My family were not big sports fans, with the exception of baseball. My grandfather was on the stadium committee in Atlanta, and we often went to Atlanta Braves games. Hank Aaron was our all-time hero, and I swear my brothers could tell you every statistic about him, including his underwear size. My mother wasn't much better, and she was probably the one responsible for naming our white poodle Hank.The only exception to the baseball hero-worship was O. J. Simpson. Even non-football fans had to be impressed by his seemingly unstoppable runs as he shook off pursuers and set record after record. He made it look fun and it was beautiful to see. We were all fans. For years, all my PIN numbers had a 32 in them. He seemed to have it all: good looks, charisma and all-around athletic ability. We had a dog named after him too.
In 1975, my brother Scott was a high school senior in Venice, Florida. ABC held its "Superstars" competition just south of Venice, in Rotonda West. "Superstars" was a ten event contest in which professional athletes competed in sports outside of their specialty. That year O. J. Simpson, Bob Seagren, Kyle Rote, Jr., Franco Harris, and Lou Brock were among the competitors. Who could blame a bunch of high school seniors for skipping school to go watch?
Scott drove down in our white Gremlin and thoroughly enjoyed the competition. During a break, he drove to a nearby 7-11 and came across O. J. walking to the same place. His heart pounding, he stopped and offered the star a ride. O. J. accepted and during the short trip, found out Scott was playing hooky and suggested that might not be such a good idea. They got their drinks and went their separate ways.
Can you imagine the thrill of a teenage boy who has just given his hero a lift? Even then we knew it said a lot about O. J.'s generous spirit that he'd get in a Gremlin, a car that was not one of my father's better ideas. It made it worth Scott's getting busted for truancy when his picture appeared both in the local paper and on the evening news as he sat watching. It's hard to argue with evidence like that. But it was SO worth it. And it was made even better by the fact that O. J. won it all.
When O. J.'s wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, was found dead, we grieved for his loss. At work, Scott's co-workers, most of them black, jeered. "Of course he did it," they said. Scott defended him until it was not possible to defend him any longer. We were all crushed.
Thirty-five years later, I still hear sadness in his voice as he talks about that day. It certainly wasn't the worst thing O. J. did, but small cruelties hurt too.
My PIN numbers no longer have the number 32 in them.
