I remember everything so well. Sitting at my best friend’s house with her husband, watching the Bronco ‘chase’, then, in the theatre, watching Speed - the scene of the LAPD following the bus at only 50, I leaned over and whispered to my Mum, “OJ is on the bus.” which was loud enough to make everyone around us laugh. Going to an archaeological dig the next week, in the UK, to be asked “Is OJ Simpson that famous? All the interest?” and explaining it would be like Gazza being charged with murder. I also remember being astonished by the verdict, then buying the paper years later when they got the crime scene photos, as horrific as imaginable.
I bought Marcia Clark, Chris Darden, Mark Fuhrman and Vincent Bugliosi’s books, and one of my favourite books of all time, Another City, Not My Own by Dominick Dunne, the definition of a roman à clef. Those books are above me in my bookcase. OJ was handsome, charismatic, a tremendously gifted athlete and a likeable actor. He showed all that in his greatest role. RIP Nicole and Ron.