RIP Nicole Brown Simpson & Ron Goldman / Castaways rescued
RIP Nicole Brown Simpson & Ron Goldman / Castaways rescued
If it's true, it's not shit-talking.
I have a sad tale to tell.
A day after settling into my dorm at the start of my first year at the University of Southern California, I explored the campus; I took in the sights (palm trees, university buildings, etc.) and the smells (eucalyptus, jasmine, smog).
At the time, the USC campus was an island in Los Angeles, located in the West Adams District. It was hidden among Victorian homes that had seen better days and is a stone’s throw from the Los Angeles Coliseum and a quick drive to downtown LA.
One of the first places I visited was Heritage Hall—the home to the world-famous USC Trojans athletic department. I wanted to see one item and one item only: OJ Simpson’s Heisman Trophy.
OJ Simpson was one of many famous Trojans, and I was a Trojan, too, albeit briefly. (I transferred to the less conservative, more integrated, and academically tougher University of Wisconsin a few years later. USC was too conservative, White, and closed-minded for yours truly.)
I remember calling my parents that night and telling them I had seen the Juice’s Heisman up close and personal. Both were excited, thought it was awesome yadda yadda yadda, and were looking forward to seeing it for themselves. When they came out for Parent’s Weekend, they did see it, and life went on.
OJ Simpson died of cancer on April 10th at the age of 76.
Normally, when someone of his stature passes, and if I were a fan, OJ’s death would sting a little.
Naaah. Not this time, folks.
OJ Simpson was a goddamn monster.
See, I lived in LA when his ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend, Ron Goldman, were brutally murdered outside of Nicole’s nearby Brentwood condo (I lived a short drive from her place).
I watched the infamous White Ford Bronco freeway chase on tee vee—mesmerized and appalled—by what was happening in prime time. It was all very LA—it’s hard to explain unless you’ve lived or currently live there. I watched the investigation, the trial—Kato Kaelin and his pathetic testimony, and his daughter from his first marriage, Arnelle Simpson, on the stand talking about her father. Then, there was the televised acquittal, where the court clerk mispronounced his name while reading the verdict.
I was working at Walt Disney Feature Animation during the trial, and the powers that be decided to televise the verdict in one of the studio’s screening rooms—it was packed, and when he was acquitted, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. I caught the highlights of the civil/wrongful death trial, where the civil jury found him responsible for the deaths of Ron Goldman and Nicole Brown Simpson, and OJ was ordered to pay restitution to the victims’ families.
Of course, these folks weren’t paid—well, maybe paid a pittance, and Simpson declared bankruptcy in 2006.
The Heisman(s) went on a pretty wild ride, however.
I’d see OJ at the Brookside Golf Course (I lived nearby and saw him there a LOT) after his acquittal, surrounded by fellow golfers/fans on the course and other fans standing outside the chainlink fence, screeching about how much they loved him. So gross. So so gross. And tacky.
I’m not going to dig into alleged LAPD misconduct during the investigation, the alleged judicial misconduct, or why I think OJ is really Khloe Kardashian’s peepaw because I’m not interested at all.
OJ’s dead. Gone. Good riddance.
Let’s remember his victims instead.
File this under I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS FUCKING WORKED.
So, three mariners were stranded for about a week on a teeny tiny wee islet in the South Pacific—Pikelot Atoll in Micronesia (I mean, how CUTE is the name of the islet? Also, islet is an adorable name too! How charming!), and since no one had come looking for them, the mariners decided to get off their asses and do something about getting themselves rescued.
Here’s the tale: The men went on a three-hour tour, a three-hour tour fishing trip, and the weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed, and their 20-foot open skiff got caught up in the swells, which damaged its outboard motor if not for the courage of the fearless crew, the Minnow would be lost, the Minnow would be lost The crew swam toward the Pikelot Atoll the ship took ground on shore of this uncharted desert isle, but their radio crapped out before they could call for help. So, the castaways with Gilligan, the skipper too, the millionaire, and his wife. The movie star, the professor, and MaryAnn here on Gilligan’s Isle! used the palm fronds to spell out HELP … AND IT WORKED, BY GOLLY!
Fortunately, the mariners were able to survive on a diet of coconut meat and had fresh water, thanks to a freshwater well on the island (sooo convenient, right?) Also, a US Navy jet spotted them, eventually dropped survival packs, and alerted authorities to the mariners’ location. The search area is roughly 103,000 square miles, which houses roughly hundreds of small islands, so the chances of being rescued were minuscule.
Good thing they know how to spell.
O.J.: Made in American is a fantastic watch.