, yesterday was a day to rejoice; for others, it was melancholy and confusing. I am old enough to remember O.J. terrorizing opposing defenses in the Pac-12 college football conference. I pointed to my TV set when he leaped suitcases in car rental commercials and, along with the viewing public, murmured, ‘Go, O.J. Go!’ Simpson was an enigma for many in the black community. He cavorted with the rich and famous, divorced his black wife [Marguerite], and married a white woman. For many of us, he had abandoned his roots. Mr. Simpson was a hero on the field, but the word sellout often followed the mention of his name among my peers. What may have appeared as racist from the outside, from within, was a feeling of loss.
So, after years of seeing the Juice run behind the famed Buffalo Bills offensive line, who were dubbed the Electric Company because they made the Juice go, and portraying the foil Nordberg to Leslie Neilson’s buffoonish Frank Drebin in the Naked Gun film series, there was O.J. in the back of a Ford Bronco, threatening to kill himself. Sadly, the butchering of his estranged wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and Ron Goldman became a sideshow to the cultural, judicial, and moral divide in America. Looking at it out of context, much of white America was stunned not only at the acquittal but by the positive reaction of large portions of black America. The trial became America's first reality TV program. Cameras were stationed on black college campuses, community centers, and senior centers to gauge the live reaction at the verdict reading. The Oprah Winfrey Show broadcasts the live reactions of the races.
In 1991,the reactions were reversed.
Black people were stunned by the acquittal of the four police officers for the video-recorded near-beating death of Rodney King. Black people saw the beatings and acquittal as just another chapter in the long and brutal past of black Americans beaten, lynched, and seeing justice denied. O.J. was pilloried for writing a book entitled If I Did It. Black America had not forgotten Roy Bryant and J.W. Milam, the killers who murdered and mutilated 15-year-old Emmett Till and later confessed their crimes in a Look Magazine article. Of course, my experiences are anecdotal, but my peers did not cheer for O.J. but more the sentiment, so now you know the feeling of blatant injustice.
What black people had known for years was that there was racism in major city police departments, and ironically, although O.J. was a black man, justice was for the rich, and its privileges were exposed. In this case, that privilege extended to a rich and famous black defendant, and the joy was more hope than the reality of the moment. I would be less than honest not to say I believed O.J. was as guilty as sin, as my great granny used to say, but I also saw the bigger picture. I still grieve for the Goldman and Brown families, who ended up as collateral damage. They succumb to the trial celebrity of Kato Kaelin, attorneys Marcia Clark and Christopher Darden, Detective Mark Fuhrman, and the Dream Team of lawyers (including a Kardashian) headed up by Johnny Cochran, addressing the jury in an askew knit cap and whose still famous quote, “If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit,” still haunts us as a comedic punchline.
O.J.’s life will be revered in the very corners of America and only by those who can distinguish his explosions on the field from his murderous rage off it. For me, O.J. ushered in an era of black celebrities selling products, good looks, and acceptance. His obituary and life story will always lead with the words athlete and suspected murderer. Bless the Goldman and Brown families; maybe their long national nightmare has concluded. For the Simpsons, I pray that they can bury bad memories along with O.J. Simpson’s body.
Vote Against Guns
