Thursday, October 11, 2007

An open letter to O.J.


Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column?
Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.
Will you please just stop? None of us can take it anymore. You won't remember me but I met you a couple of times, years ago, in Los Angeles – we even co-hosted a television show together, however, you've met millions of people and you've done tons of stuff since then. I remembered you because, after all, you were O.J. Simpson: star athlete, gorgeous, charismatic with a flood-lit smile. Even my manager was star struck.
"He's so handsome!" she whispered to me backstage.
"Yeah, but didn't you hear, he just plead 'no contest' to beating his wife." I replied.
"I can't believe it." she said stoutly. "I just can't."
Fast forward to 1995. I was driving my car through Hidden Valley, California, on the way to the barn when radio programming was interrupted for breaking news. The verdict for your murder trial was in. Breathless, I pulled my car over on the shoulder and turned the volume up. Surely, surely.............
"We find the defendant, Orenthal James Simpson, not guilty." And following that, several more "not guiltys" were read in a monotone voice by the jury foreman in regards to the murder of Ron Goldman and all the other, gruesome, details.
I'll never forget pounding on the steering wheel in anger and disbelief. "The Trial of the Century" (actually, I think Nuremberg probably deserved that title a wee bit more) had drawn to an unforgettable close. It had been part of all of our lives for months and months. We were sick of it and it was impossible to escape from: every newscast, every radio station regurgitated the latest developments from bars, restaurants, airports.
It was with smug satisfaction that I witnessed you and your entourage being turned away from toney eateries in Beverly Hills.
Regular patrons made no bones about informing management that if you were ever allowed a table inside, they would never return. The "not guilty" verdict meant nothing to us. As un-American as that may be, no one cared.
After the "guilty" judgment was proclaimed from your civil case brought forward by the Goldman family, at last there seemed to be a little justice. I thought after you retired to Florida to live quietly on your $30,000 per month pension, that, at least, would keep you out of our sights for good. No such luck.
What followed were countless arrests. It was nearly comical: stealing $60,000 worth of Direct TV, a road rage incident, your girlfriend calling 911 to report verbal and physical abuse and your youngest daughter, Nicole's daughter, Sidney, also phoning 911 in hysterics claiming "verbal abuse."
And now this: a "sting" type armed robbery in an off-the-Strip casino, The Palace, to retrieve items which, actually, should have gone to the Goldmans. Again, the lies: there were no guns involved, it was merely a "business dispute," and there was "no robbery."
As I write this, you have been arrested as guns were found and the suspicious audio tape clearly informs us that your were screaming like a maniac. I'll bet Nicole heard that raging more times than she could have counted before her murder. I'll bet your daughter hears it still.
So, just go away. Television psychologists claim you are a "sociopath" and are unable to feel remorse and believes the world should cater to you. If that diagnosis is correct, I'm afraid we'll be hearing more from you in the coming months and years. You can't bear to be out of the news. Just do me one favor.
Please don't write another book. I don't think I could bear seeing, "If I Committed Armed Robbery in a Vegas Casino."