When I first saw Orenthal James Simpson it was as a sideline reporter for NBC Sports football. My father would describe to me how Simpson's game on the gridiron was a manifest of power and beauty, whether it was at USC or for the Buffalo Bills of the NFL. He had such a presence on our TV screen that in the black community he was as big an icon as Michael Jackson or Bill Cosby. I would often see Simpson's image on Hertz commercials as he ran through the airport and Spot-bilt ads in my comic books. When I would play football with my brothers on the streets of Warner Robins, we would often yell out "The Juice is Loose!" whenever we got the pigskin.
Then June 16, 1994 happened. I was preparing myself for my graduation from Woodbridge High School, thinking about how I was going to celebrate later and say goodbye to friends I knew I would never see again. It was a hot and balmy 94 degrees as we all sat outside waiting for the next level in our lives as graduates. Once the pleasant exchanges were over and we all made plans to meet up later that evening, my family and I returned home. I figured I'd catch Game 5 of the NBA Finals between Houston and New York and then I turn on the remote control to catch this...
As that white Ford Bronco was cascading down the I-5 of the Los Angeles Freeway, with hundreds of onlookers with their signs above the bridges, everything I thought I knew about O.J. Simpson vanished with every passing mile. Suddenly, my thoughts weren't about his 2,000 yard season in 1973, or wearing a goofy afro with Leslie Nielsen. No, my thoughts went to "He's killed two people and now he's going to kill himself!" What occurred next has been the focus of the recent FX drama "The People vs. O.J. Simpson" and now being told in an ESPN 30 for 30 "O.J. Made in America."
As my wife and I saw the first part of this riveting 5 part series, it was a throwback to an O.J. I never knew. While the nation was burning in the heat of the civil rights movement of the 1960s, it was the one time Simpson deliberately wanted to stay on the sidelines instead of strapping on the helmet of justice. There was a line that really brought it home for me. One night at a club in Los Angeles, a young blonde woman saw O.J. sitting with a group of black men. The lady said, and I'm paraphrasing, "There is O.J. with those niggers." According to a white man who was in earshot of what was said, he mentioned that O.J. responded with, "She's right. I am O.J.!" No defense of his brethren in attendance, and it was in that one statement that I realized that he wasn't such a hero after all.
We are all fallen individuals, but there is something special about identifying with who you are and standing alongside those who are the same. Simpson called an audible, thinking that his rising tide of Hollywood stardom would encourage others to do the same. His ideology was that the only way to achieve equality was to avoid all mention of who he really was, a black man playing football, receiving the cheers of a divided America only because of his exploits on Saturdays and Sundays. Once that Bronco stopped in the residential neighborhood of Brentwood, CA, he realized that harsh reality.
Was I one of the individuals who celebrated when he was acquitted of double murder in 1995? Yes, and I'd be lying if I didn't say that it was less about O.J. and more about some misguided revenge for what happened to Rodney King three years earlier at the hands of corrupt policemen. However, I realized how wrong that was. Again, we are fallen people. As I now see the images of O.J. Simpson rotting his latter days away in a Clark County, Nevada prison, it was a stark reminder of being careful of the people we admire. Sometimes we need to realize that the stars that shine the brightest crash the hardest.
No comments:
Post a Comment