a pathetic little blog
As we cruised west toward Los Angeles on Interstate 40 we came within range of KFI’s 50,000 watt signal to the early morning news Nicole Brown Simpson and her friend Ronald Goldman had been found murdered (and mutilated) at her house in Brentwood. We were on our way back to the Los Angeles area to take a break, visit with friends and family, and for me to have eye surgery. When I was 17 I had radial keratotomy (RK) surgery to improve my vision, but since my eyes were still maturing it wasn’t a lasting fix to my vision. The surgery was guaranteed by my dad’s Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) insurance plan and the doctor who performed the procedure was obliged to correct it as many times as it took to get it right but I needed to wait until my eyes were finished changing naturally. By the time this happened I was 25 and the doctor had moved on to better things like lasik. They were annoyed but agreed to do the archaic procedure.
On June 17th, my mom drove me to the opthamologist’s office for the surgery. The buzz on the waiting room televisions that morning was about OJ’s plan to surrender himself to the LAPD. I was taken to the pre-op area and given a valium to sedate me enough that I wouldn’t care that a surgeon was going to be making microscopic incisions with a scalpel on my eyeball as I watched. I was seated next to a nice man who was about to have his own RK touch up done. He was focused on the news and as it turned out, he didn’t like valium and had to drive himself home, so he skipped it. At some point in my drugged out haze I was brought to the realization I was sitting next to former LAPD Chief Darryl Gates. How bizarre was that? My mom was shooting the breeze with him, telling him he’d missed my rockin’ wedding (he’d been invited but Rodney King was keeping him too busy for social calls), and all sorts of things about the job. No, really. Darryl Gates was sitting next to me chatting about OJ Simpson and Rodney King. Seriously. I wish I could remember the whole thing.
Later after the surgery I went home and passed out for most of the day, periodically waking to see if the Earth was still spinning and if OJ was still driving. He’d started his low-speed chase earlier in the day and it didn’t seem to end. Ever. At least not with the recaps airing on every station well into the wee hours. That was a Groundhog Day, if ever there was one. By the way, I had another surgery not long after that one and skipped the valium. I was afraid I’d have OJ flashbacks if I took it.
Fast forward to October 3rd, 1995 I was back in town with my new baby and temped at my friend’s legal office for a day to make some vacation cash when the verdict was read: Not guilty. Unbelievable. What a bungled up trial that was. A perfect group of morons let him get away with murder.
I’ve been following his kidnapping and armed robbery case and was listening to the radio when the verdict came down. Guilty on all charges. I teared up. It was a relief to hear he wasn’t going to get away with a crime again. Nicole’s and Ron’s families must be elated to know he will finally be locked up. It was only a matter of time before this pathetic oaf did something stupid enough to land himself back in the hot seat. Sad though, since OJ has been working so hard to find the real killer all these years. Now who will take up the charge?
Incidentally the news reports that he was “…convicted of an armed robbery that happened on Sept. 13 and was found guilty on the 13th anniversary of his Los Angeles murder acquittal. The Las Vegas jury deliberated for 13 hours after a 13-day trial.” What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas (including OJ).
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