Dear O.J. Simpson,
So, you're out. Well, at least you did spend a bit of time behind bars. Not fucking
enough in my opinion, but no one asked me what I thought so, whatever.
Despite the fact that I do believe you committed two vicious murders I am writing to
Years before you slit the throats of two innocent people you and I met. And because of
you I was able to spend three days in Los Angeles with my sister, Carol. We stayed at
the Disneyland Hotel, because, why not?
I'll back up just a bit.
My younger sister and I ran a tennis shop at a small club in Northern California. Carol
was the brains of the outfit. She could figure out how many cases of tennis balls we
would need for the year. She could run a tournament like an army drill sergeant. She
managed the payroll and paid the bills. Fashion, however, was not her strong suit. That
is where I would step in and take over. Together we made a good team.
Oh, I think she could have tackled it all if need be. But she made a place for me in that
little shop and I deeply appreciated it. I worked by her side before I got married. While I
was married. And after said marriage hit the skids. The tennis club was more home to
me than anywhere. My sister my most reliable partner. I think she had similar feeling
towards me as our other sister, Cheryl, her twin, was living in Peru and was, I am sure,
deeply missed by Carol.
Early in the morning we would open the shop for the before work players. Late in the
day we would sit at the bar upstairs and drink with the after work players. During the day
we would take turns taking breaks to head out to the courts to play. One more area in
which she was the master, I the student. And every now and then, we would discuss the
merits of "going to market". Traveling to wherever market was being held to take a look
at what was new in tennis. Oversized rackets, the latest in foot wear and cutting edge
tennis togs. We always had to take into account the expense in traveling versus staying
home and phoning in orders or waiting for a sales rep to come to us. When we first
received the information about the spring market to be held in Los Angeles she was
hesitant to sign up. It would be a nine or 10 hour drive, or we would need to fly. A hotel
would have to be booked for three nights. There would be meals to buy and all manner
of unexpected expenses.
Sure, there would also be tennis stars sitting at tables with their sponsors, but we had
both seen our share of tennis players.
The brochures sat on the counter of the store for days while we debated. Carol was
leaning towards not going. I didn't want to force the issue, but I was longing for a mini
vacation and we had never traveled alone together before.
Then I noticed something in the information packet. You, Orenthal James Simpson,
would be there. O.J., in the house!
I pointed it out to Carol. Our eyes locked and she grinned. She was a fan. That's all it
took. She was in!
We threw caution to the wind and bought airline tickets. We booked a double room at
the Magic Kingdom's hotel. We had room service, one of her favorite things. She
ordered a strawberry daiquiri with extra whipped cream. I drank tequila. We lay on the
bed and watched movies at night and during the day wandered booth to booth looking
We met Ilie Nastase at the Adidas booth and were not impressed. He was slimy, asking
me to "come sit on his lap", which I did not do. But we did order shoes.
Then we spotted you sitting at a table pimping yourself out. I'm sorry to say I can't for
the life of me remember what you were promoting. But we queued up to meet you and
once at the front of the line you first greeted Carol, reaching out to shake her hand and
smiling. Then it was my turn.
I remember how big your hand was. Mine disappeared into it. I remember how beautiful
your smile was. I recall wondering how a football player could have such perfect teeth.
And your forehead was so shiny, the overhead lights creating a halo effect.
We got autographs. I have no idea what happened to them.
That was the only time I ever took a trip alone with Carol. It only happened because you
were going to be there. Those three days seem like a dream to me now.
Cheryl moved back from Peru. She and Carol picked up where they left off, twins
The tennis shop was sold years ago. We three went on to other life adventures, Carol
and Cheryl still with their unshakeable bond, until Carol's death just a few years ago.
I wish I could say that Cheryl then turned to me for sisterly companionship, but that was
not the case. Somehow, I lost both sisters in one fell swoop.
But I have the memories of that trip. Those three days in the Magic Kingdom with my
brilliant, funny, talented sister. A time I know I wouldn't have had if not for you.
Now while I firmly believe you are a monster who should never be forgiven, after all,
how does one forgive someone who refuses to admit their guilt, I do thank you. For
those three days back in the 1970's. Before you murdered the mother of your children
and her innocent friend. Before we were all were mesmerized by the white Ford Bronco
Before I could even imagine the pain of losing two sisters, one to cancer the other to an
unexpected turn of events.
So, as much as I hate to say it, thank you, you murdering piece of shit.