 
THE REAPING

What the O.J. Simpson Murder Case Did to America

By STEVEN TRAVERS

COPYRIGHT (2014)

Photo captions

Contents

Author's note

The calm before the storm

June 1994

"You have an unusual talent"

Slaying the dragon

"It's not a matter of life or death. It's more important than that."

The promised land

Juice

Getting it right

Lust

Love

Marriage

What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder

Running interference

God's lonely man

Trial of the century

Ring of fire

Genocide

What we hath wrought

Fallen angels

Loose on Earth

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"

Social justice

Author's final word

Bibliography

Index

To Sherri Ann and Daniel, Godsends both

Author's Note

"Simpson the ball carrier. He breaks to the right . . . evades two tacklers . . . that's

another first down for Southern Cal."

Southern Cal. Who is Southern Cal?

I can remember it as if it was yesterday. I was eight years old, a warm fall Saturday in

1967 in Marin County, just north of San Francisco. I was riding in the car with my dad after practicing baseball, as we always did. On the radio, a college football game; my dad's alma mater, Cal, as in the University of California, Berkeley? Dad graduated from Cal in 1944 before officer candidate school and service as a young lieutenant in the Pacific. Virtually everybody in my family attended Cal. My uncle and his wife; his son and his wife; my cousins; my father's brother-in-law. Golden Bears all.

The Cal Golden Bears.

My earliest sports memories include trips to Berkeley's Memorial Stadium to watch Cal take on the Tennessee Volunteers, the Syracuse Orangemen, the Colorado Buffalos, the Texas Longhorns, the Oregon State Beavers; Jim Plunkett and the Stanford Indians.

I can remember my dad yelling and screaming, upset with the referees, disparaging Cal's constant mistakes. At the end of the game, too young to know what I had just seen, I asked him how much Cal had lost by.

"Oh, we won," he stated.

Cal in the 1960s won and lost at about an equal rate. They were no dynasty. The days of Pappy Waldorf, when they were among college football's great powers, were over. But all I ever heard was Cal this, Cal that. That's all I ever heard: Cal.

But on that sunny Saturday, the announcer kept prefacing them with a strange appellation: Southern Cal. Unable to process what this meant, I still thought I was listening to a Cal game, and asked my father if indeed that was who we were listening to.

"No, this is Southern Cal, a different college. They're in Los Angeles."

Dad went on to explain to me why we were listening to this team from the wilds of Los Angeles, which in Northern California was distinctly enemy territory. After Naval service, Dad became a high school teacher and successful coach of track and cross country teams, first at Lowell High School, then at Balboa High, both established San Francisco institutions. When I came along, he felt the need to make a greater living and attended the University of San Francisco Law School at night. After struggling for a couple of years to establish his practice, my father was contacted by an old colleague from his days as a teacher and coach in the City, Dr. Louis "Dutch" Conlan.

Dr. Conlan was now the president of City College of San Francisco. Would my dad be willing to teach business law at CCSF? You bet he would.

It was a perfect scenario. Dad taught his classes in the morning, had a quick lunch, then drove to his office on Van Ness Avenue, a couple blocks from City Hall, where he practiced law. In the beginning, most of his clients were his students or their friends and family. They needed a tax attorney, a probate lawyer, maybe a civil matter. From there it grew into a success.

Dad was busy with his career and his family, and did not attend the CCSF Rams' football games, but in 1965 he started to hear how good they were. They were winning every game by huge margins and their star was a kid from Galileo High School named Simpson.

This was further connection. Dad went to Galileo with the DiMaggio brothers, back when its North Beach neighborhood was heavy with Italian immigrants, many of whom fished the bay and sold their wares on the nearby wharf, which was not yet a tourist attraction.

This Simpson kid had not been a major star at Galileo. The school was no prep grid power and his teammates were not a great supporting cast. He was mostly a linebacker or tackle, and his grades prohibited him from going to a four-year university. But now, a junior college freshman, he was undoubtedly the hottest prospect in the United States.

After setting every juco rushing record there was to set as a freshman, Simpson was being recruited by all the colleges, including the University of Southern California. In 1963, young Simpson had watched USC beat Wisconsin, 42-37 in a thrilling Rose Bowl win that gave them the national championship. What impressed the kid just as much was their beautiful white horse, Traveler, who traipsed about the Rose Bowl turf after each of the Trojans' many touchdowns. He had his heart set on USC, but his grades were still so mediocre he could not transfer there. He needed one more year at City College to get his grades up to snuff, and that meant more dominance against JC competition, which he was clearly too good for.

Then Arizona State informed Simpson that they would waive their normal standards and let him transfer in. He could play for coach Frank Kush and the Sun Devils in the fall of 1966. It was not his first choice – likely not his 10th – but he wanted to play Division I ball.

USC assistant coach Marv Goux, as skilled a recruiter as has ever graced a living room, made an emergency flight to San Francisco, where he told the recruit that he knew he wanted to be a Trojan, and that good things are worth waiting, and fighting for. History records this to be the prime motivating factor in young Simpson's decision to do as Goux suggested, but there were other factors.

Those "other factors" included a coterie of "wise men" at City College of San Francisco, which included Dr. Conlan and my father, Donald E. Travers. These men reiterated Goux's admonition that good things are "worth waiting for." O.J. took my dad's business law course, and while he did not give any indication that he was a future CPA, he did receive a high grade from my old man, which no doubt contributed to his raising his GPA enough to get into USC.

So it was that in the fall of 1967, USC football games were being carried on a San Francisco radio station, which on this particular sunny Saturday we were listening to in the car. So it was that when I asked my father if Southern Cal was Cal, he explained they indeed were not, and while he remained a Cal man, he was now rooting for the Trojans because he knew this young Simpson fellow.

O.J. Simpson, as in "orange juice" (shortened to "Juice"), or not coincidentally, "Orange Julius," a popular juice bar of the era that combined orange juice with ice cream in a delicious concoction.

I got my first glimpse of O.J. Simpson when he returned the opening kickoff of the 1968 Rose Bowl, a 14-3 Trojans victory over Indiana that gave coach John McKay's team their second national championship in five years. At this, a light seemed to go on in my head. USC wins Rose Bowls and national championships. Cal, by contrast, seemed the picture of mediocrity to me; its beautiful campus besmirched by longhaired Communists flying North Vietnamese flags, its sports teams woeful losers. Around this same time, I came to root for a sterling right-handed pitcher for the New York Mets named Tom Seaver. When I learned that he, like O.J., was a Trojan, that sealed the deal for me. I was a young baseball wunderkind who wanted to play for Rod Dedeaux as Seaver once had, and any chance that I would root for the Cal Golden Bears was lost forever. I was a Trojan for life.

Naturally, I followed O.J.'s path with great interest. Everything he did filled my Trojan heart with pride: Heisman Trophy winner, number one NFL draft pick, breaking Jim Brown's season rushing record, passing 2,000 yards in a season, the College and Pro Football Halls of Fame; then success in Hollywood. He was my hero.

I do not know if I really conceptualized the fact that I was white and my hero was black. In California, that was quite normal. Black sports stars like Willie Mays and Reggie Jackson owned the Bay Area.

Fast-forward to the 1980s. The scene: the California Pizza & Pasta Company, a sports bar located across the street from the USC campus. After Los Angeles Raiders games, all their players and the Raiderettes would party there. After USC games, it was packed with alumni, including many ex-players. Who walks in? O.J. and Nicole Simpson with Al Cowlings and Marcus Allen. I was introduced to all of them by my friend Anthony "Bruno" Caravalho, the owner of the establishment.

O.J. was glad-handing fellow Trojans, ex-teammates, and Hollywood types. A bon vivant and man about town, flirting outrageously with the many, many gorgeous girls dotting the place, all of whom were amenable to anything this guy had in mind.

Meanwhile Nicole was dressed like a stripper in a mini-skirt and short vest, her breasts exploding halfway out of the room. Her attitude: "Notice me . . . notice me . . . notice me . . . please notice me."

Unreal.

Fast-forward again about a year, same location. This night, a slow evening, my friend Phil Smith entered the California Pizza & Pasta Company to meet me for beers. Phil was with the L.A.P.D. and brought about six of his cop buddies with them. One of them: Mark Fuhrman.

O.J. was a hero to many; black, white or other races. He had a wide following with bases in New York, Los Angeles and San Francisco. He was universally adored; by old and young, by male and definitely by female; by sports fans and movie buffs alike. He was America's pitchman and enjoyed a free lunch from coast to coast. He had it made.

Then came June 12, 1994.

I was as stunned and blown away by events of that day, and the subsequent, equally shocking days that followed, as anybody else. As the author of over 20 published books, including several in-depth studies of Trojans football, with O.J.'s exploits playing a large role, I felt a retrospective of the O.J. case, in time for the 20th anniversary in 2014, would help explain much about race, politics, culture and society in America today. We have seen a profound change; from O.J.'s college and pro career, to his movie roles, and in the world that has emerged since Nicole Brown Simpson's murder: the Internet, cable TV infiltration, social media, sports scandals, the nature of hero worship, race relations, and its place in the body politic. Most if not all of these cultural touchstones grew, were given a jumpstart by, or partially owe their existence to O.J. Simpson.

****

I owe a debt of gratitude to many people for this book. As always, I thank my steadfast literary representative, Ian Kleinert of Objective Entertainment in New York City. Also, thanks to Lloyd Robinson of Suite A Management, Beverly Hills, who handles my movie and screenplay work. I thank my mother, Inge Travers, and the memory of my wonderful dad, both of whom encouraged me even with my early writing efforts, which took years to bear financial fruit. My daughter, Elizabeth Travers Lee, remains my inspiration, but in the last year, two people came into my life who gave me reason to live and dream: the beautiful Sherri Ann and her great son, young Daniel. Thanks from the bottom of my grateful heart.

STEVEN R. TRAVERS

USCSTEVE1@aol.com

(415) 456-6898

The calm before the storm

In the 1980s, the Securities and Exchange Commission made numerous arrests for insider trading. It was the "go-go" Ronald Reagan era, as depicted by Oliver Stone's Wall Street; in the eyes of the Left at least a period not of national prosperity, but of greed.

Tacit in this accusation was the notion that the greedy could only be white males. Once the protected class of world society, in a post-modernist lens they were increasingly the single group that could be publicly mocked and excoriated by their betters in the media and academia. The courts, too, felt free to lavish rights upon all their victims for centuries of oppression and extortion.

All wealth, it was believed, emanated not from hard work or the creation of goods, services and needs the world wanted and was willing to pay for in a capitalist system, but from the poor. How a man with $1 million could steal $5 million from a man with only $500 could not be explained using logic, reason or mathematics, but it did not stop the accusation from being leveled. Or, as Stone had Michael Douglas's Gordon Gecko "explain," the world was a "zero sum game" in which wealth was never created, only stolen from the oppressed.

Lost amid headlines heralding the arrests of such luminaries as Ivan Boesky, Michael Milken, Charles Keating, and Barry Minkow was a man who escaped the public scrutiny of the others. It was a simple arrest for insider trading, like many before it and many after it. Most stories revolving around this arrest were short AP pieces, but if the reader made it to the end of the article, the fact this insider trading artist was African-American caught a few eyes here and there.

This was an odd dichotomy, for having a black stock broker arrested for insider Wall Street access in many ways said as much about newfound black freedom in America as Jackie Robinson breaking the color barrier, or Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. winning the Nobel Peace Prize. He may have been a criminal, but he had something no blacks ever had in the past: access. He was on the inside, not on the outside looking in. Wall Street was the clubbiest of white, virtually all-male fraternities. Membership usually meant graduation with a Harvard or Wharton MBA; family connections in the right boardrooms and brokerage houses; Republican credentials and robber baron capitalistic ethics. Or so the story went, but just as Stone's famed characters Gekko and Bud Fox were scrappy outsiders pushing their way in, so too was the Reagan era. It was a free market in which any and all were free to participate; to succeed or fail, then get up and try again. It was the Gold Rush of the 20th Century.

Blacks were free to take their shot at the brass ring. Hard-fought political freedoms having been attained, now they had economic freedom, to succeed or fail. Born equal and, like all Mankind, into equal corruption and sin, they were no less likely to fall prey to the corrupting power of . . . power, as anybody else.

With the freedom to succeed or fail came the freedom to act out. The "gentleman black" had been around for centuries, embodied by the main character in Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin. Actors like Sidney Poitier, who once embraced Communism, became apolitical, choosing instead to play non-threatening, wholesome characters in movies that white people could love them in. The black athlete had long been thought of as a "Christian gentleman," embodied by the quiet, church-going family man Elston Howard, who upset no pinstriped apple carts in his successful career with the New York Yankees.

But by the 1980s, such behavior was no longer mandatory. African-Americans could embrace the anti-white rhetoric of hip-hop and rap music, openly accusing the police of racism and unbridled violence against them. Black politicians like Jesse Jackson built their success on the "race card," enriching themselves by virtue of their ability as community organizers to threaten boycotts by crowds of blacks howling racist chants at large corporations willing to pay them just to go away.

A new breed of black militant had arrived on the scene of athletic endeavor in the 1960s. Jim Brown, Bob Gibson and Reggie Jackson, to use three obvious examples, were proud, educated and unwilling to play by the old rules. They spoke their minds and, in the case of Jackson, were among the first crop of professional sports stars who made enough money to challenge the status quo; to enter an economic level on par with team owners.

But none of them approached the popularity of O.J. Simpson. O.J. was one of the greatest athletes in all of American history, but in the pantheon of all-time superstardom, had never quite passed Brown's place in history. Yet his popularity dwarfed that of Brown, not to mention Gibson, Jackson, Willie Mays, Henry Aaron, or any black stars of his era. Only in recent years have the likes of Michael Jordan and Magic Johnson begun to come close, but as a pitchman and sex symbol with universal cross-over appeal, O.J. Simpson was the king of celebrity blacks.

This guy had it all. He was a total hero on both the West and East Coasts, having grown up in San Francisco before starring collegiately in Los Angeles, and professionally in New York. He was a corporate ad man's dream, his iconic running through airports for Hertz Rent-a-Car, with a sweet little old (white) lady urging him to, "Go, O.J., go," being one of the great strokes of Madison Avenue brilliance. Or there was O.J., schmoozing with Frank Gifford and Howard Cosell, the happy, smiling black man welcomed into every household in the U.S. for the phenomenally successful Monday Night Football games. There was O.J., teamed with the uproarious Leslie Nielsen, playing to great laughter the comically off Nordberg, constantly meeting great disaster courtesy of Nielsen's pratfalls in the Naked Gun movie franchise. Finally, there was his wife Nicole, who was more than just a beautiful blonde. She was a goddess, the picture of the high cheekboned, long-necked Nordic vision of Valhalla dreams, delivered in full sexual flower to a black man. There could be no more total payback for centuries of racism and bigotry than to take what the white man held most dear, his women. This Simpson did freely and without rancor from either side. The change was complete. America entered the 1990s confident they were in a post-racial society. In South Africa, Nelson Mandela was let out of jail and ascended immediately to the presidency. All was well. The black man was now "free" to obtain insider information, to get into the same kind of trouble as his immoral, greedy white counterparts.

It was the calm before the storm.

June 1994

1994 was a time of transition in America, and in Los Angeles, California. The old ways were being transitioned out, to be replaced by a new set of rules. The Los Angeleno Ronald Reagan, former Governor of California, had presided over the Presidency between 1981 and 1989. Many – conservatives at least – would argue he was the best President of the 20th Century, one of the towering, Rushmore figures to be compared with George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, and Dwight Eisenhower.

Reagan faced much vitriol and contempt from Democrats and liberals, in and outside the United States. It would be inaccurate to state otherwise, to minimize how much hatred was directed at President and Mrs. Nancy Reagan, yet time seems to have tempered the memory. Radical liberal "comedian" Bill Maher, for instance, displayed on his show a certain amount of fondness for Reagan, disputing the notion that he was not loved by one and all. But Maher represents a vitriol, which is vehement, loud and vicious, aimed by opponents at Bill Clinton, by opponents at George W. Bush, and by opponents at Barack Obama, that dwarfs the opposition rhetoric aimed at Reagan.

Whatever "fondness" the "loyal opposition" may have felt for President Reagan, no amount of modern Presidential-politics rancor is greater that that aimed at one of his predecessors, the fellow Californian Richard M. Nixon. Their names were always linked; similar in age, both conservatives from the same state, yet Nixon earned much of his rancor by virtue of his ultra-partisanship, his paranoia, and of course Watergate was an exception to any rules then or now.

The California of Nixon, Reagan and their immediate beyond was still conservative, Republican, and even Christian. This was the state shaped by the Chandler family, owners and publishers of the Los Angeles Times, wholly the shapers of Nixon's meteoric early career. They reliably delivered their massive electoral votes to Reagan and his successor, George H.W. Bush. In 1994, the nation appeared to undergo an enormous case of "buyers regret" over the surprise election of Bill Clinton over Bush in 1992. This resulted in mid-term Congressional GOP sweeps unprecedented at least in the modern era. Included in this tsunami of Republican triumphs in the Senate, House, governorships and state legislatures were a near-total conservative overhaul of California politics. Under conservative Republican Governor Pete Wilson, the Golden State saw sweeping GOP victories in their Congressional caucus and in the state legislature. Even liberal San Francisco elected a man named Frank Jordan, who was officially a Democrat but ran as a moderate, near conservative. He was as close to a Republican as the City would elect. The mayors of the two largest American cities, Los Angeles and New York, were Republicans (Richard Riordan and Rudolph Giuliani, respectively). Both were already credited with cleaning up corrupt, crime-ridden, dirty cities, a direct refutation of the methods long used by urban Democrats.

The enormous conservative revolution of 1994 was orchestrated for the most part by two men, neither of whom was Reagan, recently diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, slowly descending into the last twi-light decade of his storied life. One was an elected official, House Speaker Newt Gingrich of Georgia. Brilliant and egotistical, he symbolized the South's complete transformation from Jim Crow Democrats to Constitutionalist Republicans, embodied by his highly successful Contract With America (which Clinton derided as the Contract On America). The other was a portly college dropout and one-time disc jockey from Cape Girardeau, Missouri named Rush Limbaugh.

Single-handedly beginning in 1988, Limbaugh had created conservative talk radio. For six years he alone was the conservative media, or what Limbaugh called "equal time." There were no others. There was no Fox News. America got its news and opinions from decidedly liberal sources, yet absent opposing views, most did not realize the liberalism spoon-fed them by the likes of Edward R. Murrow, Walter Cronkite, Bill Moyers, and Dan Rather was not moderate, down-the-middle journalism.

For decades, Americans beginning in school and continuing through generations of adulthood, were told as outright fact by the networks, the "paper of record" and Hollywood, that McCarthyism was a "witch hunt" and Vietnam a "quagmire." Only when Reagan won the Cold War were triumphal conservative voices beginning to ring free, shouting from the rooftops that the Venona Papers, the unearthed Soviet archives, revealed Nixon had been right, Alger Hiss was a paid Soviet spy; McCarthy was more right than he realized, Communist spies had shaped the U.N.; and that 100 million men, women and children were murdered by Communism, a fact that shed new light on why the United States opposed such an ideology in Vietnam and around the world.

ABC, NBC, CBS, CNN, the New York Times, the Washington Post, and with Otis Chandler finally dispatched, even the Los Angeles Times, found all events on Earth newsworthy, it seems, with the single, sole exception of Venona, or British Minister Margaret Thatcher's admonition that Reagan won the Cold War "without firing a shot." It was if Franklin Roosevelt could have discarded Adolf Hitler into what Reagan liked to call the "dustbin of history" absent 400,000 dead G.I.s.

Suddenly, however, a large segment of the American public (the Right) was increasingly uninterested in whether ABC, NBC, CBS, CNN, the New York Times, the Washington Post, or the L.A. Times, approved of their ideas, methods or accomplishments.

20 million people were tuning in to Rush Limbaugh. Every day.

Since the earliest record of man, or as Christians would advocate, since Original Sin, slavery was a "natural" construct of the human condition. Great empires were built on slavery. When Persian, Greek and Roman armies swept through the provinces, military victory was quickly followed by a consolidation of captured resources. Among these were the surviving, defeated populations. Nubile women and young boys were turned into prostitutes to feed the varied sexual appetites of the elite. Working-age males were sent to the quarries, the pits, the pyramids, gladiatorial grounds, or whatever forced existence was their fate.

The Bible tells the story of forced labor and slavery. Egyptians enslaved Jews.

Every race enslaved every other race. Over the course of centuries, the white race gained the upper hand, its Western Civilization becoming the dominant political, military and cultural inventor, shaper of minds, and thinker of intellectual thoughts. Tasked with protecting their vested interests in a dangerous world, white Europeans won their wars and established dominance. Slavery continued. The Greek philosophers, considered "Great" according to the syllabi of Cambridge and Oxford, never gave slavery a second thought, any more than their admonition that a woman's role was not to be noticed by men in public. One of the most discomfiting facts in liberalism is that most of the greatest men, most brilliant accomplishments, and enlightened ideas, were brought to the world courtesy of "dead white males" who owned slaves, or did not particularly question slavery, and had a dim view of black people. This has been the driving force of modern liberalism, particularly in education, in which creating a false universe denying these truths drives them to distraction. (It can be argued that it was the most propelling motivation in the life, and political rise, of Barack Hussein Obama.)

Then along came America. When the United States came into being in the late 18th Century, they found themselves the inheritors of a large African slave population. The Founding Fathers were motivated chiefly by two philosophical ideals, those of the Greek philosophers and that of the Lord Jesus Christ. Belief in a God who knew their thoughts, who advocated that they treat their neighbors as themselves, and was judging their actions, did not coincide with the owning of living flesh. Thus did the Founders create a Constitution that advocated the Democracy first propelled by the Greeks, and stated the maxim that "all men are created equal by their Creator."

But what to do about the slaves inherited by the British, Spanish and Dutch slave trades that brought them to work the fields of the New World? A solution was found. The slave trade would come to an end. The slaves would die of old age. End of slavery. But many slaves were allowed to marry and have children. Slavery did not die with the end of the slave trade. The young America would have to end slavery on their own. Thus, some four score and seven years after the birth of freedom, did a thriving institution that had been part of the world economy through all history, end as legitimate trade between nations. It ended in America. It did not end because another nation came to America, defeated America in battle, and imposed "morality" upon the beaten Americans. Americans, using laws written and implemented by Americans, in America, ended it. America is where slavery came to die.

Over the next 100 years, African-Americans fought to enshrine the freedoms inherited by President Abraham Lincoln's successful prosecution of the Civil War, and his subsequent sacrifice at the altar of liberty. There were many heroes, sung and unsung, in this great struggle, but over time it became most apparent that the world of athletics was a key proving ground of the Civil Rights Movement.

In 1936, Olympic champion Jesse Owens's victories at the Berlin Olympics showcased the black spirit. Shortly thereafter, the black boxer Joe Louis's victory over Adolf Hitler's handpicked favorite, Max Schmeling, consolidated national resolve. Jackie Robinson's breaking of the color barrier in 1947 was the keystone of civil rights achievement in sports.

But Los Angeles, California was the promised land. Life in L.A. was not Heaven for blacks, any more than it was for the Mexicans, the Chinese, or any of the many other ethnic and religious groups who came after the Civil War, after World War I, and after World War II; it was just better than any other place. The Chinese, for instance, tell endless tales of woe; of great prejudice towards the "coolies" who built the trans-continental railroad, yet they endured every hardship imaginable to come here. There had to be something in America that was lacking anyplace else in the world.

For blacks, acceptance was grudging, but with accomplishment it did come. Sports played a big role. The University of Southern California's first All-American football player was an African-American named Brice Taylor, who rumor has it beat out John Wayne for the starting position. UCLA immediately welcomed blacks when they opened for business. Games between the integrated Trojans and the Bruins featuring Jackie Robinson, Kenny Washington and Woody Strode in the 1930s, played before enormous throngs at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, were veritable social statements.

In 1956, USC traveled to the University of Texas with several black players. Despite admonitions from Texas that the blacks not be allowed to stay in the team hotel or play in the game, coach Jess Hill resisted, let them stay, and play. Running back C.R. Roberts gained 251 yards in the first half, securing a 44-20 Trojans victory. 14 years later, an integrated USC team traveled to Birmingham, Alabama, where they beat the segregated Crimson Tide, 42-21 in a game generally credited with ending, once and for all, segregation in Southern collegiate sports.

Opportunities for black athletes, chiefly offered by USC football coach John McKay and UCLA basketball coach John Wooden, began a golden era in Southern California sports. Trojans football for two decades beginning in 1962, experienced dominance unmatched by any university in history. The same can be said of Bruins basketball between 1963 and 1975.

The building of Dodger Stadium, a sports palace like none other, ushered in a baseball renaissance. The Rams were a powerhouse, the Raiders Super Bowl champions. The Lakers were the greatest show in pro basketball.

But in the 1990s an odd sense of mediocrity settled on Los Angeles. The L.A. Times became officially politically correct, a term that seems to have originated out of the "year of the woman" election of 1992. During the course of Democrat sweeps in both chambers of Congress, Bill Clinton benefited from the votes Ross Perot stole from George H.W. Bush to capture the White House. Among the numerous women elected that year, two were Jewish Democrats from San Francisco, Dianne Feinstein and Barbara Boxer.

This represented a profound shift in socio-political power in the Golden State. Until then, conservative men from the Southland dominated California. The election of Senators Feinstein and Boxer came on the heels of a decade of shifting sports power, too, all leaning towards Northern California. USC football and UCLA basketball were downgraded significantly. The San Francisco 49ers established themselves as the greatest in dynasty in the NFL. The Oakland A's were a baseball juggernaut, and in 1989 the A's met cross-bay rival San Francisco in the World Series, while both the Angels and Dodgers slumped.

Finally, Los Angeles was given the ultimate insult when in 1994 both the Raiders and Rams played their last seasons there. The Raiders added salt to the wound by moving back to Oakland.

Former segregationist Alabama Governor George Wallace once granted an interview to a man named Jeff Prugh, at the time the Atlanta bureau chief of the Los Angeles Times. In response to pointed questions about the lack of civil rights for blacks in the South, Wallace retorted that it was Los Angeles that burned when the Watts riots broke out in 1965; that during all the years Alabama was segregated, the L.A. Times employed no black reporters; that the scene of the worst racial strife was not in Birmingham, but in liberal Boston, which fiercely resisted bussing.

Wallace's bristling accusations were kickback against a pervasive, relatively unstable view that California, and Los Angeles in particular, had of itself; the race-neutral, diverse land that got it right. But when in 1970, USC's integrated Trojans schooled 'Bama, hidden under the surface was a festering racial anger fed by controversy over who should start at quarterback, the African-American Jimmy Jones or the white Mike Rae.

California was built on imagery, much of it emanating from Hollywood, most of it mythical in nature. The movies, TV shows and advertisements showed happy whites and blacks getting along with each other. The surf vibe of The Beach Boys and the sweet melodies of The Righteous Brothers suggested mellowness mixed with white adoption of black musical sounds. Playboy founder Hugh Hefner hosted a TV show in which talented, hip black comedians and musicians mixed easily with beautiful white Playmates.

These images held together from the Watts riots until 1991. The camcorder was now prevalent in society, and early in that year a man had one at the ready when he observed a black motorist named Rodney King stopped by the Los Angeles Police Department. He decided to film the encounter.

King was a big, burly man, with a long police record, who was hopped up on PCP. The stop occurred after a high-speed chase in which he attempted to escape the cops. Surrounded by officers, King got out of the automobile and attacked the police. Using nightsticks and boots, they hit and kicked King into submission. De-sensitized from the PCP, King kept resisting, and the cops reacted with greater and greater force. Finally, the bloodied, pacified King was handcuffed and sent to jail. All of it was captured on film.

The only major 24-hour-a-day cable news network at the time was CNN. They edited the tape, removing for the most part footage of the aggressive, hopped-up King getting out of the car and starting a fight with the police, as well as King's refusal to be pacified easily. All that was shown, over and over and over, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for month and months, were white L.A.P.D. officers beating King to a pulp with nightsticks.

The officers were identified, and chief of police Daryl Gates was raked over the coals as a racist white cop. The officers were charged, and just to be extra PC, President Bush insisted that they not only be forced to defend themselves against accusations of brutality under the color of authority, but added federal civil rights violations to the charges, as well.

In order to assure a fair trial for the cops, the court case was moved to Simi Valley, an all-white suburban enclave in neighboring Ventura County. King never testified, because he had made so many inconsistent statements about what had happened he would have been caught in a lie. Blacks were outraged first by these developments, then in 1992 their acquittal by a white jury. The streets of Los Angeles exploded in one of the worst riots in American history.

One white motorist, Reginald Denny, was dragged from his truck by blacks and beaten nearly to death, but the most ironic aspect of the riots was that it consisted mostly of blacks looting the businesses of, and attacking, fellow blacks. Liberal Hollywood was stunned. For years they pretended, and portrayed, blacks as peaceful, law-abiding victims of white racism, but the image of violent, rampaging black criminals loosed upon the streets of L.A. was jarring. There were numerous reports of good liberals calling the likes of Charlton Heston and other gun owners trying to obtain weapons in case the blacks got too close to their property.

Even further irony was the fate of King. Recovered from his injuries, he urged Los Angeles, "Can't we just get along?" His beating was one of the best things that could have happened to him, like a boxer who survives a fight with the champ for a big payday. His injuries were short-term but the money he received in a settlement allowed him to live a life of leisure, which included a passion for surfing, until his drug addiction led to death in 2012.

But the King beating, and subsequent L.A. riots, changed black-white relations forever. The South, which had not seen anything like it since Birmingham and Selma, settled into the form of a collectively smug "I told you so," convinced that in reality, whites and blacks in Dixie had a shared history and understanding of each other that made them more honest, in comparison to the "fake Pepsodent beach boy smiles" of white Californians, which basketball star Kareem Abdul-Jabbar said his UCLA classmates flashed at him before calling him by the N-word "behind my back."

Indeed, the South was by 1992 a Republican lock. It was the GOP, led by Presidents Nixon and Reagan, who husbanded Dixie into the mainstream of American politics. Racial opportunity and equality came swiftly in all walks of life, but race remained the elephant in the room. At the 1992 Republican National Convention, the fire-brand conservative Pat Buchanan described a "culture war" between the Right and the Left that enveloped all walks of life, from education, to race relations, to religion, to abortion, to gay marriage, and beyond. He described national Guardsman walking a lonely, dangerous beat on the streets of Los Angeles, maintaining order after the riots, tacitly making it look like a street battle between righteous whites and black criminals. The liberal press lambasted him as a demagogue and race-baiter, claiming his speech sounded better "in the original German."

President Bush tried to distance himself from its tone, probably a mistake in an election lost where Perot captured 19 percent of the vote, most otherwise ticketed to Bush in a race won by Clinton by 3.5 percentage points.

The election of Clinton, billed as the "first black President," along with liberals friendly to the African-American cause in 1992, raised hopes, but by 1994, having failed to pass national health care and with the economy floundering, blacks were impatient with the status quo. The King beating left them convinced that the police were their enemies. All efforts at political correctness were met with scorn, viewed as fake and condescending.

Rap and hip-hop music, long considered underground, took center stage in the early 1990s, with the most foul, misogynistic, violence-prone lyrics imaginable. One group, calling themselves Niggaz Wit Attitude (N.V.A.), produced a song that basically consisted of the constant screaming refrain, "F—k the police."

Conservatives were happy to point this out, along with black violence during the riots, which they viewed as the Great Society run amok. In 1964-1965, Democratic President Lyndon Johnson declared a "war on poverty," which along with voting rights included massive handouts in the form of welfare, health care, and affirmative action quotas. One of his top aides, an idealistic New York Democrat named Daniel Patrick Moynihan, cautioned LBJ against the Great Society in favor of what he called "benign neglect," which could be interpreted as a call to let African-Americans rise by dint of their own hard work and good efforts. The Democrats disdained this approach. The result was a disaster as great as any ever perpetrated on the American public.

Between the end of World War II and 1967, blacks had made steady gains in economic income and education. In 1967, the Great Society combined with the Summer of Love, an influx of narcotic drugs on the streets, to send them spiraling downward, arguably in all the years since. Most of the whites caught up in the drug culture were from middle class families who nursed them back to health. Many blacks lacked that safety net. The inner cities became cesspools of crime, prostitution, and drug abuse, the welfare state robbing African-American families – the cornerstone of black Christian life – of fathers.

Had Adolf Hitler and the KKK joined forces to orchestrate the worst possible outcome upon black people, they could not have succeeded more completely than what in fact happened, courtesy of their "friends," liberal America.

****

Sunday, June 12, 1994 started with a low marine layer, typical of coastal Los Angeles, then burned off hot and sunny. That morning, O.J. Simpson played his normal golf rounds at the magnificent Riviera Country Club in Pacific Palisades, located a short distance west of his estate on North Rockingham Way in the elite Brentwood section of west L.A. His partner was producer Craig Baumgarten, a friend and regular golf buddy.

A young golfer playing behind O.J., watching the celebrity and ex-football great, made note that he seemed to exhibit "extreme mood swings" during the course of the game. O.J.'s caddy, Mitch Mesko, later said O.J. told him on the course, "I'm a pathetic person." When Mesko said he was not a pathetic person, just a "pathetic golfer," O.J. laughed.

That afternoon, O.J. called a young model named Traci Ardell, who at the time was gracing the centerfold of Playboy magazine. They had never met, but in his circle he was always given the phone number of models and actresses. Ardell was receptive to the call. She was not his "typical type," he told her; he normally dated blonds but added, "I guess that hasn't worked out for me." Then he added, "I've had enough."

O.J.'s former wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, a bombshell blond, shopped for their two children, Justin and Sydney, that morning. That night, her family would drive up from Orange County, where she had grown up, to see Sydney's dance recital. The recital had extra meaning to the Brown family. Nicole and her sister Denise had danced when they were young girls.

Also that day, Ronald Goldman, an aspiring model-actor, waiter at Mezzaluna Restaurant, and recent acquaintance of Nicole Brown Simpson, played softball with friends on a field located on Barrington Avenue, just off of Sunset Boulevard. The previous day he defeated his pals in volleyball at the famed Will Rogers State Beach, historically home to some of the most competitive beach volleyball in the world. The night before Ron went with some friends to a club called Tripps. He and his pal, a bartender at Mezzaluna named Stewart Tanner, planned to go to a singles bar in Marina Del Rey. He would need to go home to change from his Mezzaluna staff uniform – a black tuxedo-like jacket and white shirt over dark pants – before heading to the bar.

Parents and relatives arrived and entered Paul Revere Junior High School around 4:30 in the afternoon. Nicole held two bouquets of flowers for Sydney. Three little boy cousins sat nearby. They were all smiling in anticipation. However, when the recital began, Sydney – dressed in black, sleeveless unitard bellbottoms, with a beaded belt and silver-fringed vest – lined up in the wrong position. When the other girls tried to tell her where to stand, she began to cry. Nicole came to her side, and tenderly helped Sydney to her proper place in line. Author Sheila Weller offered in Raging Heart: The Intimate Story of the Tragic Marriage of O.J. and Nicole Brown Simpson, that Sydney was acting out due to "tension her parents refused to outwardly acknowledge."

O.J. was in the audience, but watched separately from Nicole and her family. To those in attendance, the separation was obvious. Everything he did was observed; he was one of the biggest celebrities in the world.

When the recital ended, everybody departed the auditorium. The sun had yet to set, as the days were at their longest this time of year. Many wore sunglasses against the glare of the sun above the nearby Pacific Ocean. Nicole, her kids, and their happy family all hugged each other. Others took photos of their children in the parking lot.

O.J. hung awkwardly to the side. He offered Sydney his congratulations, but his presence created some tension. An attempt to get the Browns to pose for a photo with O.J. did not happen. O.J. learned the Browns were headed to a trendy nearby restaurant, Mezzaluna. Nicole's parents, Lou and Judi, asked if he wanted to come along, and O.J. wanted to do so. Nicole insisted he not come along.

O.J. Simpson fumed.

Nicole's friends expressed the opinion that Nicole's rebuff was a reaction to his recent threat to report her to the IRS over a tax issue. That threat had been part of a long pattern going back to their first meting each other in 1977; a pattern of control. Only in recent years had Nicole broken from that control, and this infuriated O.J. As the Browns departed, O.J. turned to an acquaintance named Ron Fischman.

"I'm not done with her," Fischman says he told him. "I'm going to get her, but good."

Sydney's friend Rachel came along to Mezzaluna. Ron Goldman was working that evening. A week and a half before, Nicole had taken Ron and a friend named Jeff to dinner at Locanda Veranda on Third Street. She let Ron drive her Ferrari to the restaurant, and Jeff drove it back. He was a good-natured, very hard-working young man with plans. Aside from his modeling and acting aspirations, he was thinking of starting a restaurant of his own. He was also an exceptionally handsome fellow, with dark hair and piercing, dark eyes. He was tanned and fit, athletic. He was the picture of virile, young Southern California manhood, like so many others who came to Hollywood looking to make his dream a reality, but he was no dreamer. He was not from out of state; like Nicole he was an Orange County native. He was smart enough to make his looks work for him, but not rely on them. He knew who Nicole was. He was attracted to her, and she was attracted to him. Having a relationship with the ex-wife of the famed O.J. Simpson could have "advantages," he knew, but it also could have problems. He was not a climber or manipulator. His short friendship with Nicole was genuine and based on normal physical characteristics plus a chemistry of personality. If it progressed, so be it, but he was not going to push it. Goldman was not their waiter, but he said hello to Nicole.

The Browns spoke of an upcoming trip to Yosemite and time in Laguna, their childhood haunt. Nicole spoke of possibly relocating to Redondo Beach, about 10 or 12 miles south down the coast, or possibly moving to Malibu, just a few miles in the other direction to the northwest. A realtor named Jean McKenna was already working on the rental property. She was located right across the street from the restaurant, and while the group ate dinner, she pulled a FOR LEASE sign out of her closet. She headed out to a dinner party in the nearby canyons, but if she had time she would stop by Nicole's place on Bundy Drive and put up the sign in time for the heavy Sunday real estate crowd.

O.J. headed back to his estate on Rockingham Way. While he was rarely lonely and not lacking for female company, the big house was not the same without Nicole and his kids. Adding to O.J.'s depression, his girlfriend, a model named Paula Barbieri, broke up with him that very day

A Hollywood wannabe, an exceptionally good-looking guy with long, blond hair named Kato Kaelin, lived in O.J.'s guesthouse out back. He frequently hung out with O.J. In the kitchen, Kaelin recalled later that the ex-star was very proud of Sydney's performance. Kaelin said O.J. seemed to be "nonchalant."

Around 8:30 P.M. Kaelin repaired to O.J.'s Jacuzzi. At that time, Nicole was leaving Mezzaluna with Justin and Sydney. Nicole's mother, Judi, inadvertently dropped her glasses on the curb in front of the restaurant. Kato left the Jacuzzi to call his friend Tom O'Brien. O.J. noticed that the jets were left on, and went to Kaelin's bungalow to ask if he was finished. A few minutes later, O.J. returned and told him he was "embarrassed," but he needed to borrow $5 to pay a skycap, as he was scheduled to fly to Chicago for a golf event sponsored by his employer, the Hertz rental car company, at 11:45 P.M.

Then O.J. said he was going to get a hamburger at McDonald's. Kaelin "went to my drawer and I had $45 and I invited myself to go along because I was hungry." Meanwhile, Nicole said good-bye to her family, who took off back to the O.C.

"I love you," they said to each other, their usual farewell. Then she took her children to Ben & Jerry's for ice cream. Around the time she arrived home and put her kids to bed, O.J. and Kaelin were driving in O.J.'s Bentley to McDonald's. O.J. wore a long-sleeved sweat-style outfit and seemed "very tired," according to Kaelin. Kaelin ordered a grilled McChicken, O.J. a Big Mac and fries to go. As they drove back, O.J. nibbled some fries but Kaelin saved his sandwich for home.

"I'm going to eat in my room," Kaelin told O.J. when they arrived back at Rockingham. It was around 9:40 or 9:45. Around that time, Judi called Nicole to let her know they had arrived back home in Laguna Beach. During this conversation, Judi told Nicole that she had called Mezzaluna, inquiring of her glasses. A manager named Karen Crawford had located them. Nicole called the restaurant and asked for her friend, Ron Goldman. He was ready to leave, to get ready to head out to Marina Del Rey with his pal Stewart Tanner. Would he be kind enough to bring the glasses to her place on Bundy Drive?

It was a pleasant night with just a touch of cool Pacific Ocean breeze. The restaurant was walking distance from Nicole's home. Goldman strolled through the lovely, upscale neighborhood, carrying the glasses in a white business envelope.

Nicole lit candles. She knew O.J. had to go to Chicago and was not worried that he would make one of his unannounced appearances. O.J. knew Nicole would not expect him. Perhaps she would let her "guard down" and if he came by before flying out, he would catch her in the act of . . . something.

Much speculation has been made over the candles. Was she planning on romance with Ronald Goldman? Had they already been intimate?

At the same time, Kaelin went to his room to eat his sandwich, "And that's the last I saw of him," he later said of O.J.

Around 10:00 P.M., Nicole was probably sitting in the upstairs living room of her Bundy townhome. A telephone and two take-out menus were nearby. She may have been on the phone, possibly ordering food for Goldman, hungry after his shift. Maybe Goldman ate dinner early in the evening at Mezzaluna or had not eaten.

The rear window overlooked the alley and driveway. She may have heard a car pull up. She may have recognized O.J.'s white Ford Bronco, a car technically owned by Hertz, which was the only one of O.J.'s vehicles the insurance company allowed people other than himself to drive. She may have recognized O.J. dressed in dark clothing and a knit cap. She may have panicked, not expecting him but knowing Goldman – the pretty white boy – would be there any minute. She would have known that she had enraged her ex-husband by snubbing his efforts to ride along for dinner with his kids at Mezzaluna. She would have known how violent and outrageous his temper was; Nicole had seen this up close and far too personally many times in the past.

Perhaps she decided to be pro-active, and headed downstairs while O.J. entered through the back gate and walked towards the house along a walkway to the front door. Nicole may have passed through the kitchen, thinking how best to handle this explosive situation. She may have removed a large kitchen knife from the cupboard and placed it on the counter, just in case. Still holding a take-out menu, she would have walked barefoot, still in the short dress she wore at the recital, to the front door. She may have opened the door, confronted O.J., and demanded that he leave.

O.J. may have been startled that she opened the door before he knocked. Nicole may have been unnerved at his appearance; black sweat suit, knit cap and gloves. A confrontation may have occurred.

"We will never know and could forever speculate about Simpson's intentions at this point or what Nicole might have done to provoke him into a murderous rage," wrote Los Angeles Police detective Mark Fuhrman, speculating that she may have "ridiculed" him. Maybe she tried to calm him down. Even after the relationship seemed over, she had been drawn back to him. They occasionally even had sex and O.J. still felt he controlled her. Or perhaps now O.J. finally realized that it was over; no more sex, no more control. But Nicole's ridicule of him was the strongest button she could push.

She had made fun of his acting career. O.J. fancied himself a serious actor, but when he showed Nicole his role as Nordberg in The Naked Gun, she mocked it. She had also interjected race into their relationship. After O.J. began beating her, she expressed dismay at having married "a n----r," stating that she knew it had been mistake, she had "known" that by marrying one she knew this would happen to her.

O.J.'s marriage to a platinum-blonde goddess from suburban Laguna Beach was the ultimate, in-your-face "payback" for an inner city black from San Francisco, but now the tables were turned. She was divorced, free to date whoever she liked, and it appeared she now preferred handsome young white fellows, more her age than O.J., 12 years her senior. To the washed-up jock, who was not exactly getting inundated with good acting roles, this was the ultimate in ridicule.

Whether Goldman emerged at this very moment is not known, but Fuhrman speculated that O.J. realized his "control is slipping," and that his reaction to this predicament was to regain it by attacking his ex-wife "with a pounding blow to the top of her head." According to this scenario, she fell limp onto the top step of the stairway, her feet wedged beneath the metal fence. The menu dropped from her right hand, resting under her right leg.

Under the Fuhrman scenario, his intent was not to murder Nicole. If it had been, he would have done so right then and there. He was there to scare her, and hurt her, not kill her. She was unconscious, unable to defend herself. O.J. may have been relatively confident that he had gone unnoticed until then, and could kill Nicole. He would not need his knife to do so. He could use a rock, pound her head on the asphalt, or asphyxiate her; all quietly and without getting blood all over himself.

The ex-pro football star would have been breathing heavily and been filled with adrenaline, and testosterone. Others believe he found Nicole and Goldman together and flew into a rage immediately over this, but Fuhrman thinks it was only after knocking Nicole unconscious that he heard Goldman approach. At this point, he would have hidden in the shrubbery, frightened, his heart racing. Enter Ron Goldman, the pretty white boy.

O.J. already knew who Goldman was. He knew he was "seeing" his ex-wife, but now his appearance at her home around 10 at night seems to confirm in his mind a sexual relationship while his children sleep upstairs! When Goldman sees Nicole's crumpled body, it becomes a fait acompli for O.J. Simpson.

O.J. then attacks Goldman, but murder may not yet be in his heart. But he has to disable him enough so that Goldman cannot call the police, who will of course arrive and investigate, to question O.J., who still plans to fly to Chicago. Or, just as likely, O.J. indeed does want, in fact needs, Goldman to die then and there. He has seen Nicole. If he just knocks the waiter unconscious, he can still tell police he was attacked . . . by O.J. Simpson. Nicole can testify to the same thing.

Murder, assault; in that flash one is seemingly as bad as the other to O.J., who cannot afford any scandal to affect his relationship with Hertz, his sterling public image, and of course his flagging movie career.

Fuhrman asserted that O.J. wrapped his left arm around Goldman's neck and pulled him into the shrubbery. Then, he produced his knife and began stabbing. Goldman, the younger man, was athletic and fit, and fought back. O.J. would have been surprised at his strength and aggressiveness. Goldman then yanks off one of O.J.'s gloves, which falls to the ground.

Goldman then reaches back to the head of his attacker, grabs the knit caps, pulls it off, and flails with both hands, hitting the iron bars of the front gate repeatedly, injuring them. In pain, under withering assault, tiring, Goldman is unable to get the upper hand on his well-positioned attacker. Fuhrman further theorized that despite "winning" the fight, O.J. would have been "shocked at the strength of his victim and begins to panic at the thought of losing the fight." At this point, if indeed O.J. was not motivated to kill before, he now sees it as his only option. He would have stabbed and slashed in wild manner, but "inexperience and fear are Simpson's worst enemy," according to Fuhrman. His slashes are off the mark and he cuts himself. Now he has drawn his own blood at the crime scene. His footprint or fingerprints could be explained at his ex-wife's home, but now non-circumstantial evidence is on the ground, or on his clothes. O.J. now has a deep gash on his left middle finger, but he continues to puncture Goldman until a final cut to his throat leaves him dead.

"It no longer matters whether Simpson planned to murder his ex-wife," stated Fuhrman. "He's already killed Ron. Now he has to kill her."

She is a witness, if not to the attack on Goldman, but the attack on herself, just before the attack on him in the same location.

Nicole may have awakened from the blow to her head. O.J. stands above her, stabbing at her head and neck. She tries to defend herself, but the knife slashes her hands. She has feared O.J. Simpson would kill her. She has told friends, family and the police he will, and now perhaps she stares into his eyes one last time, while "her worst nightmare comes true," stated Fuhrman. The final slash is so deep and relentless that it practically decapitates her head from her spine. She is dead, her hands clenched in a death grip.

Blood is everywhere. O.J. has just killed the mother of his children while those very children sleep yards away in the house. He does not think of them; does not go in to see how they are. This leaves a further, unnerving scenario. What if they had witnessed the killings and he knew they had seen it? What would he have done then?

Simpson steps in the blood, his own blood dripping onto Nicole's back from his left hand. He exits the side walkway, leaving a trail of bloody footprints. This is DNA, practically prima facie evidence, not circumstantial, that he was there, if not near-certainty that he committed the crimes. He will not testify that he was there but did not commit the crimes; rather, that he was not there, period. More of his blood ends up on the rear gate, and leaves his own blood on the turnstile knob. He approaches the Bronco, reaches into his pants to get his keys, and in his haste drops some change onto the ground.

"He is in too much of a hurry and is too excited even to realize all the clues he is leaving," states Fuhrman.

Still holding the knife in his gloved hand, he opens the Bronco door, and drops the murder weapon on the passenger seat. He drives away in a panic, desperate to somehow escape and make his flight to Chicago. The victims' blood drips on the carpet, brake and gas pedal of the Bronco. Each movement he makes causes more of his blood, and their blood, to land in the car's interior.

The knife! He knows the neighborhood and drives a few blocks to a dirt alley, where he throws the knife out. Eager to get out, he strikes a fence or a pile of wood, which becomes wedged into the front of his car.

Furious and not in control, he approached Bundy and San Vicente, a busy intersection, and ran a red light, nearly colliding with Jill Shively's Volkswagen. He honked and screamed, "Move your damn car! Move it! Move it!" Shively recognized O.J. A Nissan finally drives away but Shively wrote down Simpson's license plate number.

At Rockingham, Simpson sees the limousine waiting out front. The driver has been ringing the house for some time. O.J. is in a dim light but thinks the driver, Allan Park, might recognize him. Perhaps this is when he realizes he is cut. He puts his hand into his pocket. He cannot enter through the front door. Park will know he was out somewhere. Instead, he turns toward the garage and runs down a narrow path behind the bungalows. He collides with an air conditioner braced at about chest height. He spins clockwise against the wall.

It is about 10:40 P.M. Kato Kaelin, on the phone with a woman named Rachel Ferrara, hears O.J. A picture on his wall shakes. He tells Rachel he think it's an earthquake. They speak another 10 minutes. A friendly witness whose lack of memory served Simpson well at trial, he cannot lie about the "bump in the night" because Rachel was on the phone, a tacit witness of a kind.

There was no earthquake on June 12, 1994. If O.J. had been in the house all evening, he would not have been walking past the bungalows where he banged into an air conditioner. The limo driver would not have seen him in the dim light.

O.J. needs his house key. Perhaps he pulls the glove from his right hand and reaches for the keys. The glove drops to the ground. Fumbling, he enters the house through the maid's quarters. In the bathroom, he reaches for a light switch, leaving blood from the crime scene.

"Then Simpson sees himself in the mirror," wrote Fuhrman. "He is looking into the face of a murderer."

Simpson then bandages the bleeding cut on his left hand. At that point, perhaps he recalled the glove he dropped outside. He goes back outside to get it, and in so doing discards the wrapping of the gauze across the cyclone fence. He hears the phone ringing, but is not accustomed to the darkness. He probably believes the limo driver saw him outside the house, hurting his planned alibi that he was home, although his altercation with Jill Shively at the corner of San Vicente and Bundy has already cut into, if not destroyed, that theory. With the phone ringing, he goes to get it, and leaves the glove. He runs back toward the driveway and walks into his front door. Allen Park saw him enter the house at 10:55.

Not wanting to trail more blood into his home, he takes his shoes off and answers the phone. It is Park in the limo. O.J. claimed to have "overslept" and is just getting out of the shower. It is 10:55. He has less than hour before his flight leaves.

O.J. strips, leaving his socks at the foot of his bed. He takes a cool shower but it does not stop him from sweating. In the mean time, Kato Kaelin hung up with Rachel Ferrara and went outside to investigate the noise. He saw Park waiting in the limo and opened the gate to allow him to enter the estate grounds.

Entering the home, Kaelin saw O.J., sweating and agitated. When Kaelin mentioned the noise, O.J. brusquely told him not to call the police or Westeq, his security service. O.J.'s gauze was by this point saturated with blood, which dripped in the foyer. O.J. then grabbed his luggage and left for the limo. Another drop of blood fell on his brick walkway. It was 11:02 and O.J. allowed Park to pack his bags, with the exception of one small black bag, which he insisted on handling himself. In the limo, O.J. complained of the heat on a cool, late night. It was 60 degrees, the heat of a June day lost to ocean breezes just a few miles to the west.

Park noticed O.J.'s nervous, agitated mannerisms in the back of the limousine. Fuhrman theorized that O.J.'s mind was racing, trying to cover his tracks, remembering all the clues he left behind, everything except "remorse over the fact that he just killed two people, one of them the mother of his children."

This scenario, which combines known facts with circumstantial evidence, is incontrovertible. Any jury of reasonable, decent American citizens would analyze and interpret this scenario and, while O.J.'s legal team would put up a brilliant defense, they would undoubtedly convict O.J. Simpson of murder, some other degree of homicide, or manslaughter. There is virtually no possibility that he was innocent. Some would argue there was a scintilla of chance, enough to create reasonable doubt, but in the twenty years since the murder occurred, no "reasonable" person has stepped forth and given a "reasonable" explanation of why such doubt exists.

O.J. would try to say he was looking for the "real killers," smearing the names of Nicole, Goldman and others by positing the notion that they were murdered because they were involved in some kind of nefarious drug deal gone bad. No scintilla of evidence has ever been presented giving any credence to this "theory."

As Fuhrman pointed out, the case leaves many questions as to why O.J. did it, and how he did it, but "any honest reading of the evidence points to only one man."

Fuhrman insisted that O.J. did not plan to murder Goldman. Thinking like a cop, he felt that if he were to kill him, he would not choose to do it at his ex-wife's residence. Fuhrman is not sure O.J. planned to kill Nicole when he drove to her house. He had a flight out to Chicago, and while this could be seen as a potential alibi, it would seem such an act would be planned as a kind of "stand alone," leaving time to plan, then time to "clean up." Would he have planned ahead of time to leave his ex-wife's body for Justin and Sydney to potentially find? The neighbors knew him, knew his white Bronco. The victim dictated the location of the killing, not O.J., most likely. O.J. may well have just wanted to scare her. She saw him approach and brought the confrontation outside the house

If any jury of reasonable, decent American citizens would convict O.J., then the fact he was not convicted force one to consider what his jury was. They were not reasonable, decent American citizens, at least not when they sat in on that jury and reached the verdict they did. What would it take to get a jury to find O.J. guilty? While much focus and blame has been leveled at O.J.'s attorneys, mainly his main counsel Johnnie Cochran, the fact is that they were doing their job within the American legal system. The jury, however, did not do their job. Why? A jury of incredibly stupid people might fail to convict. A jury of racist or quasi-racist blacks bent on getting "justice" no matter how guilty a fellow "brother" was might fail to convict. Perhaps a combination jury of incredibly stupid racist or quasi-racist blacks would fail to convict. Other than these narrow categories, there seems to be few if any other groups of decent American citizens of any color anywhere in America who would fail Nicole Brown Simpson, Ronald Goldman, and the judicial system. Cochran managed to find just the right jury in just the right place at just the time to effectuate this seemingly 1 million-to-one shot, yet that is what happened.

"You have an unusual talent"

O.J.'s story began on July 9, 1947 in San Francisco. He grew up in the projects that connect Potrero Hill, Hunter's Point and Candlestick Point. Blacks had moved in to San Francisco to work the shipyards that extend from Candlestick Point, where the 49ers stadium was, to points northward along the industrial bay shore. This is the unglamorous part of San Francisco, covering about six or seven miles to the China Basin. "Dirty Harry" Callahan was also investigating a grisly crime scene in these neighborhoods in the successful Clint Eastwood franchise, a brainchild of USC's John Milius.

Today, AT&T Park (or whatever corporation has paid for the rights), the Giants' glittering ball yard, has created bright lights and nightlife in China Basin, but the building of Candlestick Park never did bring glamour to Simpson's neighborhood. No hint of it exists to this day. Factories, slaughterhouses, dangerous bars and gang activity mark the windswept neighborhoods of the Bayview. In these neighborhoods, young O.J. grew up and often got into trouble.

His father came in and out of his life, a troubled man beset by personal demons. He left the family when O.J. was approximately five, and rumors are that he became part of San Francisco's gay underworld. While details of Jimmy Simpson's homosexuality were written of in Sheila Weller's Raging Heart, nobody has ever really explored this aspect of O.J.'s life. If indeed O.J. knew his dad was gay, it could help explain why he chose to "prove" himself through "manly" activities; street gangs in his youth, football glory as an adult; womanizing, misogyny and downright violence towards women.

Jimmy was never a real factor. O.J.'s mother was a typical black matriarch of the Great Society, holding together a family through work, faith and welfare checks. She had a sister who brainstormed the exotic name Orenthal James, but her own kids were all Stewart, Stanley or Pam.

O.J. was sickly as a young boy because he lacked calcium in his bones, possibly suffering from rickets. Another great African-American athlete of the era, Cardinal pitching ace Bob Gibson, had dealt with similar disabilities as a kid, but both men grew to the heights of physical greatness.

Simpson ran in a gang, but in those days "gangs" were semi-tough street football teams that did a little robbery on the side. Nothing serious by today's Uzi standards. O.J. did learn how to defend himself. He also learned qualities of leadership, since the others looked to him for "direction," misguided as it may have been at that time.

His buddy since childhood was Al Cowlings; a big, tall man, a follower of O.J. who idolized him. He would do anything for him. O.J. was a great athlete, good looking, smooth with the ladies. He could talk himself out of scrapes with the law. The local Boys Club, a few unsung black elders who coached teams, and sports in general, gave Simpson and Cowlings direction.

They ended up at Galileo High School, across town in the prosperous Marina district, next to the famed north beach neighborhoods where Joe DiMaggio and the great Italian-American baseball stars of San Francisco grew up by the bushel. Galileo offered O.J. a chance to get a decent high school education in a good environment, but it was a trade-off. The high schools near his house had more blacks, and thus better teams, but his mom wanted him to be safe, not sorry.

Galileo had at one time been one of America's great sports high schools, but the City had lost its prep sports glow by the time O.J. arrived on the scene. The Irish and Italian families were all moving to Marin County or the peninsula. In their place were Oriental families.

When O.J. and Cowlings went out for football at Gal, they discovered that many of their teammates were indeed Oriental. They made great mathematicians and scientists. They matriculated in enormous numbers to the University of California, Berkeley, across the bay. They could not block for O.J. Simpson worth a lick.

Scouts were impressed by O.J. at Gal. He had size and speed, but he was not yet the talent that he would become. His teams were mediocre and so too were his grades. College feelers were put out, but O.J. was too raw to secure real commitments. O.J. had the good fortune of getting good advice. His coach at Galileo, Larry McInerny, talked him into believing he could play college football instead of joining the Army.

"You'll never get anywhere letting people give you stuff," McInerny told him, and O.J. took it to heart.

City College of San Francisco, located on a bluff overlooking a working class neighborhood that was home to the Cow Palace, where Barry Goldwater had accepted the 1964 Republican Presidential nomination, "recruited" O.J. They had no reputation in the unheralded world of junior college football. Fullerton J.C. in Orange County was strong. A few other L.A.-area J.C.'s., and the central valley, too, took their juco football seriously, but City College was an unlikely place to develop a dynasty. Certainly, the depleted talent level of the City's high school programs did not offer any kind of pipeline.

However, the City itself was a recruiting tool. Kids from all over the state, indeed all over the country, who were not quite good enough to get scholarships to four-year schools, were enticed by the prospect of a year or two in an exciting West Coast city. Today, CCSF has firmly established itself as the greatest junior college football program of all time. It is possible that they never would have gotten off the ground in their efforts had it not been for O.J. Simpson.

O.J. broke every single juco rushing and scoring record on the books as a freshman at CCSF. He literally ran wild. He was the finest junior college athlete ever. He carried his team to the state title, and in the winter of 1965-1966 was America's most highly recruited, sought-after athlete.

It is important to note the importance of sports among black kids, which gets to the heart of why integrating Southern colleges became so important. In O.J.'s case, having grown up near Candlestick Park, he gravitated towards the Giants, a team in the early 1960s known for having excellent black and Latino stars. O.J.'s idol was the great center fielder, Willie Mays. Mays would give of his time to the young black kids hanging around the park. O.J. was one of them. Mays took an interest in the young athlete, following his high school career, then his star turn at CCSF.

"You have an unusual talent," he told the kid, urging that he use that talent to create opportunities for a good life for himself and his family. But O.J. also had terrible grades. Combined with his academic non-performance at Galileo, O.J. was just not able to transfer as an academically eligible scholarship athlete to any major school.

University of Southern California assistant coach Marv Goux spent his freshman year all but living with O.J. Three years earlier, when USC had beaten Wisconsin in the 1963 Rose Bowl, O.J. had watched the game on TV. He had fallen in love with everything about the school; the cardinal and gold colors shining through on a new color television set, the bright-eyed students in a sun-splashed Rose Bowl on a day in which much of America shivers. He loved coach John McKay's I formation, the explosive new offensive sets that produced 42 points. He loved the horse Traveler, USC's mascot, a magnificent white stallion ridden by a rider dressed as a Trojan warrior, sword in hand, who would circle the stadium in triumph whenever Troy scored, which was often.

Goux did not have to sell O.J., but the grade issue was a problem. He would have to stay at CCSF and pick up an Associate in Arts degree if he hoped to gain admittance to Southern California.

O.J. chafed to get away from home, to play against older, better players, to test himself. Idaho State stepped forward and told him that they would waive their academic requirements so he could come out and play. So, too, did Arizona State and Utah. O.J. was ready to go. He even packed his bags. Goux got wind of it. He immediately took off for the airport and the next flight to San Francisco.

He caught O.J. in time, told him that good things come to those who wait, and that the University of Southern California was a thing worth waiting for. O.J. agreed with Goux.

The USC coaches "talked me into holding out for the big time," he said. "That is the luckiest thing that ever happened to me, even if I did have to spend another year going to junior college."

But after the coach left O.J. wavered. He was counseled by a group of "wise men" at CCSF that included school president Louis "Dutch" Conlan and a former prep track coaching legend, now a lawyer and business law instructor at City College, named Donald E. Travers. These influences helped convince O.J. to play one more year of junior college ball.

In that year, 1966, O.J. again led City College to an oddly named Prune Bowl victory, a state title, and a mythical national championship. He broke all of his freshman records. O.J. rushed for 2,552 yards and 54 touchdowns (national records) at City College. He carried 17 times for 304 yards against San Jose City College, with scoring runs of 73, 58, 14, 88, and 16 yards, plus 27 on a pass play!

Having completed another year of school with improved grades, he now was recruited by everybody with a pulse. It was, however, a fait accompli that he would be a Trojan. Goux was straight with him. Despite his talents, Goux did not fawn all over him as so many recruiters do. He recognized O.J. had a sense of pride about his ability to fend for himself, developed on the streets but nurtured by coaches along the way. Goux told him he would have to earn his chance to play at USC. The program recruited superstars from all over the country. Rumor has it that one player from Texas was as talented as O.J., but did not have his drive. According to the story, McKay spotted him picking daisies during an on-field team meeting. The kid, who by then saw that O.J. was the "the man," was quickly gone from the scene.

O.J. enjoyed "straight talk," not being "jived to." Goux was the king of straight talk. Regarding other schools, "They were offering me everything in the world," he recalled. "I'd get this and that, be first string, everything. But Marv Goux, an assistant at USC, made it clear."

"We aren't going to offer you a darned thing," Goux told him. "We'll give you the chance to play for Southern Cal and become a Trojan. I watched you play and if you want you can star there. But you'll have to work. You're the one who has to make it your own way."

The 1966 Trojans featured two unsung running backs named Steve Grady and Don McColl, both lampooned in later years by announcer Tom Kelly for their "sandwich" role in between two Heisman Trophy winners, Mike Garrett and O.J. Simpson. They are a largely forgotten team in the Trojan pantheon, lost amid the bright glory of other national champions and Rose Bowl winners.

Nevertheless, they were still conference champions headed to the Rose Bowl. In their last two regular season games, however, the wheels came off the wagon. First the Trojans lost to archrival UCLA. Then Notre Dame came to the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. It was coach Ara Parseghian's greatest team, but the Fighting Irish were coming off a controversial 10-10 "game of the century" against Michigan State, when Parsheghian chose to "tie one for the Gipper" rather than drive the field to win at the end of the game. In those days they had a self-imposed bowl ban and needed to beat USC soundly in order to establish themselves as number one in the Associated Press and United Press International rankings, therefore earning the national championship denied them two years earlier when the Trojans upset them at the Coliseum, 20-17.

The Irish annihilated USC, 51-0, but the score was made worse because McKay kept passing and trying to score. This resulted in turnovers and easy Irish touchdowns, running up the score. Trojans linebacker Adrian Young equated McKay's "never say die" approach to the film Braveheart. After the game, the press gathered around Coach McKay, well known for his acerbic quotes.

"When we lost to Notre Dame, 51-0 in 1966, I told the team to take their showers, that 'a billion Chinese don't care if we win or lose,' " McKay recalled in one of the last interviews he ever gave, in 2000 for StreetZebra.com. "The next day I got two wires from China asking for the score. I guess Chairman Mao was taking a break from the Cultural Revolution, which started that year, 1966."

There was one last game to play, versus Bob Griese and Purdue in the Rose Bowl. Trailing 14-7 in the fourth quarter, USC rallied to score a touchdown. Instead of playing for the tie, as Parseghian had done, McKay ordered a two-point conversion attempt, but it failed. USC walked off the field in noble defeat, 14-13, their coach lauded as a "gunslinger."

"The score was 14-13 and I missed an extra point," recalled star linebacker and kicker Tim Rossovich. "I'd missed a 47-yard field goal a little wide to the right, but those were the days of straight-on kickers so it was a pretty good shot. We trailed 14-7 and scored in the last minute, then McKay went for two and the win instead of kicking for the tie, but we failed and lost to Bob Griese. McKay took my kicking shoe off my senior year."

In the Rose Bowl dressing room after the game, a young recruit named O.J. Simpson entered and consoled the team.

"Don't worry about it," said O.J. "I'm coming and we'll be back next year."

Slaying the dragon

To the long-time denizens of Los Angeles, when asked who has presented the greatest thrills, varied answers range from "Kirk Gibson's homer in the World Series"; to the assorted basketball heroics of Wilt Chamberlain, Elgin Baylor, Jerry West, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Magic Johnson, Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O'Neal; to John Wooden's Bruins; along with many other storied teams, players, and events. But most people tend to speak about two players: Sandy Koufax of the Dodgers and O.J. Simpson of the Trojans.

O.J. moved to L.A. with his girlfriend, Marguerite, who he would marry while still in school. He performed during turbulent times. The Vietnam War raged, the Middle East was in conflict, the nation was being torn apart. But USC sailed on calm waters.

O.J. was asked questions as if his athletic prowess made him an expert, but his wide smile and quick wit served him well. When asked his opinions about the Middle East, he said that he had only been to Detroit once.

O.J. liked what he heard about USC and "when I got there, the fellows I met impressed me. All of them were All-Americans."

"They call the years I was at the University of Southern California the 'golden age' of USC, and also of Hollywood, of the city of Los Angeles," recalled one of those All-Americans, linebacker and fellow Bay Area native Tim Rossovich. "The Dodgers, Angels and Lakers were all established by then. Movies transitioned from the old studio system, and some of the people most responsible for that were at USC then. Among them were George Lucas and John Milius, two brilliant filmmakers.

"Over at UCLA Francis Ford Coppola was in their film school with Jim Morrison and Ray Manzarek of The Doors. Steven Spielberg was hanging around with all these guys."

"The period I was at USC, the mid-1960s, this is considered a golden era in so many ways," agreed fellow All-American linebacker Adrian Young. "The 1960s saw the rise of California as an electoral juggernaut, the rise of Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan. A lot of USC guys were with Nixon and many of them later went down with Watergate. There was a huge Military Industrial Complex in Los Angeles and a population explosion that made L.A. bigger than Chicago. It was the '60s, the politics of the era, the 'Summer of Love,' rock music, and a big decade for Hollywood. USC's film school got hot, and I was there with George Lucas, John Milius and Tom Selleck, among many others."

"The social scene at USC was great," said All-American defensive back Mike Battle. "I had the best time of my life going to parties, hanging out at the beach. It was during a time when everybody was part of this revolution at the time. We didn't have any hippies on our team, or all that crap you know, but we did a lot of beach stuff, partied and had a great time. It was the most fun I ever had. I'd rather play 30 years of college than one year of pro football."

"When he first got here and ran inside," said McKay of O.J., "he fumbled too often." O.J. was not used to the hot Southern California sun after growing up in foggy San Francisco. He later recalled practices under McKay and Goux as resembling a Marine training camp.

"Two guys held big, five-foot-long bags," Simpson said. "They gave you a stiff belt as you took off. You banged through with power. Another big bag was about two yards away. Now you must turn light-footed. They then threw heavy air bags at your feet and knees. You learned to hit, elude, and make moves on the defensive backs."

"He kept at and at it, as if to say, 'This is where I am going to make my name,' " said McKay. What McKay and his staff were successful in doing was turning O.J. from a strictly broken-field runner to a power back who could hit the holes.

"We'll be better than last year in all ways," McKay said before the season. "Better defense, better offense, better passing, better running, better punting. What else is there?"

McKay's caveat was the treacherous schedule. USC in those days played the hardest one in the nation.

When O.J. carried the football 42 times, McKay was questioned about it.

"The ball's not heavy," McKay drawled, "and he's not in a union."

It was a more personable variation on Paul Brown's theory regarding Jim Brown.

"When you have a big gun," said Coach Brown, "you shoot it."

"If you don't have O.J. carrying 35 to 40 times a game," said McKay, "it would be like having Joe DiMaggio on your team and only letting him go to bat once a game."

"During the game you don't think about how many times you carry the ball," O.J. responded to an interviewer who asked about his carrying 40 times in some games. "You think about the situation - the score and the down - but you do get tired at times, especially if you have to run too many end sweeps."

"He was big, six-twoish, lean, and ran a legit nine-four in the 100-yard dash, he was a national class sprinter, a smart runner, durable," said assistant coach Dave Levy on The History of USC Football DVD. "You can't ask for more."

"It's no wonder he fit perfectly in McKay's I formation, carrying 30 to 40 times a game, and he was fabulous," said his predecessor, 1965 Heisman Trophy winner Mike Garrett.

Out of the I formation, Simpson was a whirling dervish who had everything. At 6-2, 207 pounds, he possessed enough size, strength and attitude to bowl defenders over in Brown's fashion, but he was faster than Brown, with incredible moves both between the tackles and in the open field. Simpson's all-time play was called "22-23 blast." It was a quick opener, like most of McKay's schemes not fancy, based on his speedy finding of the hole. He averaged 32 carries per game over two years and dealt with pain, but he was tough as nails. He also perfected the art of the slow recovery after the tackle.

Simpson would act like a man on his last legs, meandering on back to the huddle as if unable to walk another step. It was half-real, half-fake. When the next play started, though, he was off to the races.

A 49-0 win over Washington State marked O.J.'s entry into big-time collegiate football. Simpson's second game had national championship implications when 67,705 came to the Coliseum to watch a night game against the fifth-ranked Texas Longhorns. Texas wanted revenge, for their 1966 loss to USC in Austin and perhaps even for the 44-20 defeat by USC in 1956, when black running back C.R. Roberts ran for 251 yards against them in the first half. The Longhorns under coach Darrell Royal were still segregated, a common practice among Southern college sports teams.

Prior to the game, McKay got more involved than the usual impassive, sit-in-the-cart role he normally played. McKay the perfectionist began to see that "perfection," such as it is, could be attained. He pushed the players and his staff hard.

McKay uncharacteristically engaged players on the practice field, shaming some, kicking them off the field for their "failures" to "show" him anything. Texas quarterback "Super Bill" Bradley returned. Tailback Chris Gilbert gave McKay cause to worry.

McKay could not help but get excited over what he saw in Simpson. He favorably compared his young tailback to the Bears' Gale Sayers, an unreal act of hyperbole that had the added virtue of being true. McKay told it like he saw it.

"Simpson is the fastest big man who has ever played football," McKay added. "There are some guys for whom they have made up times, but who never could achieve them if they were tested. Simpson is legitimate. "

Of Trojans All-American lineman Ron Yary, McKay said he was "as good as I've ever seen," and at 6-6, 255 pounds Yary was a monster of the day.

McKay switched his psychology on and off each day during the week of the Texas game. He praised and cajoled, yelled and screamed. On Friday night, he switched gears and stated that Texas was "far better." Then he followed that up by stating that while nobody was supposed to run on Texas, that was precisely his intention. It was a replay of his reply to Arkansas coach Frank Broyles's comment that "you can't run on Texas."

"Yes I will," was still McKay's mantra.

Texas arrived at the Coliseum like a Nor'easter, full of bluster and wind. They scored first but USC, led by O.J., struck back to tie it up. It was 7-7 at the half. McKay, the ultimate halftime coach, went to the blackboard and diagramed a more open second half approach utilizing the amazing speed of wideout Earl McCullough, an Olympic-caliber sprinter. First, quarterback Steve Sogge (subbing for the injured Toby Page) drew Texas in with short passes to the tight ends. McCullough could either be thrown to or made into a decoy. Then, what to do about Simpson? George Patton used to exhort his officers during battle to, "Hold 'em by the nose then kick 'em in the ass." McKay had a similar attitude: "You ran in. They could hardly walk in. Now's the time to put it to them."

It was too much for the Longhorns to handle. Tim Rossovich began to penetrate the Texas line, putting pressure on the Texas backfield. Defensive back Mike Battle was on their receivers. Steve Sogge was efficient.

O.J. was outstanding, carrying 30 times for 164 yards in a stirring 17-13 Trojan win.

"I doubt if there is a back with more ability than Simpson in the country," said Darrell Royal afterwards.

75,287 came to East Lansing to watch USC's 1967 win over Michigan State. In a 30-0 pasting of Stanford, Simpson ran for 163 yards. USC was now ranked first.

"Winning the number one spot was in the back of our minds," said Sogge. "Even though you don't shoot for the national championship, it's always there."

On October 14, 1967 USC played one of the most important games in its history. Since the 1920s, USC had established itself as one of the elite collegiate football powers in the nation, along with Alabama, Michigan and Oklahoma. But the undisputed number one tradition was the University of Notre Dame.

The USC-Notre Dame rivalry traced itself to 1926. While USC had won big games against the Fighting Irish, Notre Dame held the upper hand. The Trojans had won the national championship under McKay in 1962 and achieved a memorable victory over Notre Dame two years later, but had not won at South Bend since 1939. The 51-0 drubbing at the hands of Notre Dame one year earlier still resounded in their minds.

In 1967, 59,075 came out to see Simpson and the Trojans invade Notre Dame Stadium. McKay, the coach who watched game film every night for a year, had the All-American superstar he needed to throttle his great foe.

"They had talked about how USC hadn't beaten Notre Dame in South Bend in a long, long time," said Sogge. "It was a tough place to play in. Great for Notre Dame, of course. Their fans have such tremendous enthusiasm."

The beginning of the game marked the first of several times in which gamesmanship and team rivalries had flared in confrontation. McKay kept his team in the tunnel for six minutes as "payment" for Notre Dame letting USC stand in the rain an extra 15 minutes in 1965.

"This time," said McKay, "if Notre Dame had not gone out there first, there just wouldn't have been a game."

O.J. was, of course, the star but he had help. Quarterbacks Steve Sogge and Toby Page mostly handed off to him. Page had come out of Mater Dei High in Santa Ana, the "football factory" that produced Notre Dame's 1964 Heisman winner John Huarte, and later Matt Leinart.

"I thought the stands would be mile high, and they would throw rocks and bottles at us," Sogge recalled of the Notre Dame experience in The Trojans: A Story Of Southern California Football by Ken Rappoport.

Notre Dame's crowds are referred to as their "12th man."

"If you were an alien from California, you felt more or less like a man at a convention of lunatics," is how one reporter described the scene in Rappoport's book.

Notre Dame is also known for its excessive rallies held the night before the game.

"On a clear night, and if the windows are open, I can hear them a half-mile away," a South Bend policeman once said. "But that's Notre Dame. I don't worry none about it."

Indeed, Irish fans are rabid but not violent, as befitting a classy institution of wealthy Christians. The question of who has the "best" fans in sports is one that has long been argued. L.A. fans, whether they are rooting for the Trojans, Bruins, Dodgers or Lakers, are laid-back. They arrive late, leave early and are made fun of. They are much better fans than many give them credit for. This is certainly shown through the sheer numbers and dollars spent in the sports marketplace, but they are not the "best" fans.

Of all the stadiums in sports, one could make the argument that Notre Dame combines all the elements of a perfect sports atmosphere more completely than any other. Their stadium held some 59,000 people (eventually expanding to 80,000) and is sold out as a matter of ritual. They are a perfect blend of students and alumni, who fly in from all over the country, as well as coming in via train and car from nearby Chicago. The draw of the place makes it attractive and hospitable enough to attract the other team's fans, who may feel a bit intimidated but always say the experience is a great one.

October weather in South Bend is just right. There is none of the oppressive heat or smog that can hang over a game in Los Angeles. The people who attend these games root for their team and razz the opposition, but without the insulting vulgarity that marks the Yankee-Red Sox rivalry, or most games in the Southeastern Conference. The Notre Dame fans understand that Southern California is their biggest rival, that the two programs have each promoted the other to the top of the pyramid, and are the two greatest traditions in the land. They are knowledgeable of the game at hand and the history behind it.

Notre Dame may very well have the best fans in sports.

The night before the game, former coach (and always legend) Frank Leahy addressed the rally. He called the student body the "best 12th man that any football team in the entire world has ever known."

"It was a scene that would have made a psychedelic love-in look like a church social," one observer said, marking the tone of those times perfectly. "A Green Beret would have turned tail and run. Pre-game pep rally? It was a riot."

Okay, sometimes they get a little out of control. Green, yellow and pink toilet tissue flew through the air amid sirens, horns and shouts. They wanted USC blood.

"Southern California has an astounding football team," assistant coach John Ray told the crowd. "And they've got a big back named O.J. Simpson, too. But two years ago they had a back named Mike Garrett, and he only made 22 yards here. We respect all teams here, but we fear nobody. NOBODY!"

. . . And the crowd went wild.

Signs and banners read:

"Garrett Juice In '65, O.J. Simpson in '67."

"Irish Love Canned O.J."

"The Headless Trojan" hung in effigy.

"Eat 'em up, Irish," they chanted.

Religious invocations were shamelessly thrown about.

"Do it again, do it again," went one chant in reference to the 51-0 beating of 1966, which was the thing that USC's coaches and players took with them, wrapped themselves around, and would use to motivate them.

The stadium on Saturday offered more of the same.

"Get A Trojan For The Gipper," read one banner. Ghosts and mysticisms worthy of Shakespeare's Macbeth were called forth. The entire dynamic of the Catholic school from the Midwest versus the glitz and glamour of Hollywood added to the atmosphere, lending itself to the "Beat L.A.!" mentality that gave Southern Cal a professional team's aura. The Trojans entering Notre Dame Stadium were looked upon as larger than life, conquering Roman legions. The biggest, the baddest, the best. Knocking them off their pedestal was job one.

Nicknames marked the 1967 game. Aside from "Juice" there was Earl "the Pearl" McCullough versus Notre Dame's "Baby Boomers," quarterback Terry Hanratty and receiver Jim Seymour.

The 1962 season had put USC back on the national map. The 1964 game had intensified the rivalry. But the true nature of a great rivalry is when both teams are equally great, the best the nation has to offer. It is a great rivalry when one team can come into the other's "house" and carry the day. Despite the fact that USC had beaten Notre Dame in many a major victory at the Coliseum over the years, the losing streak in South Bend had hung over their heads long and heavy since 1939.

Simpson's legend, like many of Notre Dame's opponents over the years, was made that day against the Irish. It turned him into an All-American and a Heisman contender, rare for a junior, unheard-of in a J.C. transfer. Despite the hoopla surrounding him and his team, the "intimidation factor" that is South Bend in autumn; with "Touchdown Jesus" framed behind the goalposts, the crowd noise and the weight of 28 years of bad memories, was enough to make the Trojans the underdogs.

"Intercollegiate football's most colorful intersectional rivalry will be resumed here tomorrow on another of bizarre notes that have been the rule rather than the exception whenever Southern California and Notre Dame clash," read one Midwestern account.

"Undefeated Southern California, rated number one nationally, is a 12-point underdog. It could happen only in this computer age."

The national press took major attention of the Notre Dame game, calling it the "Poll Bowl." They made note of the fact that in 39 meetings since 1926, "the most important rivalry in modern college football" resulted in the winner ending up as "the national champion in somebody's poll 14 times."

History looked to repeat itself when the Irish jumped out to a 7-0 lead. Then Simpson entered history. He rushed 38 times for 150 yards in a dominating 24-7 victory that left no doubt.

Early on, the game was tentative and dominated by hard defensive hitting. It looked to be a match between linebackers, USC's Adrian Young and Notre Dame's Bob Olson.

"The burly Trojans were just too fast, too quick and too determined," one account read. "It was a bitter defeat for Notre Dame, made almost humiliating by a genuine Irishman from Dublin, one Matthew Adrian Young. Three times he choked off Notre Dame scoring threats within the 12-yard line by intercepting passes. A fourth threat cracked up on a fumble on the four-yard line.

"In all, Young, born in Ireland and raised in California, made four of the Trojans' seven interceptions (five thrown by heralded Terry Hanratty)."  
Indeed, Young made his legend that day, too. He was a Dubliner by birth and a Bishop Amat Lancer by high school affiliation. The coach at Bishop Amat was ex-Trojan Marv Marinovich's brother, Gary. The Catholic school in La Puente would later be the staging grounds for J.K. McKay, Pat Haden, John Sciarra and Paul McDonald. It was the top prep football power in California in its heyday.

Young, USC's co-captain in 1967, would earn consensus All-America honors as a 6-1, 210-pound linebacker. He played in the National Football League from 1968-1973, with the Eagles, Lions and Bears.

Hanratty, who would be Terry Bradshaw's capable backup on the Pittsburgh Steelers' Super Bowl champions, spent the day clutching his helmet and throwing his hands up before Parseghian in disbelief.

O.J. had dominated the offensive side of the ball with a one-yard bulldozing through the Notre Dame line, then a 35-yard end sweep for a touchdown. His third touchdown run of three yards in the last quarter clinched it. O.J. had really broken loose in the third quarter, eliciting groans and silence from the Notre Dame faithful. Assistant coach Johnnie Ray was heard muttering, "Too many yards, too many."

When O.J. broke free for a long touchdown, Ray just shouted an agonizing, "Nooooooo!!!!"

McKay was carried off the field by his players saying, "This is my greatest win."

"We just had better football players than Ara did and that's why we won," was McKay's blunt assessment. "Southern Cal hadn't won at Notre Dame since 1939 and I was getting awfully tired of being reminded of this."

After the game, McKay noted in his usual dry manner that at the beginning of the contest, crowd noise had resulted in several offsides penalties assessed to the Trojans. After Simpson took over and USC took command, it "had a quieting effect," he stated.

"We had them figured," said McKay. "Our people were able to get in the right places. Hanratty was off, and we got him to throw impatiently on a few occasions."

Memories of USC's momentous 16-14 victory over Notre Dame in 1931 were stirred up. The papers revisited the comparisons in the sweet days that followed.

A classic line was uttered by Notre Dame sports publicist Roger Valdiserri, when he said, "Simpson's nickname shouldn't be 'Orange Juice.' It should be 'Oh, Jesus,' as in, 'Oh, Jesus, there he goes again.' "

"The turning point of the 1967 season was that Notre Dame game," said Sogge, who also starred on Rod Dedeaux's baseball team before becoming a catcher in the Dodger chain. "Southern Cal feels that it has to beat Notre Dame, even though it's a non-conference game. There's a tremendous amount of pride going. Everyone talks about the UCLA game, but I never held UCLA in the same esteem as Notre Dame."

****

McKay would always say this was his most satisfying victory. It was the great turnaround, the dividing line, the demarcation point of the rivalry, and that first major step toward establishing the University of Southern California as a football tradition that people could look at and argue was maybe, just maybe, equal or even better than Notre Dame's. It was that little extra ingredient that their fans could point to and say, "Well, Alabama's great, and so is Oklahoma, but we play Notre Dame, we beat the Irish at their place, we win Heismans, we've got the edge."

The 1967 USC-Notre Dame game was part of the greatest period in the inter-sectional rivalry's history. For McKay, who vowed to never be "beaten like that again" after the 1966 debacle, it set in motion a streak that had revisionists saying he had instead stated he "would never let them beat us again."

From 1967 to his last year in 1975, McKay would only lose to Notre Dame once. That was against the 1973 national champions. Sometimes the games were close, sometimes they were blowouts. A couple were classics; games that those who saw them call the "best ever played."

McKay's successor, John Robinson, would beat Notre Dame six of his seven years. From 1967 to 1982, the Trojans only lost twice to Notre Dame. South Bend, a place of intimidation, became a place of victory. USC dominated the Irish, at home and on the road. The mystique was gone, the fear replaced by confidence and accomplishment. While Robinson deserves the credit for going 6-1, it was McKay who turned the momentum around, and it was O.J. Simpson who gave him the power to charge that momentum.

By the time USC had beaten Notre Dame in 1982 for the fifth consecutive year, a rivalry that had been fairly dominated by Notre Dame was now dominated by USC, and the all-time record between the two was almost even. In the pecking order of college football supremacy, Southern California had ascended to an equal historical footing with, and possibly even was now above, Notre Dame.

But what made it all so great was the fact that USC's dominance came over Notre Dame during one of the greatest eras of their football history. It included the "era of Ara," the Joe Montana years, and Dan Devine's national championship "green jersey" team. Notre Dame never went soft. They were a major power with a total shot at the national title most of those years. Both times they managed to pull off an upset over Southern Cal, they rode the wins (both in South Bend, 1973 and 1977) to the national championship.

The McKay-Parsheghian years (1964-1974), followed by the Robinson-Devine era, did more for college football than any rivalry ever. Each game was nationally televised with ratings that went through the roof. Color TV was in. The colors of the two teams; USC's cardinal, Notre Dame's gold; sunny California, the Midwestern blue, gray October skies; pretty Trojan cheerleaders, and layer upon layer of tradition, polish, pride and mutual respect, filled the screens of America's living rooms. The game atmosphere was one like no other, with two private universities and their rich alumni bases going at it amid the pomp and glory of marching band music, student pride, and roaring, capacity crowds.

From 1962 to 1981, almost every game had an impact on the national title race. One or both teams was solidly in the hunt for number one when they met in 1962 (USC), 1964 (Irish), 1965 (Irish), 1966 (Irish), 1967 (USC and Irish), 1968 (USC), 1969 (USC), 1970 (Irish), 1971 (Irish), 1972 (USC and Irish), 1973 (USC and Irish), 1974 (USC and Irish), 1975 (USC), 1976 (USC), 1977 (Irish), 1978 (USC and Irish), 1979 (USC), 1980 (Irish) and 1981 (USC).

Notre Dame won three national titles after beating USC (1966, 1973, 1977). USC won five after beating Notre Dame (1962, 1967, 1972, 1974, 1978). USC knocked Notre Dame out of the national title hunt in 1964, 1970, 1971, 1978 and 1980. In the 1962, 1967, 1972, 1973, 1974, 1977 and 1978 games, the winner had the inside track and, indeed, did ride it all the way to the promised land.

The beat went on under Robinson and Devine. The ratings were just as hot, the implications just as high, the rivalry just as intense, the national interest at a fever pitch. The national championship was decided or on the line at the time, in one way or another, in each of the five games played between 1976 and 1981.

USC won in 1976 to give themselves a shot at number one going into the bowls. Both teams were unbeaten in 1977. When Joe Montana and the green-clad Irish won, it propelled them to the title. Both teams had a shot at it in 1978 at the Coliseum. USC won and finished number one. USC won in 1979 and hoped to ride the wave to the title, but a tie forced them into the second spot. In 1980, a probation-stricken USC ended Notre Dame's title hopes.

USC's two-decade dominance between 1962 and 1981 (five national titles, four Heismans) probably ranks as the greatest 20 year-dynasty in college football history, and their overall athletic department also had the most dominant run of all time in these years.

"First of all, it was the middle of the greatest period of athletic dominance, under two athletic directors - Jess Hill and later John McKay - in the history of college sports," stated Adrian Young. "The football team was the best in the nation. The Trojans dominated everything; baseball, tennis, track, swimming, you name it."

"It's not a matter of life or death. It's more important than that."

The Trojans were a national power when UCLA was a mere commuter school in the 1920s, but when great African-American stars like Jackie Robinson, Kenny Washington and Woody Strode came along in the late 1930s, the Bruins replaced California and Stanford as USC's main conference rival. Games between two integrated teams before packed Coliseum throngs were social statements a decade before Robinson broke baseball's color barrier.

In the 1940s, UCLA arguably had a better decade than the Trojans. When Henry "Red" Sanders took over as the head football coach at UCLA in 1949, he was asked about the rivalry with Southern California.

"It's not a matter of life or death," he said." It's more important than that."

In 1954, UCLA won their first and only national title in football, but as heated as the USC-UCLA game was in the 1950s, something changed in the 1960s. The rivalry intensified even more under coaches Tommy Prothro and John McKay. The Bruins were a national power, the City Game almost always was for the Rose Bowl, and usually had national title implications, sometimes for both sides. But the 1963 Rose Bowl win over Wisconsin and the national championship that came with it had upped the ante at Troy.

"This was the era of the Bruin-Trojan basketball rivalry when Lew Alcindor was at UCLA," said Young. "UCLA was at its peak in football, so the rivalry between the two schools has never been more intense. It was a time when USC and UCLA represented social progress during a time when much of America was still segregated."

The "wilderness years" in which USC had always lost at South Bend and never finished number one had lowered expectations. The Trojans had become a program that shot for the Rose Bowl and considered that their ultimate goal. Under McKay, just getting to Pasadena was no longer enough. Now, they had a whole laundry list of goals, which included beating both the Bruins and the Irish, getting to and winning the Rose Bowl, and going undefeated with a national championship to top everything off. As unrealistic as these yearly goals may be, it did not take long for USC fans to consider it their "birthright." The fact is, in 1967 there were still plenty of old-timers from the Jones era who still thought it their birthright. Their influence had carried over to younger alums who had never seen Jones's teams. But McKay basically created a football Frankenstein like none other. The 1967 Notre Dame game was its power switch.

The success of the 1967 Trojans was a tremendous accomplishment for McKay. The team was ranked seventh coming in, but they had to replace 11 starting seniors while breaking in a running back. On top of that, they had to break in not one but two quarterbacks fighting for the job. But the fact that a number of players had been ineligible for the one-point loss to Purdue in the previous year's Rose Bowl had, along with the 51-0 fiasco, created lowered expectations. O.J. very quickly had heightened those expectations.

Earl McCullough was a speedster left end out of Long Beach Poly High. Defensive end Tim Rossovich from St. Francis High in Mountain View was a terror. Defensive back Mike Battle, who had played with Fred Dryer at Lawndale High, made up for a lack of great size through sheer football attitude. He and Rossovich bordered on mental instability between the lines (and sometimes off the field). Adrian Young was an All-American. Ron Yary came out of Bellflower High School, establishing himself as one of the greatest tackles of all time. McKay did not like to play the "low expectations" game of Parseghian, Rockne and former Trojans coach "Gloomy Gus" Henderson. He called it the way it was. While this was his natural tendency, the reality of the L.A. sports market might have played a factor. A coach at Alabama or Notre Dame could say anything and his season would be sold out ahead of time. McKay needed to build enthusiasm in order to sell tickets.

"The 1967 Trojans were one of the best teams ever, and we set the record for most first round draft picks from any school in a single year," recalled Rossovich. "Ron Yary was the first pick by Minnesota. There was myself (Eagles), Earl McCullough (Lions), Mike Taylor (Steelers) and Mike Hill (Bears), plus Adrian Young was drafted by the Eagles like me. He was my best friend and co-captain, but he was pissed off that I was chosen in the first round and he was not. I was 6-5 or 6-6, 220 or 225 pounds, but Adrian didn't have that kind of size."

"The 1967 team was special," said Ron Yary, winner of the Outland Trophy that season. "Blocking for O.J. Simpson was something you don't appreciate until you play against him. I didn't get a chance to watch him run when I was blocking. You don't keep your eyes on him, and of course my job was pretty much, in that era, making the holes for him to run through. We lived and died in a seven-hole system, not like runners today where the hole develops as the line explodes. The running back runs to daylight. When we played the one hole to the right of the center, 10 people were in there and you had to dig 'em out. In the new era if a guy's in the center he'll be slanted, the guard stays with him.

"The direction of the line was designed for O.J. Simpson. He was the type of runner; he was restricted in his day by the holes in the blocking scheme. A five- or seven-hole run outside of it. He was a runner with great athletic ability, but in his day he didn't gain as many yards as he'd gain in a more wide-open modern offense. He'd pick up more yards than he did, but he was an incredible running back and once he was in the secondary, you knew he was gonna get more than the average running back. It would take the defensive backs to chase him down."

"In 1967 we really kind of put USC on the path to what they became, what they are now," recalled Adrian Young. "We brought in some great assistant coaches around that time. Mike Giddings left to go to Utah or Utah State, then Dick Coury came in from Mater Dei, and with him started that Mater Dei connection. We already had a Bishop Amat connection. It was important for McKay to get the best players from Catholic programs in Southern California, to deny Notre Dame this talent pipeline.

"O.J. Simpson had the most incredible ability to change gears and his work ethic was excellent, on par with Garrett's. Garrett was a hard worker at practice, he was inspirational. I was a freshman and Garrett was the running back on the varsity, and every time he took handoffs he would run 45 yards extra, and this became a tradition. You said, 'Do that, no excuses,' and O.J. followed that.

"O.J. was strong, with strong hips and legs more so than a really big upper body. He could turn and go any direction and knock over a defender, or glance off them like Jim Brown, whose ability he had. The '67 team had swagger all around because we worked every practice as hard as we could. When I was a sophomore, that team was as good but lacked the work ethic of my senior year. That team worked as hard as Coach Goux would push them, and it was most inspiring."

"O.J. Simpson was our star tailback both years," said quarterback Steve Sogge (1967-1968). "At times I thought they should charge me admission just for the pleasure of having him in the backfield to hand off to, or pitch or throw to him. He was a phenomenal athlete and the hardest-working player I ever played with. He certainly made my job easier than it would have been without him."

As the season went on with USC ascending to the number one position, Simpson put up the numbers and piled up the accolades. Pro scouts drooled over his power, speed and peripheral vision. He was versatile and lacked what McKay called "blinders."

"They see what's in front but can't see what's at the side," he said. "The great ones see the color and numbers of an opponent's jersey. O.J. is the only man I've known who can come back to the huddle and tell who made the key blocks."

"It was great to have O.J., not only because he was so good, but because he was so modest," said Sogge. "We all felt very close to O.J., and we were happy that he got such publicity. We never had a morale problem. We were such a closely-knit team because O.J. was such a fine, fine person."

Opposing players were in awe of his ability but had only praise for his demeanor. He congratulated opponents on good hits, called them by their first names, never spiked the ball, never got in people's "faces."

Sportswriters were equally impressed. Many stated simply that he was the "nicest," the "most gracious" and the "easiest to talk to" of any athlete they ever dealt with. Simpson gave of his time, whether the writer was with the Los Angeles Times, Sports Illustrated, or the student newspaper of that week's opponent. Despite having grown up in a ghetto, Simpson quickly belied questions of his intelligence, which had been raised because of his mediocre high school grades.

Simpson displayed intellect, articulation and ease of language. He showed humility and intelligence on a wide range of subject matter. It was a complete reversal of the caricature that USC's detractors had made of him coming in. It dispelled all the myths about his character.

O.J had sustained a slight injury but recovered in time for the UCLA game. In terms of college football games where everything was on the line, the 1967 City Game ranks with all other so-called "games of the century." The combination of the pre-game hype, the special circumstances, the excitement of the game itself, and the results of the season based on its outcome, makes it one of the greatest games ever played at this level. Few if any pro games match it, for that matter.

Some would call Red Sanders's statement that the USC-UCLA game is more important than "life or death" over-hype, others sacrilegious. But the City Game is indeed one of the very best college rivalries in the country, and the 1967 match-up its greatest. It met all expectations and then surpassed them. The old saw is that "Hollywood couldn't write a better script." The truth is, the script at the Coliseum on November 18, 1967 was Oscar-worthy.

First, there was the Heisman campaign. Gary Beban was the pre-season favorite. As a sophomore he had engineered a stirring 14-12 "gutty little Bruin" win over Michigan State in the Rose Bowl. Now a senior, he was the perfect Heisman contender; smooth, polished, poised on and off the field. He was the epitome of what UCLA had become: first class all the way.

O.J. had entered the season a heralded junior college transfer. Heralded, for sure, but still a J.C. transfer. The idea of a J.C. transfer winning a HeismanTrophy was, if not ludicrous, certainly never contemplated. In all the years since, it never happened until Auburn's Cam Newton won the award in 2010. No other J.C. transfer has ever even been a serious contender in his first year.

The benefit of 20/20 hindsight now sheds light on the fact that O.J. should have won the 1967 Heisman in a runaway. Juniors had won it before, but the strong predilection of voters then was to award it to a senior. The argument that says quarterbacks are more favored, and that race could have been an issue (Beban is white) does not hold up under scrutiny. Simpson had a spectacular year, but so did Beban. It was UCLA, not USC, who was ranked first in the nation coming in to the game. Beban's thunder was loud and proud!

Folks had not yet seen O.J.'s performance in two Rose Bowls, his record-breaking senior year, or his Hall of Fame pro career. In retrospect it seems impossible that a future NFL "taxi squad" player would win a prestigious award like the Heisman over a legitimate American legend. Of course, voters did see what O.J. did that day, which really makes one wonder, "What were they thinking?"

Aside from the Heisman race, the game was for the national championship. Whoever won would be number one, there was no doubt about that possibility. Notre Dame, Alabama, Michigan State; the "usual suspects" of the past few years were out of the picture by November 18.

Of course, while it was "for the national championship," that really meant that it would be for the opportunity to win the title, and that opportunity would come in the Rose Bowl. This meant that it was for just that . . . the conference title and with it the Rose Bowl, too. Then again there were all the usual nuggets of this game: city pride, bragging rights, family versus family, brother versus brother, husband versus wife, office boasts, schoolyard shouts, neighborhood yelling, the whole nine yards. The closeness of two schools in the same city playing for such a thing gave it an aura unavailable to any other rivalry. Even if Cal and Stanford played for such stakes (they never have), while they are close geographically within the region of the San Francisco Bay Area, neither is in San Francisco.

The fact that two teams in the same city could attract the kind of players to make both national contenders, each with Heisman favorites, says as much about the wealth of athletic talent in California and the L.A. Basin as any other statement. It also demonstrates how, if one of the programs gets the hammer over the other and gets everybody, then no team in America can hope to match up with them. But in 1967, the difference between them was thin.

"Never in the history of college football have two teams approached the climax of a season with so much at stake," wrote Paul Zimmerman in the Los Angeles Times.

"It was not too many years ago the Trojans owned this town," wrote Jim Murray in the Times of the fact that UCLA had won eight of the preceding 14 match-ups:

Cotton Warburton, Erny Pinckert, Johnny Baker, 'Antelope Al' Kreuger, Doyle Nave, Jim Musick were heroes.

There was a time USC used to beat UCLA twice a year. When Howard Jones left the scene momentum and the uncertainties of the war years helped conceal the fact USC's athletic program was as bankrupt as Harvard's. A succession of comic opera searches for a coach who could wear Jones' halo ended with the University hiring somebody who was standing there all the time but not before big names were tossed about.

In 1949 Red Sanders came to UCLA from Vanderbilt and proceeded to show the West how backward its coaching techniques were. He beat Southern Cal 39-0 and later a Rose Bowl-bound USC team 34-0.

USC hired its own jester type in 1960 - cherubic, cigar-smoking Johnny McKay... It was UCLA's move and they brought up Sanders' assistant, Tommy Prothro.

UCLA promptly stopped being the movable object. USC began to look on occasion as the resistible force.

They put on another one of their cobra vs. mongoose matches Saturday. UCLA's will motor eastward from a complex of soaring architecture that looks more like Camelot than a campus. Southern Cal, which has begun to cave in old buildings around its school to drown out its trolley car past, is only a short punt away. More than the Rose Bowl is at stake. The town is. The Trojans want it back.

McKay the brooder also yearned to shut up those critics who had taken to saying that UCLA coach Tommy Prothro was smarter than he was.

"Well, we pushed 'em all over the field in 1965, but we fumbled on their one, seven and 17," McKay responded to media speculation that Prothro "had his number." "I guess he planned that."

Prothro, however, was hard to dislike. He was a class act. Before the game, McKay unleashed Marv Goux.

The fiery Goux urged the Trojans to "win one for John." He held up a photo of McKay, dejected as he left the field after losing the 1966 UCLA game.

"Listen, listen," Goux said in fistic rage. "The worst thing in life is to be a prisoner. Never. I would rather die. We've been prisoners to those indecencies over there for two years. Today's the day we go free."

It was almost identical to Kirk Douglas's rhetoric in front of the gladiators who he urges to initiate a slave rebellion against the Roman Empire in the Stanley Kubrick classic, Spartacus. This was not an accident. Goux had played one of those gladiators in the film.

Goux's speech did not center on the so-called "big issues" of Rose Bowls, Heismans and national titles. He spoke of pride in the city of Los Angeles. He hit closer to home than he would using any other tactic. McKay countered Goux by telling him that the walk back to the locker room after the game would either be the longest or the shortest of their lives.

Tommy Prothro made no effort to downplay the game's importance or his team's chances behind Beban, who he said could win using the "run, pass, fake or call." Beban was indeed an expert audibler.

"There's something about the way he manages things out there that gives everyone confidence," said UCLA fullback Rick Purdy. "You just know whatever he calls is right."

When asked, however, Beban shrugged and called himself "ordinary."

Pro scouts called him "self-assured" on the field, though. He was a "gamer," not judged by statistics but by wins and losses.

USC's first nine games had revealed that O.J. could run between the tackles, dispelling any question that he was strictly an outside breakaway threat. His pre-game comments contained glowing praise for his line.

The game this time would feature plain, old-fashioned football excellence, and none of the hi-jinx that had marked many USC-UCLA contests. No UCLA students rented a plane to strafe the USC campus with blue and gold paint. Nobody at USC sealed a UCLA sororities' doors with brick and mortar. Nobody at USC planted dynamite in the UCLA bonfire. No nuts planted a bomb under the ground of the end zone, as had happened in a previous year. On that occasion, the police had gotten wind of it and dug it up. It turned out to be a smoke bomb. The culprits in that case finally confessed after a yearlong investigation.

UCLA, despite having a Heisman-quality quarterback, won with swarming defense. McKay used a mathematical formula to grade out position-by-position. When he was done he saw that both teams were exactly even.

"It's gonna be a helluva game," he said. Despite unbeaten UCLA having taken over the number one ranking late in the season, USC was considered a three-point favorite. The "it" factor was their tougher schedule, but the Bruins had beaten Tennessee, who would finish second in the AP poll. They had also beaten Penn State, but the Stanford game had been a narrow margin.

"We've been good when we had to," said Prothro.

"We've had to be good," McKay countered.

Despite Goux's exhortations, UCLA players demonstrated more on-field theatrics, jumping around "like thieves trapped in a corridor," according to one observer. McKay was once described as a man who watched the game looking like "a commuter waiting for the 5:15 to Larchmont." His teams reflected his businesslike demeanor on the sidelines.

90,772 packed the old stadium. They enjoyed the added bonus of beautiful November weather. A huge national TV audience got the full treatment of sun, color, and, believe it or not, that season for the first time, the USC song girls. They have long been regarded the as most beautiful and classiest of college football cheerleaders. Other colleges have taken to dressing their hotties in skimpy outfits that more resemble something worn by strippers or porn stars. USC's girls wore sweaters, not bikinis. They could actually dance.

In 1967, a student vote had been taken allowing for female cheerleaders to replace the worn out old male yell leaders who had long handled sideline chores. According to unconfirmed lore, USC had never gone to female cheerleaders even though they were popular at high school and college sporting events long before 1967. A wealthy donor had given handsomely to the school under the proviso that the only women allowed on the field would be band members.

When the thing finally started Beban, who had bruised ribs, engineered a long drive topped by Greg Jones's 12-yard touchdown run. Marv Goux grimaced at the "indecency" of it. UCLA's "swarm" defense trapped O.J. throughout the first quarter. It looked like the Trojan phenom had met his match. If so, then so had his team.

USC's defense saved the day early, though. Pat Cashman stepped in front of Jones, picked a Beban pass, and raced 55 yards to tie it, 7-7. Prothro later said it was a new play that he had called. It was a "stupid play," he said, one that he took the blame for because Beban had not practiced it enough. Cashman blitzed Beban in the second quarter, and his painful ribs showed in his face as he made his way back to the sidelines. Still, he had gotten his team into field goal territory, but Zenon Andrusyshyn missed.

A USC reverse handoff to McCullough netted 52 yards followed by a 13-yard pass to "the Pearl," as he was called (a reference to Baltimore Bullet basketball whiz Earl "the Pearl" Monroe). O.J. ran it in from 13 out. One writer said the noise was as loud as the Normandy landings.

After the half, Beban was effective, but Andrusyshyn was not. Tall Bill Hayhoe blocked his field goal try. The Bruins held, though, and on the next possession Beban directed a tying touchdown drive, hitting halfback George Farmer from 47 yards out.

Cashman had overstepped on the play, guessing Beban would try the same "stupid" pass he had intercepted earlier. He got burned. UCLA controlled the line of scrimmage. Beban probed patiently until he had them inside the "red zone." Then 6-8, 254-pound Hayhoe sacked him. Andrusyshyn began to enter the pantheon of all-time goats when his field goal try was blocked.

Beban later said he was confident despite the missed field goals because "we knew we would score again." He was right. In analyzing this game, one can make a strong case that UCLA was indeed the better team. If they were the better team, then they were the best in the country. That being said, the game often rides on special teams and they were found wanting. They also did not have O.J.

The teams battled in the pits. Then Beban took over again. He nailed four straight passes covering 65 yards. Dave Nuttall hauled in the last for the score, but Andrusyshyn was having one of the worst days in kicking history. Kickers dread such a day. They have nightmares about it.

Up 20-14, he kicked a low one. Hayhoe got his hand on it again. McKay told the press that even though Hayhoe was tall, the purpose was to get Andrusushyn to rush, which he did.

"I call that brilliant coaching," McKay would say.

For every goat, there is a hero. In a game in which O.J. and Beban worked with equal brilliance, and Beban's team was a little better, O.J. was the difference. Amid the tensions and noise of a one-point game in the fourth quarter; with everything that can possibly ride on a college football game at stake; with fans in the stands looking at each other and saying, "This really is more important than life of death," O.J. separated himself from normal. He entered the shrine of immortality.

Toby Page was in at quarterback. He was ostensibly the starter, but hurt a lot, so he and Sogge both played. His plan was simple: hand off to O.J. Simpson. The big tailback was utterly winded. He carried twice to little effect, picked himself up and thought that at least, on third-and-long, he could "rest" for one play.

In the huddle, Page saw O.J.'s hangdog expression. He decided to try something that might net seven or eight yards for a needed first down. O.J. did not seem to have it in him at this point in the afternoon. At the line of scrimmage, Page saw both of UCLA's linebackers eagerly anticipating his predictable play selection. He audibled: "23-blast."

"That's a terrible call," O.J. said to himself. But Page had called for O.J.'s favorite play. It meant running between the tackles, not always the best method for gaining eight yards, but it caught the Bruins flat-footed. O.J. took the handoff, hit the line, juked, and ran to daylight!

It was the most memorable run of his career, pro or college. It is probably the most famous in USC history, and one of the most well remembered in collegiate annals. Guard Steve Lehner and tackle Mike Taylor opened the hole. Center Dick Allmon knocked down a befuddled Bruin linebacker. O.J. headed towards the left sideline, benefited from another block that eliminated two Bruins in one fell swoop, then swerved back up the middle. McCullough hung by his side like the Marines protecting their flank against an invading army. O.J. was off to the races.

All the commentary about the game could not match Prothro's priceless, exasperated lament to an assistant coach while the play was still in progress: "Isn't but one guy can catch Simpson now," said Prothro as McCullough whizzed by him stride-for-stride with the ball-carrying O.J., "and he's on the same team."

It was a variation on something Phillies' manager Gene Mauch said when Willie Mays had hit a home run over the fence, just beyond the outstretched glove of one of his outfielders.

"The only guy who could have caught it," mused Mauch, "hit it."

O.J.'s dash beat UCLA, 21-20. It ranks, among all-time moments in the game, with "the Play," the famous returned-kick-lateral-through-the-band run that gave California an improbable 1982 win over John Elway and Stanford. Sports Illustrated gave it its front cover: "Showdown in L.A."

"All on one unbearable Saturday afternoon is strictly from the studio lots," wrote S.I.

In the locker room, Beban's ribs looked like an "abstract painting," but he had passed for over 300 yards. Simpson's foot was swollen and grotesque, but he had rushed for 177 yards.

"They should send the Heisman out here with two straws," wrote Jim Murray.

Beban graciously visited the Trojan locker room, a practice O.J. also did regularly throughout his career.

"O.J.," he said, "you're the best."

"Gary, you're the greatest," replied Simpson. "It's too bad one of us had to lose."

"Whether that run earns Simpson the Heisman Trophy and moves coach John McKay's Trojans back as the number one team in the nation remains for the voters to decide later," Paul Zimmerman of the Times added. "But the witnesses will remember this as one of the greatest."

"Whew!" wrote Murray.

"I'm glad I didn't go to the opera Saturday afternoon, after all. This was the first time in a long time where the advance ballyhoo didn't live up to the game.

"The last time these many cosmic events were settled by one day of battle, they struck off a commemorative stamp and elected the winner President.

"On that commemorative stamp, they can put a double image - one of UCLA's Gary Beban and one of USC's Orenthal James Simpson. They can send that Heisman Trophy out with two straws, please."

While O.J.'s extraordinary record does lead one to the conclusion that he should have been the Heisman winner, Beban, playing in pain and matching Simpson's performance, was enough to sway the voters to him in the Heisman balloting. He would have traded it for the Rose Bowl and the national championship. He goes down in history as one of the worthiest opponents ever to lace up his cleats against a Southern California football team.

"I have always said that the 1967 game was easily the highlight of my athletic career," Simpson was quoted in UCLA vs. USC: 75 Years Of the Greatest Rivalry In Sports. "It was far beyond even when I ran on the 4x100 world record team at SC and even more than the 2,000 yards. I never felt more elated or joy after any athletic event than I did after that game . . .

"In 1966, I attended the game as a junior college recruit for USC and saw how intense the rivalry was. I watched UCLA make a fourth quarter comeback and win. I remember thinking to myself that I would show them the next year."

Before his 64-yard run Simpson was "tired," having told Toby Page to "give me a blow. It was third and seven, and we had a passing play called. But he switched to a running play at the line of scrimmage. I was so surprised," said Simpson.

When Page did that, "UCLA went into pass mode on defense . . ." he continued. "When I broke outside, I could hear McKay yelling for me to go, and I was trying to zigzag. I was tired and knew that I didn't have that burst . . . I was so oblivious to the crowd. I just remember that I almost collapsed when Earl McCullough hugged me in the end zone."

"To this day that USC-UCLA game was the biggest college football game I've ever seen," said Steve Bisheff on The History of USC Football DVD.

"When you sat back and looked at it, the game was everything you ever dreamed of," said Beban. "It was O.J. over there, he was established, and me, we received so much attention. It was bigger than anything we ever dreamt of, for the city, the Rose Bowl and the national championship."

"We went into formation and I had told our quarterback that if we walk out and they don't got a guy on Simpson, then run the blast and give it to Simpson," said McKay of the 64-yard touchdown burst. "People always asked me was I afraid somebody would catch him, and I say the only guy who could've stopped him was on our team, Earl McCullough, an Olympic caliber hurdler."

"There was nobody gonna stop him that day," recalled broadcaster Stu Nahan. "The determination in his eyes, the moves he made, he was just; I don't think I ever saw anybody run like that."

"It wasn't just me who missed him," said UCLA linebacker Don Manning. "A couple other guys had him but missed 'cause he's so shifty."

"There was still a lot of time left but Beban was hurt, he had injured his ribs, and they never scored," said Bisheff.

"When the two best players on the field play the best they can, it's just a magnificent game and everybody produces, you have a 21-20 game that goes down in history, and why shouldn't it?" said Art Spander, who was with the Santa Monica Evening Outlook.

"The rest of the game was just like a blur," said Simpson. "I kept waiting for Gary Beban to bring UCLA back to take the lead, but it never happened."

"We came into the game confident," Beban said in UCLA vs. USC: 75 Years Of the Greatest Rivalry In Sports. "We were number one in the nation and we had beaten USC for the last two years. We were playing in a game that few college football players ever get because of opportunities that we created for ourselves.

"When we came on the field we had to cross the track that was filled with TV cables, and we felt the energy of the Coliseum immediately. You could tell it was going to be a special day.

"I never saw O.J.'s run because my ribs were always being worked on when I wasn't in the game. But when we came back, we still had 10 minutes. We still had time to score and we assumed that we were going to score.

"The seniors hadn't lost a game on California soil in our college careers. We were a relatively undefeated team - just two ties and three losses in three years - and we had always beaten SC in our careers. We didn't have a defeated attitude at all; we just assumed we would score.

"In the end we were disappointed. It was the end of the season and the end of a college career for me. We had gotten so close. But still we had gotten so far. That game was the best of the series. Everything in college sports was on the line: the city championship, the conference title, the Rose Bowl and the national championship. Even the Heisman. There was nothing else you could put on the table. This was the pinnacle of college football.

"What else could you ask for?"

"The 1967 UCLA game was wonderful," said Rossovich. "They came in number one and I think we were number two, and it was not just for the Rose Bowl or bragging rights for L.A. It was for the whole ball of wax; the national title, the Rose Bowl, who was the best, the Heisman Trophy, it all came down to that. It was close, 21-20 on a blocked extra point.

"People think that in a game of that magnitude it's different, the intensity level is higher, and once or twice the on-field intensity is amped up, but it's a big question and hard to answer except for the fact that it's your job, it's what you're there for. You're responsible, and if you have any integrity and care about your reputation, if you care about what you do, you want to be respected by your opponents. You want them to have to look over their shoulder at you. It comes down to what they do best, I can do best and better, and after you dump somebody on their back you lift them up and slap them on the back and say, 'Nice play.' The next time they're gonna be looking for you and saying, 'Where is he?'

"Beban passed for something like 303 yards. I was right in his face but he still completed passes. He was a wonderful athlete. He didn't have the size or the arm for the NFL, but at the college level he was amazing."

"We're sitting in the film room and we have a secondary coach named Dick Coury, and we're watching UCLA kick the extra point," said assistant coach Craig Fertig of Andrusyshyn's blocked kicks, "and Coach McKay says, 'Run that back,' and we said, 'Why run that back, an extra point?' and we run it back three or four times, that's what Coach Corey pointed out, was that Zenon Andrusyshyn, the first soccer-style kicker we ever saw, kicked with a low trajectory, and we put a 6-9 guy . . . a defensive end in that gap."

"Coach Coury had a sharp eye and noticed that UCLA's Zenon Andrusyshyn was a soccer-style place-kicker and he kept putting Bill Hayhoe in front of him, and Zenon's kicks kept getting blocked, and that was the difference in a 21-20 win for us," added Young.

". . . We get to play UCLA, we got to play a team that was ranked number one and if we win we could get to number one against them. It was almost a relief to have our destiny still in our hands, plus so much else was riding on that game: the conference title, the Rose Bowl, the Heisman Trophy between O.J. and Gary Beban, and the usual bragging rights in Los Angeles.

"This is one of those games, like the 1966 'game of the century' between Notre Dame and Michigan State, or the 1969 Texas-Arkansas game, that re-defined college football. Color television was becoming pretty regular, and this made the games a brilliant kaleidoscope, a pageant. Old school announcers like Bud Wilkinson were fading out and being replaced by guys who would become synonymous as the 'voices' of college football, guys like Chris Schenkel who'd say '. . . and here come the Trojans,' or Keith Jackson.

"The country got a full dose of California sunshine and the USC-UCLA game had the added attraction of both teams wearing home colors, which made it brighter, and that was the first year we had song girls because a wealthy donor had refused to give to the school so long as we had females on the field other than in the marching band, but I guess that guy died that year.

"I think that game was pretty even. Some have said UCLA out-played us but we benefited from Beban not being 100 percent. He had sore ribs and had to leave after I tackled him, he came off the field and after O.J.'s touchdown put us ahead he was not at 100 percent to lead a comeback drive.

"To this day I'm a hated guy over in Westwood because I tackled Beban and he was hurt. Once I was introduced to a woman and when she heard my name she just turned away from me and called me a dirty SOB, but like the tackle made by one of the McKeever twins against Mike Bates of Cal back in 1959 - McKeever was exonerated when Cal sued, if you can believe it, but the tape showed it was legit - mine was a clean hit, it was just part of the game, and that's the truth.

"We won and that was what propelled us to the national title, but Beban was voted the Heisman. At the time I thought it was wrong, politics plays a part in what happens. Frankly I was an All-American but others were as good, but I was on the right team with good PR. My focus was always on enjoyment of game, playing the game for the thrill of it.

"But that 1967 team was inspired. An example was Pat Cashman. At the end of the year he was hurt and told not to run sprints, but he said, 'I want to run.' He then intercepted an important pass against Beban. That spirit was why that team excelled. We had the proper chemistry and the whole team had respect for each other.

"We beat UCLA, 21-20 to propel us to the national championship," said Battle. "They were really good! That George Farmer kid got behind me for six. I couldn't believe he could run that fast. Gary Beban was great. We were lucky to get out of their alive."

The promised land

USC students of the late 1960s and early 1970s would purchase their season tickets before the first game. The package would of course include the home non-conference games and Pacific-8 match-ups with Cal, Stanford, Washington, et al. The UCLA game and the Notre Dame game (in even years) cost a little more than the other games. Then they would notice something really great: a Rose Bowl ticket. Before the season had started.

With McKay, it got to be a running gag. He had the advantage in Pasadena because it was a "home game for USC." It was "on USC's schedule."

From 1967 to 1970, the Big 10 sent Purdue, Indiana, Ohio State and Michigan. The Pac-8 just sent USC. Pencil 'em in. When USC had lost to Purdue on January 2, 1967, then-recruit O.J. Simpson told a disappointed player who would be returning not worry about it, he was coming and they would return, and this time they would win.

Prior to the 1968 Rose Bowl, McKay was questioned by the sporting press about his tremendous schedule: Texas (national champs in 1963 and '69), Michigan State (Rose Bowl in '65, number two in '66), Notre Dame (defending national champs), Washington at Seattle, and of course number one-ranked UCLA!

"I told my scouts when I saw that schedule to go out and find me someone who was six-foot one-inch who weighed 205 pounds and could run the 100 in nine-four," said McKay.

Simpson scored both touchdowns and gained 128 yards in Southern California's 14-3 win over Indiana. He was named the MVP. His 1,543 yards led the nation. The game clinched another national championship for McKay, but the victory had none of the Hollywood dramatics of the City Game.

"The idea is to win, isn't it?" McKay asked rhetorically.

"Indiana played us in the Rose Bowl," said Rossovich. "They were coached by John Pont, and we handled them, 14-3. The Big 10 was going through a period in between the dominance of the 1940s and '50s, and before the great rivalry of Woody Hayes at Ohio State and Bo Schembechler at Michigan. Our conference was better and we demonstrated it. That game was a long time ago, but I know against Indiana we played good defense and pounded it out. That was our way, the way our guys did it. If O.J. didn't go wild, we only gave up 87 points all season. He didn't need to do all that much. It was pretty much a defensive struggle. When you give up less than a touchdown a game, you're gonna win most of them."

"It was a big deal to us, the players, a feeling of satisfaction of a job well done; having accomplished something like that," said fullback Mike Hull of the 1967 national title, "and even though I have a Super Bowl ring, I wear the national championship ring."

"It was as much a game of redemption as it was a game of glory because we'd lost to Purdue the year before, and of course I totally blame that on myself," stated Rossovich of his missed field goal in the 1967 Rose Bowl. Finishing number one in 1967, he said, "was a double blessing."

Afterwards, USC's defense was compared to the Minnesota Vikings' "Purple People Eaters" and the about-to-be three-time World Champion Green Bay Packers. Not bad company for a college team.

In the days prior to the "coming out early" rule that allows non-seniors to declare for the pro draft, Simpson's return for his senior season (1968) was a given. He was expected to have one of the best years ever. He did not disappoint.

Against Minnesota in Troy's opening 29-20 victory, Simpson ran for 236 yards and 367 in total offense.

"Don't ask me to describe him," said Golden Gopher coach Murray Warmath. "Everyone already has. There is really nothing more to say."

"Simpson is better than Red Grange," wrote Leo Fischer, sports editor of the Chicago American. "I've seen them all. On the basis of his performance against Minnesota, far from the worst defensive team in the country, I think Simpson is the greatest."

Simpson dealt with a leg bruise just fine in a 189-yard effort against Northwestern. McKay gave serious thought to not playing him. He "blamed" the writers for his decision to use his star rather than listen to their back benching.

"He approaches a hole like a panther," Northwestern coach Alex Agase said after his team's 24-7 loss to USC. "Then, when he sees an opening, he springs at the daylight."

"Simpson's the greatest back in college and the greatest I've ever played against," said Northwestern linebacker Don Ross.

"He's better than <Leroy> Keyes - although we have to meet Keyes and Purdue next week," said Wildcat end Mark Proskine.

Game three was another interesting match-up with the emerging Miami Hurricanes, led by the irrepressible Ted "the Stork" Hendricks. Sports Illustrated thought it an interesting enough intersectional game to give it major coverage. 71,189 showed up at the Coliseum to see it.

Stories about Hendricks were already becoming part of his lore. He apparently enjoyed "dismantling" cars. He was unable to even catch O.J., though. The USC star had studied game footage of Hendricks's wild, arm-flapping style, and his desire to penetrate before a runner could get out in the open. O.J.'s studiousness paid off in a 163-yard performance. His two touchdowns fired an easy Trojan win, 28-3.

Sogge, the man everybody thought just "handed off to O.J.," showed that he had an arm (after all, he was a baseball catcher) by hitting on a variety of efficient passes. O.J. still had 38 carries and felt pain from his hips to his feet.

Stanford was ranked 18th behind sophomore quarterback Jim Plunkett. 81,000 people showed up at Stanford Stadium. Stanford's players had, "O.J. Who?" and "Squeeze O.J." painted on their helmets.

The walk from the locker room into the stadium runs a gauntlet past Stanford rooters who take free verbal shots at the opposing team. Their commentary is often biting and obviously partisan, but for the most part just part of the game. A disturbing trend, however, began to develop during O.J.'s senior year. It would continue into the 1970s. Stanford fans began to use racial epithets.

"N----r lover," some yelled at Coach McKay, because he had as many black athletes on his team as anybody in the country. It was a disgusting "performance" coming from a student body and fan base at one of the country's top academic institutions. It was further shocking considering the fact that, with the war at full throttle, Stanford had made its anti-war sentiments well known, establishing itself as a "liberal" institution.

The whole ugly scene was carry-over from the 1920s and '30s, when USC had past Cal and Stanford as the dominant West Coast power. Jealousy and recrimination had always marked the Berkeley and Palo Alto schools' attitude towards their southern neighbor. As USC continued to become the dominant "glamour school" in the state, if not the nation, those left behind found that class envy and lies were easier to toss about than genuine praise for a great program. McKay was incensed. He developed a personal disgust with just about anything to do with Stanford after that. To the credit of the Stanford players, who like athletes at Cal are not representative of the student body in general, there were no reports of racial epithets on the field.

O.J. carried 47 times for 220 yards to just shut 'em up.

"I guess O.J. Simpson showed us on a couple of those runs why he's the man," said Stanford tight end Bob Moore after O.J.'s three touchdowns led Troy to a 27-24 win over the Indians.

The adrenaline of the crowd taunts and the atmosphere no doubt combined with O.J.'s "homecoming" to his native Bay Area to elevate his game and shake off his injuries.

"I felt kind of squeamish running early in the game," he said, "but I felt better as the game wore on."

"I think what probably happened is we ran the injury out of him," said McKay. "If we had only run him 30 times he'd probably still be hurting."

Inexperienced writers listening to this looked at each other as if to ask, "Is this guy serious?" The older L.A. corps just shrugged it off as a McKay quip with a touch of sarcasm. The polls after the game installed the Trojans back into the number one slot they had finished 1967 in.

"We knew that Simpson would be coming at us, but there was nothing we could do about it," said Washington coach Jim Owens after O.J.'s 172-yard effort in a 14-7 USC win. "He is one of the greatest backs ever to play football. Because of his size and speed, he probably improvises better than any runner I've ever seen."

Oregon managed to hold O.J. to 67 yards, but USC won at Eugene, 20-13. Games at Oregon and Washington have always been a little bit of a problem for USC, especially when played late in the season. Fog, rain, mud and crowd noise often marks the contests, making life difficult for a favored team playing a scrappy underdog.

"O.J. doesn't like playing against a quick team like ours," said Oregon's George Dames.

O.J. classily gave full credit to the Ducks' and their speed.

"When I would get ready to turn the corner, somebody would come up from behind to throw me down," he said.

"O.J. Simpson probably is the greatest back of our time," said California coach Ray Willsey after Simpson ran for 164 yards and two scores in a 35-17 victory before 80,871 at the Coliseum. "USC beat us by 20 points without him last year, so I guess we're about 40 down this year going in."

Cal was making a bit of comeback after a decade in the doldrums, despite the fact that half the student body at Berkeley in those days equated athletic competition with bourgeois capitalist pigs! Lineman Ed White was an All-American who would star for the Vikings, and the Golden Bears roughed O.J. up. He had a bruised thigh, a twisted knee and a sprained ankle when the game was over.

"You name it, and I've got it," he stated. O.J. said that Cal hit him harder than any team he had ever played. "Maybe it's time to retire," he added with a smile.

Oregon State, led by Bill "Earthquake" Enyart, came to L.A. in a game that would decide the Pacific-8 Conference championship. Enyart scored first and it was 7-0, Beavers. Sogge controlled a game-tying touchdown drive in the fourth quarter. O.J. broke the defensive battle with a 42-yard run capped by a Ron Ayala field goal to put Troy ahead for the first time, 10-7.

USC held. With seven minutes remaining O.J. broke a 40-yard touchdown run for a 17-7 lead. That was the winning score in the 17-13 win. O.J. had 47 carries, including an incredible 21 in the final quarter (despite the L.A heat, his injuries and obvious fatigue) for 138 of his 238 yards.

Oregon State coach Dee Andros said afterward that not only was USC deserving of the Rose Bowl berth they earned that day, but also of the number one ranking. The next week it was UCLA. This time it was all Trojans. O.J. carried 40 times for 205 yards, caught three Sogge passes, and scored three times. He broke six school records and two NCAA marks, including the season rushing record with one regular season and one Rose Bowl game still left to play. The 28-16 win made USC 9-0, firmly in the number one spot. Joe Theismann and ninth-ranked Notre Dame were headed to the Coliseum the next week.

This game was indicative of what the rivalry is all about. Just when one team thinks they have the other's number, things turn around. Having beaten the Irish soundly in South Bend, unbeaten and riding high towards back-to-back national championships, led by a record-breaking Heisman horse; why, the Trojans were just full of themselves!

Parseghian had a tremendous team, as usual. Without a bowl game in their future, their hopes for a national title hinged on beating USC, and then in turn the Trojans beating Woody Hayes and Ohio State on New Year's Day.

82,659 watched the Irish gladiators hold O.J. to 55 rushing yards. Theismann (who changed pronunciation of his name from Thees-man to Thys-man as part of a school PR campaign to promote his candidacy for the rhyming Heisman) made his first bid for the award.

A sophomore, Theismann started slow by getting intercepted, but quickly shocked Troy and their fans by turning the affair from a USC coronation into an upset-in-the-making. He led Notre Dame on three touchdown drives and a 21-7 halftime lead. The tables of 1964 were turned, but one thing remained the same: a patented second half USC comeback, something that McKay and his school were becoming known for and would expand upon in the next two decades.
The star for USC was not O.J., but Sogge, who stepped up and made short passes when he had to in rallying his team to a 21-21 tie.

"Deep down in my heart," Theismann said after the tie, "I think we should have won it. We had them on the run."

"I'd rather play until midnight," said McKay. "I just don't like a tie."

O.J. expressed a desire for "sudden death overtime," which in those days was used only in pro football play-off games. It had resulted in incredibly exciting affairs, most notably the 1958 NFL title game between the Colts and Giants at Yankee Stadium, and the 1962 AFL championship between the Oilers and Dallas Texans (later Kansas City Chiefs), played on a Houston high school field.

The tie was enough to drop Troy to number two heading into the Rose Bowl, but O.J. ran away with the 1968 Heisman Trophy. Now just one game, one team, and one coach, separated he and the Trojans from back-to-back national titles. Woody Hayes's Ohio State Buckeyes, a tremendous sophomore-led team with no losses or ties, took over the top spot and were waiting in Pasadena.

Other than the 1962 USC-Wisconsin game, the 1969 Rose Bowl had more riding on it than any previous one in the post-war era. Hayes was in his element; still fully convinced of the superiority not just of Ohio State but Big 10 and Midwestern football as a whole. USC's wins over the "best" Midwestern team, Notre Dame, not to mention victories over Indiana, Michigan State, Wisconsin, Minnesota and Northwestern in recent years, had apparently not dissuaded him from his oft-aired opinions.

Woody was set in his ways. To him California was even more "out there" in 1968 than it had been when he was bringing his Bucks to Pasadena in the 1950s. He saw the protests on the streets of California cities, which included L.A., San Francisco and Berkeley; the love-ins, the Haight-Ashbury scene, the "Summer of Love," and the acid rock music \- it was all un-American to him. He could not for the life of him understand how a football team could be exposed to the physical proximity of such things and still have the desire to win.

Hayes admired McKay and his great athletes, but he felt he had the edge when it came to toughness. In 1968-1969 he had a point, but his theories were found wanting in later seasons.

Woody's previous forays to Pasadena had discombobulated him. The January weather was too hot. He thought it boiled his player's blood or something. This time, he had the Buckeyes practice in their field house with hot blowers to simulate the Mediterranean weather they would deal with.

When the team came out to Los Angeles, he put tight restrictions on them. He did not want any "Hollywood influences" that might resemble bikini-clad girls, frolicking at the beach, wild night club scenes, or even exposure to lush plants and fauna, which he thought would "mellow" his men too much.

He practiced the team hard all week, a relatively new practice for a game that coaches had always thought of as a luxurious reward for a season well played. Visits to restaurants were monitored so as not to overindulge his players. Hayes and his staff carefully controlled the annual "Lowry's Beef Bowl," a prime rib extravaganza that is a traditional pre-game ritual.

Woody wanted the national championship for his program, his conference and himself. He knew USC posed an enormous challenge to this desire. He was relentless in his pursuit of it. It would be incorrect to say that McKay took the game anything but seriously. He wanted it just as badly. He no longer approached it with the laissez faire attitude of the 1963 Wisconsin contest, when the team's "where's the party?" attitude practically allowed a 42-14 lead to slip away before holding on, 42-37. He saw in Woody a natural rival, in many ways his opposite number in terms of approach, style, offensive strategy and overall philosophy. Woody was a strict disciplinarian. McKay was of course the "little white-haired man" who instilled fear in his charges. Marv Goux was a martinet figure. But their exhortations had SoCal panache attached to it; flare, a touch of humor and wit. McKay and his staff dealt with off-field issues such as hair length, curfews, partying and the like in the L.A. manner. Woody was Columbus, Ohio all the way.

It was not Richard Nixon vs. Dr. Timothy Leary. It was a little more like "the Greatest Generation" vs. "the Age of Aquarius," although nobody ever accused John McKay of being a free love-advocating hippie.

Woody's plan was to give USC's defense the outside lanes, utilizing his strong inside running attack and the efficient, curl-in passes of quarterback Rex Kern. The 1968 Buckeyes may not have beaten some of the other strong teams of the 1960s, namely the 1966 Notre Dame Fighting Irish and Michigan State Spartans, but in terms of the complete package they may well rate as the decade's best, when one compares the records and their performance from the season's beginning to its end.

They were young and promised only to get better, which was scary. Kern was a sophomore as was their tremendous All-American safety, Jack Tatum. Woody had recruited great black athletes, as Duffy Daugherty had done a few years earlier at Michigan State. His team was fully integrated with the very best possible talent available.

Ohio prep football was legendary. Paul Brown had coached at Massillon High School. A number of Massillon players dotted Woody's roster. They were loaded. Other stars included Jan Hayes, Jim Otis, Jim Stillwagon, Leo Hayden and Jim Roman.

"I measure a good back by how many men it takes to bring him down," Woody said in typical Midwest-speak, "and O.J. certainly qualifies in this." Woody, however, qualified his statement by saying that he did not fear "a damn thing" about USC.

As with the previous year's game, more than 100,000 fans were on hand at the Rose Bowl. The two teams battled it out in the trenches, but in the second quarter O.J. showed why he was the very best. First, USC drove into the "red zone," setting up Ron Ayala's 21-yard field goal. Later in the quarter, Simpson went wild. His 80-yard touchdown romp is, aside from the 64-yarder versus UCLA, one of his best-remembered runs. At 10-0, the Trojans could taste another national championship.

"Now we knew he was for real," Ohio State tackle Dave Foley said of O.J.'s run, as if it had taken that take to convince them. Either way, Ohio State went into high gear.

"That run was beautiful," said Ohio State defensive tackle Paul Schmidlin. "I was pursuing all the way so I had a clear view of it. The run was simply great and it was just what we needed."

"We decided we'd better wake up," said fullback Jim Otis, "or this guy was going to blow us off the field."

Ohio State did "wake up," and quickly. They engineered drives behind Otis's power running between tackles. Before the half was over they had tied the score at 10-all. It had taken the air out of the confident Trojans, deflating the partisan L.A. crowd.

"Tying before the halftime gun was a big lift for us," said Rex Kern. "It gave us the momentum, and it took that away from them."

The third quarter was "blood sport," with Ohio State breaking through to take the lead for the first time on a late-quarter Jim Roman field goal, 13-10. When Sogge fumbled deep in his own territory, the tide had turned. Ohio State converted the turnover into the game-winning touchdown. Kern would hit Ray Gillian for a touchdown. Sogge connected with Sam Dickerson, but it was over. The final score was 27-16. It was a game of mistakes. Ohio State played a perfect game. USC lost three fumbles, two by O.J. Sogge was intercepted twice.

"It wasn't a game for girl scouts and cookie eaters," said McKay, adding that despite O.J.'s 171 yards gained, eight passes caught for 85 yards, a 20-yard kickoff return, and an 80-yard touchdown romp, his two fumbles had detracted from his performance. Some critics expressed concern over O.J.'s running style, in which he would carry the ball with one hand when in the open field. Woody, however, had only high praise for the Trojan legend.

"It was damn near inhuman for a guy to do that," he remarked of the touchdown run, in which O.J. had cut behind eight Buckeye defenders in a sprint for glory. Steve Sogge said he thought the team was "complacent." Some "experts" conceded that if the team played six times USC would get some wins, maybe even a majority of them, but Ohio State earned their place in history.

"If O.J. had not had a bad game we'd have won a second straight national title in 1968, but he lost three fumbles, I think, in the loss to Ohio State at the Rose Bowl," recalled Battle. "The 1968 team had a lot of people talking dynasty and 'all-time this' and 'best ever' that, at least until the Rose Bowl defeat, but I think the '67 team was better. I was on the defense and we only allowed 87 points all season."

"We played Ohio State in the 1969 Rose Bowl with a chance to get back-to-back national championships," said Sogge. "It was one of the most ballyhooed games in college football history, and is still shown regularly on the classic college football station. It's one of the all-time most famous games ever.

"They were outstanding and we were not overconfident. Most of our games were not outright blowouts. We went down to the wire in most of our games. Anybody who played for John McKay played their hardest all the time. It was not a letdown scenario. One team has the edge, then the other team adjusts and counters the initial advantages, and realistically at the end of the game the best team usually wins. They had a great team and played better than we did, winning 27-16 to finish number one."

Just as Beban came into the USC locker room in 1967, O.J. went over to congratulate Ohio State, telling several of them, "You're the best team in the nation and don't let anyone tell you differently."

He told reporters that coming off the field for the last time as a Trojan was "strange," but that, "I can't help thinking how much the school and the other guys have done for me."

Ohio State of course won the national title.

In addition to the Heisman, O.J. set national records for yards gained in a season (1,880 in 1968) and in a career (3,540, more than any three- or four-year careers prior to his). He scored 36 touchdowns. O.J. had combined junior college and USC statistics that have never been approached: 90 touchdowns and 5,975 yards. None of that mattered to him in the locker room, where he fought back tears, acknowledging Ohio State's greatness but questioning his mistakes.

"I've never seen a better college football player," said Georgia Tech's Bobby Dodd of O.J., "and I've seen them all."

Mike Garrett said as soon as he saw O.J. that he was "bigger and faster than me and has more moves."

"Simpson was all speed, very fast, all speed, world class speed," said Mike Hull, "and very gregarious, and very outward and very talkative. And engaged all the time, but he really depended more than anything on his speed."

Simpson was also an Olympic-quality sprinter on USC's national championship track team, running a spectacular 9.4 100-yard dash. By the time he left, the media was strongly recommending that in the 100 years that college football had been played through the 1968 season, O.J. was the greatest player who had ever lived. This of course took into consideration such stalwarts as Jim Thorpe of Carlisle, Red Grange of Illinois, Doc Blanchard and Glenn Davis of Army, Doak Walker of Southern Methodist, Billy Cannon of Louisiana State, Roger Staubach of Navy, or a host of other contenders. He was the future of football, the new breed, something never quite seen before.

When Simpson won the Heisman, he went above and beyond the call of duty in praising his teammates, his coaches, and above all else, his _linemen_! His performance at the news conference with his San Francisco wife, Marguerite at his side, won over the sporting press.

"I want to emphasize that this is a team award, and the guys on the team won it as much or more than I did," Simpson said. This is a truer statement than many people realize. The Heisman is very much a team award, and is won by a program. Credit is due even to that school's sports information department. It is much less individualistic in nature than the professional Most Valuable Player awards. The Heisman is a major factor in upgrading a program's prestige among the press, recruits and the historians judging their place in the pantheon of greatness.

The Trojans of 1967-1968 will be remembered in many ways as being "so close and yet so far." They could have been back-to-back national champions, as the 1931-1932 teams had been. When one considers the 1969 team, which went undefeated but missed a national title despite winning the Rose Bowl, the mind wanders to the prospect of three straight titles. This has never occurred in the Associated Press era (1936-2014).

O.J. played on teams filled with talent. The Trojans had so many players go into the NFL during O.J.'s career that it was a remarkable accomplishment for McKay to could keep the ball rolling year after year. After the 1966 team had five players drafted, the 1967 team had 11 players chosen (five in the first round). O.J. had to say good-bye to all of these stars, yet he was able to lead the next year's team to within a few fumbles of a second straight title.

His senior year team, the 1968 Trojans, had eight players picked. O.J. was the first player chosen in the 1969 NFL Draft, making USC the first school to ever give the draft its first selection two years running (Ron Yary, 1968).

O.J. Simpson was of course the name everybody remembers, and this of course is now a wistful thought in light of his tragic life. O.J. represents so many things. He was part of the true turning point in USC's football history. He also is a bookend of American race relations; the first really marketable black celebrity who brought people together, whose trial ended up driving a wedge between those same people. His great feelings for USC, his oft-stated comments that USC had done "so much" for him could only lead people to speculate that if USC had not done so much for him, if his life had not been so successful, if fate and circumstance had not taken him to Los Angeles at just the right time, to Hollywood, the movies and easy celebrity; then he never would have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, as many have speculated was really how it all went down on that June night of 1994. USC itself has had to come to grips with O.J. He cannot be ignored. He is part of the school and its legacy. The school can at least honestly assess its role in his life and conclude that whatever happened, there was nothing that they should have done differently.

Juice

When O.J. was at USC, his initials became a catch phrase. A popular chain of orange juice stores came into being. They made a tasty concoction of oranges and ice cream, calling it "Orange Julius." It quickly was shortened by patrons to "O.J." Whether the store was named after the player or the player was named after the store is a bit confusing to this day, but the "Juice" part stuck. Simpson occasionally signed his autographs "O. Jay Simpson," but newspaper headlines quickly threw in the "Juice" appellation when describing USC's winning ways.

His glib media personality had shown through when he was asked if he was born with football talent. Smiling at Coach McKay, he stated that as the "little white-haired man" liked to say, "I was taught it all."

Marguerite had been 16, attending a rival San Francisco high school when she met then-17-year old O.J. Simpson. After he won the Heisman she said that he was "a beast . . . A terrible person" in high school. She had given herself credit for turning O.J. from a disinterested high school student into a man who could get into USC and then handle that school's academic curriculum. O.J. revealed that Marguerite was expecting. He contemplated that the child's name might be Heisman J. Simpson. Questions of his professional career engendered controversy when he expressed the desire that a California team draft him, and that he would rather play in the National Football League than the American Football League. His top preferences, based on these criteria, obviously limited it to the Los Angeles Rams, a championship contender, or the San Francisco 49ers, who were on the mediocre side.

"If it weren't California," he told the press, "my second choice would be New York, Chicago, or Dallas."

O.J. was already thinking about a career in the movies, television and commercials. He had stars in his eyes. Big cities and media capitols - L.A. or New York preferably - had his attention. San Francisco was of course his hometown.

The NFL and AFL merged in 1966. The next season (1969) would be the last year of the AFL-NFL split, to be replaced by the AFC and NFC in 1970, with several old NFL teams moving over to the AFC. The 1969 NFL Draft included teams from both leagues. Unlike the years of the "war" between the two leagues in the early 1960s, a player could not choose between the NFL team that drafted him, and the AFL team that drafted him, as Joe Namath had done when, in 1965 he chose New York over St. Louis, giving the AFL credibility.

The system was based on the worst records in their leagues. The Philadelphia Eagles of the NFL and the Buffalo Bills of the AFL were the two contenders in the so-called "O.J. Simpson Sweepstakes." Simpson had little love for the City of Brotherly Love. The prospect of Buffalo was too bleak for him to contemplate.

Buffalo was the worst of all possibilities. For a guy from San Francisco who had tasted fame in Hollywood's shadow, it represented a "cow town" with a cow's nickname (actually a Bison); a small city with little nightlife, little diversity, little press attention, an archaic old stadium (War Memorial) and, worst of all, abominable, freezing cold weather.

Wait, that was not the worst thing of all. The Bills had O.J.'s rights because they were in fact the very worst team in pro football. They had no quarterback (Jack Kemp, once a star, was at the end of his road), no defense, no blocking, no talent, no offense. The "unfairness" of the nation's best player, the number one pick, having to go to the worst team, was discussed ad infinitum by the media.

O.J. took his hits from the press. Many posited the notion that a poor black kid from the projects should be happy to get paid, much less receive the highest bonus since the NFL-AFL began the merger process; the by-product of exorbitant money paid to Joe Namath (who panned out) and John Huarte (who did not).

It was the first dent in O.J.'s previously adorable public persona, but he was smart and quickly made the most of the situation. He changed his tune when he realized Buffalo had the pick and was going to take him.

"Sure, I always wanted to play in the National Football League," he said. "But if there was any disappointment about being drafted by Buffalo, it's over. I know I should accept things as they are, and I'm anxious to get started. It's a great honor to be drafted number one. I'm awfully proud of that."

O.J. was all about business when the time came, further damaging his reputation as a "holdout" and a "money grubber." When it was all over, the half-million dollars he secured from Buffalo was more than Namath had gotten from the New York Titans (now Jets). O.J. secured fringe benefits and commercial endorsements. In his early 20s the kid from Potrero Hill was worth between $900,000 and $1 million. His picture was plastered everywhere. Even before starting in the pros he began his foray into the movies. Sports Illustrated ran a long "expose" of his life. He represented an entirely different sort of black athlete.

Until O.J., black athletes were compartmentalized into "groups." Elston Howard, the 1963 American League MVP with the Yankees, was a "company man." He lived in the suburbs with his presentable family, never complained, never held out, and fit right in to the Yanks country club Republican atmosphere. Howard was too milquetoast to sell much beyond Yahoo chocolate milk.

Curt Flood, the Cardinals' All-Star center fielder, was a rebel with a cause. Intelligent, introspective and artistic, he challenged baseball's "reserve clause" and infuriated the Establishment with the statement, "I'm a slave. A $90,000 a year slave, but still a slave."

His teammate, superstar pitcher Bob Gibson, was the natural progression of Jackie Robinson. Whatever society said Robinson was not supposed to do, Gibby did do, and on his own terms. That could mean throwing at the head of the other team's high-priced white superstars, then glaring in with a "what the hell you gonna do about it?" look.

Cleveland Browns running back par excellence Jim Brown did sex scenes with blond bombshells in the movies. He was determined to show himself as the epitome of "black power." Brown was the "threat" that every slave owner felt about well-endowed black men left to have their way with the white women.

Cassius Clay, a.k.a. Muhammad Ali, was a loudmouth, a Black Muslim, a draft dodger, frightening to many whites. Actor Sidney Poitier was cultured, beautiful and sophisticated, but the modern "black lingo," applied to him then, would not have been "real."

Reggie Jackson had many of O.J.'s qualities; looks, intellect, media savvy. He was as great a baseball slugger as O.J. was a running back, was almost the same age, and ushered in a new era of big dollars that made black stars like he and O.J. Simpson not just highly-paid athletes, but men who had a certain "ownership" of the very business of sports. But Jackson was not as likable as O.J., with teammates, fans or managers.

Then there was Mike Garrett, the philosopher-running back who preceded O.J. at Southern Cal. He had a little bit of Curt Flood's artistic sensibilities and Elston Howard's need to be accepted, mixed with a little bit of urban L.A., but his pro career, while reasonably successful, never approached OJ.'s Hall of Fame status.

O.J. took some of what these pathfinders had, then expanded on it. The times they were a-changin' by 1969. When he entered the AFL, he was bound and determined to make the most of his opportunities athletically, monetarily, socially, racially, sexually, and artistically. O.J. thought of himself as a kind of black Renaissance Man.

More than anything, however, O.J. represented the first truly marketable black man in America. What Hollywood and Madison Avenue were looking for was a black Frank Gifford. That was O.J. Like Gifford, a USC star of the 1950s, he had grown up poor. He had superior athletic ability. Despite his background, he was a natural public speaker, interviewee, and on-camera spokesman. He had charisma, a great smile, and full-blown sex appeal. What separated O.J. from all the previous black celebrities was his crossover appeal. He indeed could "act white," a put-down phrase that really just means that he could carry on an intelligent conversation and glibly discuss issues. However, his on-field grace and "Age of Aquarius" style made him a "groovy Negro," a hero to "his people." In the age of the Black Panthers, he was a breath of fresh air.

All of O.J.'s off-field charisma would go for naught unless he lived up to his billing on the field. In his rookie year (1969) that was problematic. The Bills were terrible. O.J. showed signs of brilliance, but for the most part the running back's facts of life were made painfully obvious to him: no blocking, no yards.

In O.J The Education Of A Rich Rookie, he wrote, "The most striking contrast between college and pro ball was between the head coaches. USC coach John McKay was dapper and witty, always breaking up meetings or press conferences with wry jokes. He was the kind of man who could make you feel close to him without using a lot of speeches; just a few words from him could let you know what you had to do - and also make you want to do it. <Buffalo> coach John Rauch presented an altogether different appearance."

Simpson struggled again in 1970. Jack Kemp had retired and was elected to a Buffalo-area Congressional seat that year. The Bills were determined to make the changes necessary to build a success around Simpson. They drafted well, using a succession of high picks based on poor records. Arkansas quarterback Joe Ferguson would come to the team and lead them to respectability. A new stadium would be built to hold 80,000 rabid rooters.

O.J. worked hard and proved himself to be a leader. He led his team out of the wilderness. By 1971, he was one of the best running backs in the now fully merged NFL. In 1972 he established himself as the best. In 1973 he made a serious bid to be the best who ever lived. Statistically he was, breaking Jim Brown's all-time single season record and surpassing 2,000 yards for the first time (in a 14-game season). He ran for over 200 yards in the snow and ice of Shea Stadium on a freezing December day to break the 2,000-yard mark in the season finale, putting the Bills into the AFC Play-Offs. O.J. went way out of his way to include his blockers in any discussions of his record-breaking performance. He saw to it that they were photographed, interviewed and lauded for their contributions.

O.J. became the highest-paid player in the league, and one of the highest-paid in sports. He enjoyed the beginning of the free agent period in sports (although not yet in football), which ushered in a new era of big money. He was part of the jet set popularity of pro football, a western New York black version of "Broadway Joe" Namath. He was a drawing card at the turnstiles and in the executive suites of the TV networks negotiating the league's broadcasting contracts, including the incredibly successful Monday Night Football franchise.

Throughout the 1970s, O.J. was the premier player in the NFL, quite an accomplishment since he played in the heyday of the Raider-Steeler and Cowboy-Redskin rivalries; the era of the undefeated Dolphins; and marquee names like Roger Staubach, Terry Bradshaw, Ken Stabler, Fran Tarkenton, Franco Harris and Jack Lambert.

White fans had worshipped him in college. USC became vastly more popular as a school and a football team because of him. Now, a nation of fans of every color fell in love with him. There was a time, around 1976 or so, when the question of whether O.J. was better than Brown was a legitimate one. O.J. moved into second place on the all-time rushing list with a chance to pass Brown. But all the hard hits began to take their toll. In the late 1970s he slowed down. He orchestrated a trade to his hometown 49ers, but his talent was gone and the team was awful. It was a melancholy period for an all-time great, but he handled this adversity with class.

His short tenure with the 49ers also marked perhaps the most significant relationship of his life. Al "A.C." Cowlings joined San Francisco's roster in 1978. There are few if any two people who have played sports with each other as long and as far as O.J. Simpson and Al Cowlings.

Cowlings grew up with O.J. in the projects of Potrero Hill. They ran in the same gang and played youth football together. When O.J. went all the way across town, to north beach to attend Galileo High, Cowlings went with him and played on the football team. They were teammates on the national champions at City College of San Francisco. In 1968 they both played for John McKay at USC. In 1969, with O.J. off to Buffalo, Cowlings came into his own, earning All-American honors as a tackle on the unbeaten, Rose Bowl-champion Trojans' famed "Wild Bunch" defense. In 1970 he again joined forces with O.J. in Buffalo. Finally, they re-united in their hometown of San Francisco in 1978.

In the end, Jim Brown's status never changed. His single-season record had fallen to Juice, but not the career mark. Brown had also led his team to NFL titles. O.J. sadly never played in a Super Bowl. Runners like Walter Payton and Barry Sanders have passed many of his marks (which Brown accomplished in a short career, choosing to become a Hollywood action star in the mid-1960s).

But O.J. never fell from the perch of public exposure. As a player, he became synonymous with the Hertz rental career agency. Running through airports in a full suit, carrying a brief case, little old ladies would shout in the popular Hertz commercials, "Go, O.J., go!"

O.J. landed legitimate roles in many films during his off-seasons, including The Klansmen and The Towering Inferno. After retiring he starred in The Naked Gun. He was a frequent guest on TV shows, memorably hosting Saturday Night Live with a faux Traveler circling around to the background sounds of "Conquest," while he delivered his monologue. He was a regular in the "Superstars Competition" in Hawaii. He had a stint with Howard Cosell and Gifford in the Monday Night Football broadcast booth (two Trojans espousing the merits of their alma mater). For years he enjoyed steady work as a Sunday pro analyst and sideline reporter.

As a broadcaster, O.J. was tolerable but not in Gifford's league. As an actor he had looks and screen presence, but the intangible qualities of celluloid stardom, the question of whether "the screen loves him," was answered with an unfortunate "no." He was not embarrassing, but he could not establish a great career in films. Whether he took it seriously or not has been debated. Some say he took offense to those who made fun of his comical roles in films like The Naked Gun when he tried to prepare for the part in Brando fashion.

O.J. had the life. He had money, a sweet pad in the best neighborhood in L.A., women, fame and respect. What he seems to have lacked, or lost somewhere along the way, was integrity of the soul. This is a tragedy, because either he once had it and allowed it to slip away, or it was all a façade from the beginning. When it all went bad, McKay just said, "That's not the man I knew."

The Marv Gouxs, the Craig Fertigs, the Adrian Youngs; the teammates who knew him at USC, and indeed players and coaches (particularly Buffalo's Lou Saban) in the NFL; they all knew the same man. He had the work ethic, the willingness to sacrifice, the desire to reach out and help people because he was admired and could use his position for good. He gave credit where credit was due.

Getting it right

In 1962, former Vice-President Richard Nixon ran as a Republican against California's incumbent Democratic Governor, Edmund "Pat" Brown. A large number of Nixon's campaign staff came from the University of Southern California.

Nixon may well have attended USC in the 1930s instead of Whittier College, if he could have afforded it and if family emergencies had not necessitated that he stay near his home. In fact, he courted his wife, Patricia, when she was a student there, attending Trojans football games at the Coliseum.

USC had a well-deserved reputation as a Republican, even a Right-wing university. The school had its racial codes. There was a certain amount of "gentleman's agreement" over Jewish membership in its fraternities, but the university had produced the first black attorneys and doctors on Los Angeles around the turn of the century. Its first football All-American, Brice Taylor in 1925, was black. The atmosphere O.J. Simpson found in the 1960s was inviting.

While an old Nixon hand, Herb Klein, was a Trojan, the true genesis of the Nixon-USC connection started with H.R. Haldeman. Haldeman attended USC before transferring to UCLA, then headed the "miracle mile" office of advertising giant J. Walter Thompson. Two of his key employees were students at USC, Dwight Chapin and Ron Ziegler.

Both had been very active in the Students For a Democratic Society (SDS), a strongly Republican campus organization that dominated USC politics. They were recruited off the campus to work on Nixon's 1962 gubernatorial race. Chapin became Nixon's appointments secretary before getting caught in Watergate. Ziegler was the White House press secretary. Through them, a steady flow of USC Republicans came to work on Richard Nixon's 1968 Presidential campaign, in the Nixon White House, and in GOP politics.

These included White House aides Herbert "Bart" Porter and Gordon Strachan; Inauguration organizer and later aide to Robert Dole and Ronald Reagan, Michael Woodson; "dirty tricks" operative Donald Segretti; his colleagues Tim Elbourne and Larry Young; Henry Kissinger's aide Mike Guhin; Gerald Ford's aide Byron "Red" Caveny; political operative Mike Paulin; California legislator John Lewis; Congressmen Dan Lungren and C. Christopher Cox. Another active college Republican of the era, Barry Keenan, involved Jan & Dean singer Dean Torrence in a harebrained scheme to kidnap Frank Sinatra's son, using the profits to . . . fund his Senate campaign! Then there was Robert Kardashian, a politically active fraternity brother like most them at the KA house, who was student manager of the Trojans football team. He befriended O.J. Simpson before a career in the law, while becoming the father of reality TV star Kim Kardashian.

Chapin, Ziegler, Porter, Strachan, Elbourne, and Young were connected in one way or another with Watergate, but Segretti was the most infamous. In the book and movie All the President's Men, journalists Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward quoted Segretti referring to the "USC mafia." Segretti has never entirely denied saying it, but states that Bernstein misappropriated his use of the term, that it is a "racist" description, and gives no credence to its use.

The Nixon-USC connection said a great deal about the university, especially in the 1960s and 1970s. It was probably the most conservative institution west of the Mississippi River, if not the entire nation, and would remain so at least through the Reagan years, when students would chant "Reagan country" during rallies. The USC that O.J. Simpson entered in 1967 was wealthy, mostly white, heavily oriented towards fraternity life, and catered to the children of business and industry. Its student body was heavily populated by rich kids from Newport Beach in Orange County, and San Marino, a tony enclave near Pasadena. Girls at USC were disproportionally blond and incredibly beautiful, the image of the Beach Boys' iconic "California Girls."

USC was the alma mater of the conservative film star John "Duke" Wayne, and still reflected his anti-Communist politics. While campuses at Berkeley, Stanford, San Francisco State, Michigan, Columbia, Kent State and many others erupted in protest over the Vietnam War, USC remained, with the exception of a few isolated incidents, quiet and peaceful.

Across town at more-liberal UCLA, black basketball star Lew Alcindor (later Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) noted that handsome white frat boys would give him the "Pepsodent beach boy smile," then call him by the "N-word" behind his back. While no doubt such incidents occurred with the numerous black athletes who played football for John McKay, or other sports for the Trojans, there was little reported racial trouble. A few years later, several black football players got into a near-brawl at a white fraternity house, but it was broken up without great incident. Certainly O.J. himself always expressed the feeling that he was accepted and welcomed by the Trojan family.

Los Angeles and Southern California – a region that USC has always reflected – was quite unique, shaped by disparate forces. First, the trans-continental railroad connected the country not with Los Angeles, but with San Francisco. The easier route, through deserts and flatlands, would have connected the line through Arizona, Nevada and Southern California, to L.A. Instead it traversed the dangerous Rocky and Sierra Mountain ranges, because Abraham Lincoln, its main promoter, refused to let it be built through the South by slaves, and used by the Confederate Army.

San Francisco had access to fresh water and grew into a major city. Northerners from Boston and New York who had Union sympathies populated it. Displaced Southerners, on the other hand, tended to immigrate to Los Angeles. Thus did L.A. begin to take on a more conservative, evangelical persona than the bawdy Barbary Coast of San Francisco.

Eventually, an aqueduct was built to bring in fresh water to Los Angeles. This along with two world wars and the annexation of the San Fernando Valley to the city, grew Los Angeles. But nothing shaped L.A. like the Los Angeles Times and the Chandler family. They were rabidly anti-Communist, partisan Republicans, and despised the unions. The Times engaged in tremendous boosterism, literally recruiting "Republican farmers" to populate its warm lands. Prior to World War II, Los Angeles and the state of California was one of the most Republican regions in America.

By the 1960s, the newspaper was run by Otis Chandler, a handsome young ex-Stanford track star. He turned them into a world-class paper, but reduced the Republican partisanship. But Los Angeles, unlike liberal San Francisco, remained a business-friendly, Republican city. This was reflected in their strong support of the Los Angeles Dodgers and the building of the private Dodger Stadium on a plateau overlooking downtown. It was also reflected in the Republican nature of the University of Southern California.

By the late 1960s and 1970s, there was a growing sense that Los Angeles "got it right," in a sense, when it came to the nagging national problem of race relations. Nobody reflected the smiling face of this new, successful racial diversity, façade or not, better than O.J. Simpson. There were fissures in this image, most notably the atrocious 1965 Watts riots, but no blacks attacked the USC campus. Many made note of this. USC, despite its white wealth and conservative image, was a fan favorite among south-central blacks and east L.A. Latinos. Black stars like Mike Garrett and O.J. Simpson shined for Troy. John McKay, a laconic, cigar-chomping, conservative Republican Catholic good ol' boy from West Virginia, was an unlikely Moses of progressivism when it came to providing opportunities for blacks. He built his program on this dynamic, returning the Trojans after several decades below their 1930s status, back to the top of the heap.

Across town, UCLA basketball coach John Wooden was a much different personality from McKay, but the dynasty he built at Westwood had a very similar foundation. Sports-crazed Los Angeles featured a number of prominent black stars on its popular college and professional teams. While this image of society was just a small sample size, it was still very public and left the impression that this was friendly place for minorities.

In the 1960s, Los Angeles truly went "big league," and not just because the Dodgers came and built the best stadium in baseball. L.A. replaced Chicago as the second most populous city in the United States, but its larger metropolitan area - Greater Los Angeles – represented one of the largest regions, in terms of both sheer size as well as numbers of people – in the world. Its importance politically, culturally and economically was as great as any place anywhere.

This region was roughly encompassed from San Clemente in the south to Riverside and San Bernardino to the east, to the San Gabriel Mountain range in the northeast, to Ventura in the northwest, all lined by an endless strand of mythic beach communities such as Malibu, Santa Monica, Marina Del Rey, Playa Del Rey, Manhattan Beach, Hermosa Beach, Redondo Beach, the Palos Verdes Peninsula, Long Beach, Seal Beach, Huntington Beach, Newport Beach, and Laguna Beach. Outlying cities such as San Diego, Palm Springs and Santa Barbara were still part of the general media marketplace. The music of The Mamas and the Papas, The Righteous Brothers, and The Beach Boys told the story of an iconic California dream.

Aviator and industrialist Howard Hughes built the Southern California economy, which grew with World War II and the Cold War, by helping to create an enormous Military Industrial Complex that basically ran from the Santa Monica airport to the Long Beach shipyards, with additional heavy industry in Orange County. The Pacific Rim became the most important area of trade and shipping. Jet travel made access to once far-flung California convenient. Athletically, the 1960s and 1970s in L.A. and the larger state of California, were the greatest any region has ever experienced, far eclipsing the "golden age" of New York City in the 1950s. The 1960s and 1970s without question remain the greatest years in the history of Hollywood (built largely by the growth of film schools at USC and UCLA). TV programs like The Beverly Hillbillies and Adam-12 popularized L.A. life and landmarks, glamorizing a police department considered the most honest in the world.

Playboy magazine emperor Hugh Hefner moved from chilly Chicago to a mansion near the UCLA campus. Millions of American men looked at photos of topless honeys frolicking in the sunshine of the Playboy Mansion. High school boys saw images of Hef's beautiful girlfriend Barbi Benton, a student at UCLA, and decided they too would find such a girlfriends at USC or UCLA. Hefner also promoted black jazz artists in his magazine and on a popular TV show called Playboy's Penthouse. Pictures of gorgeous Playmates mixing socially with black impresarios inflamed some in the South, but for the most part gave an aura of easy, cool acceptance.

Politically, Southern California ruled. It was the age of Richard Nixon, elected President in 1968, and of California Governor Ronald Reagan (1967-1975, later President, 1980s). Orange County rose in population and influence, its John Birch conservatism tempered by racial moderation and beautiful, bikini-clad girls. As with Playboy, attractive people provided a sheen of glamour to a region as rabidly anti-Communist as the Deep South, but not as racially insensitive. In 1973, a former UCLA track star named Tom Bradley became the first black Mayor of Los Angeles.

Meanwhile, the rest of America seemingly went downhill. The biggest reason was race. Between the end of World War II and 1967, American blacks made steady economic and civil progress. They were increasingly successful in sports and entertainment, but through education advanced in all walks of life. Despite rampant racism, specially in the South, blacks advanced primarily because they were, for the most part, nuclear families (mother, father, children) who attended Christian churches. Faith and the family dynamic girded them through the most difficult obstacles.

Two things broke up the black family. First, the election of Democrat Lyndon Johnson in 1964 ushered in massive entitlement programs. LBJ was a Texan with a racist reputation, but he idolized the New Deal of President Franklin Roosevelt. He envisioned a second one. LBJ tasked a young New York liberal named Daniel Patrick Moynihan to study the so-called "Negro problem."

Moynihan came back with a startling conclusion. In essence, he told President Johnson that blacks had progressed steadily from World War II, through the 1950s, and into the early 1960s. Left "alone," for the most part, there was no reason they would not continue to progress. Moynihan advised a controversial plan, called "benign neglect," which in essence mirrored former President Harry Truman's admonition "if it ain't broke, don't fix it."

Moynihan's report was the last thing Johnson wanted to hear. Blacks had traditionally voted Republican after President Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves. The South was 100 percent Jim Crow Democrat. Every member of the Ku Klux Klan was a Democrat, often an elected one. But the New Deal brought a large segment of inner city blacks into the Democratic fold with a host of "programs," mainly checks given to blacks in the form of "relief."

By the 1960 Nixon-John Kennedy campaign, the black vote was roughly even. JFK expressed little more than disdain for the plight of blacks, despite urging by his brother Robert to pay more attention. Kennedy said that he never experienced the Great Depression, so insulated by his father Joseph's illegal bootlegging money was he. Nixon, on the other hand, grew up dirt poor and, as a law student at Duke University, argued on behalf of black civil rights with his Southern classmates. Nixon was a friend of Jackie Robinson, who grew up in Nixon's old Congressional district. But when Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was jailed in Birmingham, Nixon was advised not to interfere lest he lose his large base of white support. Kennedy managed to get King out of jail, thus engendering his grateful support, not to mention Robinson's. It was a major turning point in black politics.

With the Vietnam War started, President Johnson needed a second political front. In 1964, support for the war was strong, so LBJ's embracing the liberal cause of civil rights created a huge coalition that resulted in a massive victory over conservative Arizona Senator Barry Goldwater. In 1964-1965, Johnson initiated the Great Society, a far-reaching array of voting rights, welfare entitlements, socialized medical care, and other Big Government programs unseen in any capitalist nation. While most of the voting rights legislation was necessary and good, helping to undo injustices in the South, the welfare state created was a disaster on par with some of the worst mass crimes ever committed. It had the almost immediate effect of literally breaking up African-American families, in which black fathers, oft-rendered useless appendages by government checks, left their families, never married the mothers of their children, and had little or nothing to do with the lives of their children.

Within a few shirt years, the inner cities of America exploded in high crime and vast poverty. Riots broke out in Los Angeles, Newark, Detroit and other cities. The assassination of Dr. King in 1968 created a terrible new dimension, the militant wing of the Civil Rights Movement. The Black Panthers, the Black Muslims, and other radical elements – black and white – emerged to wreak havoc.

While all of this drove America to the breaking point, the anti-war protest movement, the hippies and the drug culture unleashed a cancer on society that today appears to have destroyed the United States. What was spawned on the world in the 1960s has spread and metastasized ever since, and today appears to have done to America what the Soviets and other foreign enemies could never do.

As for the blacks, probably the greatest casualty of the Great Society, any chance they had of overcoming its effects was destroyed in 1967 by the "Summer of Love." Driven largely by the influence of rock 'n' roll into the culture, the Summer of Love was a worldwide phenomenon with a central geographical base: San Francisco's Golden Gate Park. Its influence would spread across the globe.

While much of the music by The Doors, Buffalo Springfield, Jefferson Airplane, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and many others was extraordinary, drug use was epidemic. It would lead to the cocaine addictions of subsequent decades, and along with the attendant "sexual revolution," immoralized the youth, resulting in AIDS, gay marriage, abortion on demand, and pornography on a massive scale.

Nevertheless, many of the middle class white kids caught up in the drug culture had families to help nurture them back to health. Most of the blacks did not have this support system, especially after it was eroded by the welfare state. The Mafia had already targeted them when they entered the drug trade after World War II.

Now, with no place to turn, enormous numbers of young blacks stayed on the streets to live useless lives of drugs, prostitution, and crime. Incredibly, despite this being a curse laid upon their heads by the Democratic Party, to this very day blacks seem mesmerized by welfare checks, unable to see this plain fact. They continue to vote for the party responsible, in many ways, for re-enslaving them, by upwards of 90 percent.

In addition to rampant inner city crime, big cities, particularly New York, were beset by corruption and union strife. Movies of the era such as Serpico, Midnight Cowboy, The French Connection, and Dirty Harry depicted once-elegant metropolis as now being dirty and immoral, their days of greatness gone.

In the South, terrible racial turmoil marked the 1960s, spilling over into violence and hatred threatening the very Union once preserved by Abraham Lincoln. A mere 20, 30 years after winning the greatest war in history, attaining heights of glory unseen in all of world history, achieving economic prosperity and a leisure class completely defying 200 years of Socialist dogma, leading to huge architectural achievements and the landing of a man on the moon, the United States of America was ready to capitulate in the Cold War and abdicate its role of world leader. This was an epic fall from grace.

Through the darkest days of two horrendous decades, the 1960s and 1970s, one city appeared immune to this cancer: Los Angeles, California. There were, of course, bumps on the L.A. freeways. There were the riots of 1965, the first real indication that the L.A.P.D. was not quite the same as that depicted on Dragnet or Adam-12.

Alabama Governor George Wallace liked to point to the riots as an example of liberal, or Northern hypocrisy. But by the 1970s even the conservative L.A. Times was giving voice to the underserved black and Latino communities.

The Manson family killings (1969) also put great fear in the hearts of elite Los Angelenos populating Beverly Hills and the Hollywood hills. Watergate and a disastrous end to the Vietnam War ripped the last vestige of pride from America. The 1970s were little more than a laugh track of bad hair, embarrassing clothing styles, and unimpressiveness, but L.A. was "the place." Just as the L.A. Times replaced the New York Times as the finest newspaper in the world, Southern California in the 1970s and especially in the 1980s – when the Los Angeleno Reagan presided over eight years of peace and prosperity, and the 1984 Olympics came to his hometown – overtook New York as the most important and influential city of them all.

L.A. was hip and happening. The hippest aspect of its panache was its supposed mastery of race relations. On the surface, at least, its highs schools and colleges were a happy blend of white, black, Latino and Asian kids in a diverse, fair world. L.A. sports teams at all levels most notably reflected this.

While O.J. Simpson was a hero in Buffalo during the 1970s, Los Angeles still retained their "rights" to him. He remained a loyal, notable Trojan alum, and every off-season kept his hand in acting, which included roles in The Klansman (1973), The Towering Inferno (1974), Roots (1977), and Capricorn One (1978). Perhaps above all other figures, he was the face of a new, accepted black America. White women by the tens of thousands expressed the "O.J. exception." If there was a black man they would readily sleep with, it was the handsome, charismatic superstar.

Not unsurprisingly, this dynamic was of no good value to O.J.'s marriage to Marguerite. She raised his kids while he played football, acted in movies, took broadcasting assignments, and was give a free lunch from one end of America to another. The most beautiful women in the world threw themselves at him. He accepted their advances freely and with no regard to the fidelity of his marriage.

Then, in 1977, he met Nicole Brown.

Lust

Among the Seven Deadly Sins, the most common may be the sin of Lust. O.J. had an eye for the ladies and they had it for him. His first wife bore him children. She was attractive but simple. When he hit the big time she did not adjust to his place in the world. O.J. found other women and quickly made a practice of it without regard to morality. Unfortunately, this makes him no different from about 80 or 90 percent of professional athletes, who have a coterie of strippers, porn chicks, groupies, gold diggers and "star f-----s" throwing themselves at them in every hotel room from Coronado to Coral Gables.

In 1977 he met a blond bombshell waitress from Orange County. What separated her from the others - the blonds, brunettes, and redheads - is one of the mysteries of love, but O.J. fell for her. He and Nicole Brown were married. They had children of their own. All reports were that his kids were the apple of his eye, although his children from the first marriage found problems with the new developments.

Nicole Brown's mother, Judi, was a lovely German girl from Frankfurt. She was the secretary for the fiscal director of the U.S. military newspaper Stars and Stripes in 1954.

"All I ever heard about, from other women in the office, was Lou Brown," she recalled.

Lou Brown was the paper's circulation manager, and incredibly popular with all the ladies in the office.

"Who is this guy?'" Judi asked herself. "Let's see if I can catch his eye."

Lou did notice her. He was staring so hard at her he bashed the company car.

He was married with three kids, but that marriage was on the rocks. He and Judi moved in together, and before they were even married, had two children, Denise (1957) and Nicole (May 19, 1957), known as Nikky. Later a third daughter named Mini was born.

"Like her mother, Nicky would grow up to be a young beauty who immediately and romantically turned the head of a young man who was married, a man who had three young *children, and whose reputation as the focus of women's attention was substantial," wrote Sheila Weller in Raging Heart.

*Marguerite was pregnant with their third child when O.J. met Nicole.

In 1963, Judi and Lou moved to Long Beach, California. It was a culture shock for the young German girl, and a short while later Lou moved the family back to Frankfurt. Oddly, Judi's mother seemed too "busy" to spend time with them. Later it was revealed that she was concerned that the marriage would not last if Judi stayed in Germany. Her actions were her way of "forcing" the Browns to move back to the States. Judi was very much like her mother. She would take O.J.'s position when he and Nicole had marital troubles. Both Browns argued heavily for reconciliation.

The Browns moved first to Long Beach, then to Orange County. The girls were adventurous tomboys. Lou owned several successful car washes. It was Denise and Nikky, not Judi, who missed Germany. German was their first language and it took them a few years to adjust to English and American customs. They also prayed to God . . . in German.

As the girls got older they started to hang out at nearby Huntington Beach, where they befriended another local girl named Michelle Pfeiffer. When Nikky was a high school sophomore, the family moved to upscale Laguna Beach. Laguna is so beautiful people joke that on the "seventh day God rested there." An artist's colony and a gay community were part of the eclectic Laguna world, but for the most part it was a California paradise of surfing, sun tanning, sexy girls, and nightlife. Expensive homes dotted the hills with expansive ocean views; one of the most exclusive towns in the nation.

Nikky moved from the pedestrian Rancho Alamitos High School to tony Dana Hills High. Both sisters fit in immediately. Denise was voted Homecoming Princess, paving the way for Nikky's awarding of the same honor two years later.

Nikky befriended a brilliant Chinese-American girl named Eve Chin. They were both excellent students, and chose to write essays about each other. Eve would casually walk into the open Brown house as if she was part of the family. Life was free and easy.

"Lou was a very strong father and a gentle man," recalled Eve.

A neighbor, however, recalled Judi complaining that Lou was "controlling" . . . just like O.J. Simpson.

Denise quickly gained work as a professional model, but when Nikky met a young photographer named David LeBon, she decided she wanted to be behind the camera. When he moved to Los Angeles to work for an advertising agency, he regularly called and filled Nikky with stories of life in the big city. In 1976, she began to think of living there after graduation from Dana Hills High.

That same year, she traveled to New York and Greece to visit Denise, now an Eileen Ford model. In Greece, however, she became homesick when Denise was called to go on a shoot, and she cried in a phone call to Eve back home. Eve realized that Nikky was not quite as tough as she often appeared.

"Nicole Brown was, at heart, a dependent, vulnerable person," wrote Weller.

Shortly after the birth of their second child, Jason on April 21, 1970, O.J. Simpson moved his family into a Tudor home on Deer Run Road in Woodstream Farms, Buffalo's nicest suburb. But Marguerite was a woman variously called "conservative," "reserved," "quiet" and "a home body, a Bible-carrying churchgoer."

"She was having problems with O.J. because he was wild . . ." said the wife of one of his Bills teammates.

O.J. may well have married Marguerite when he entered USC because he felt at the time the rules of society were clear: no inter-racial dating. He knew there would be beautiful white girls on campus, no doubt noticed them, and very likely might have been surprised to find some making themselves available to him. This would have resulted in his realizing he did not "need" to be married at USC. As fame and then fortune came his way, the many opportunities now available to him left him like a kid in a candy store.

O.J. and Al Cowlings hung out at a Buffalo nightclub called Mulligan's with the club's owner, Mike Militello, and the infamous singer Rick James. O.J. was impressed with Militello, who served – and was wounded – in Vietnam. Militello dropped out of the Buffalo social scene after a 1975 raid revealed he was involved in cocaine.

In 1973, when O.J. had his greatest season – 2,003 yards and the Most Valuable Player award – Marguerite initiated a separation. In 1974 O.J. began shooting Hertz commercials. While many have characterized O.J. as the ultimate assimilationist, he did show a certain amount of racial tension when he got mad at the director of a Hertz commercial who demanded less street lingo in his delivery.

"O.J. is the most unprejudiced man I have ever met," said a colleague and friend, Joe Kolkowitz. Newsweek and other media outlets later ascribed O.J.'s "character weakness" to his acceptance of "white values," a very liberal – and untrue – analysis. However, most of O.J.'s relationships and associations, especially during his playing career, placed him either in a position of control, or at the least a position of some power and respect. He never lost his job to a white player or was racially disrespected by a white coach, and most interestingly, there does not seem to be any record of any white men "stealing" any of his white girlfriends away from him. There was one incident, however. A white corporate sponsor objected to his being placed on a board because he was black.

"When I told O.J. the reason he'd been voted against - racism – he was not surprised; he accepted it as something that happens," one other friend recalled. "He was also very hurt and very disappointed."

"I have been with O.J. when somebody called someone a n----r and it hurt him," recalled Kolkovitz. "I can tell you he was affected by that. He was very offended and hurt."

"O.J. was a Reagan and Bush supporter," said his friend Tom McCollum. To the Left, this is the ultimate sin within the black community, and perhaps the biggest of all liberal hypocrisies.

While filming Killer Force, O.J. fell for his co-star, the stunning actress Maud Adams (who later did a Playboy pictorial).

"I'm in love," he told a friend during filming. The two had a relationship that apparently ended when he met Nicole in 1977.

"He was feeling his oats," recalled friend Fred Levinson.

"I never asked too many questions in those days," said Kris Houton Kardashian, today married to Bruce Jenner and mother of Kim Kardashian. In the 1970s she was married to O.J.'s pal and fellow USC alum Bob Kardashian. O.J. often used her as a "screener" to make phone calls or help introduce him to young women, all while he was still married. They lived in a beautiful home on Deep Canyon Drive in Beverly Hills.

"Whenever O.J. was around the Deep Canyon house, he and Marguerite were either separated or having a fight," said Kris, adding that O.J.'s wife "never had a smile on her face." Even at her wedding rehearsal, Marguerite "seemed so unhappy."

According to a friend of Marguerite's, an actor's ex-wife, she was "madly in love with" O.J., but felt "totally shoved in the background."

"I feel very abused in this relationship," Marguerite once confided.

" 'Abused,' that was the word," her friend recalled. ""That was the word. But I never knew if she meant physical or mental."

"Back then, among the people in sports circles, it was generally believed that O.J. was beating Marguerite," said Cyndy Garvey, the ex-wife of Dodgers star Steve Garvey. "I can't tell you how we knew – we just all knew it, just as everyone knew that certain Dodgers were doing cocaine during games. Marguerite was known to wear sunglasses all the time, inside as well as outside. I remember being at some sports event in Hawaii and seeing Marguerite with those sunglasses on. The person next to me said, 'Well, he hit her again.' "

In the murder investigation of 1994, the D.A.'s office discovered at least two separate occasions in which Marguerite contacted the police fearing physical attacks from her husband. This is O.J.'s "Achilles heel." He was a man's man who preferred the company of men. He was loyal, generous and giving, but he could not keep his hands off of women; first to have sex with them and then, if enraged, to hit them. He did it away from prying eyes, and for "political" reasons his women did not want others to know, but it was known.

"Yet whatever violence there may have been was hidden," wrote Sheila Weller. "O.J. wowed everyone."

"Here was a guy with incredible charisma," said Kris Kardashian. "He had great personality. He could charm the pants – I mean the socks – off anyone. When you're in a room with O.J., you're taken in. You're in awe. There's nobody who can have more fun at a party than O.J. Simpson. And what fun we had."

All of this was happening amid the incredibly exciting world of professional athletics in LA.'s greatest sports decade; the world of USC in USC's greatest football decade; the Hollywood world in its greatest era; the height of Playboy's popularity and its most outrageous parties; mixed with a coterie of models, designers and Beautiful People who make up the social scene of Beverly Hills and westside L.A. It was the greatest era the Southland has ever known, and to be a Los Angeleno was like being a Roman noble at the apex of the empire's power and influence.

O.J. Simpson was the center of this crazy scene, as popular and in demand as any box office star or director. His crossover appeal reached to every corner without regard to race or niche. To many, both men and women, their friendship with this man was their ticket to the good life, and they were not about to blow it by revealing a few inconvenient rumors about O.J.; such as his occasionally hitting Marguerite.

"O.J. was absolutely a social climber," said Tom, McCollum. "He was socially driven. He did really believe he could be on the board of Hertz. He would go into these almost dream-like trances where he believed he had a future in politics, where ego and naïve power and delusions of grandeur took over."

"Being O.J.'s friend anointed a man, laid an invisible mantle on his shoulders," wrote Sheila Weller, while producing "the immense loyalty these men had for O.J."

Of all these, Kardashian was at once as loyal to O.J. as any others, yet less "dependent" on him. Kardashian, the former student manager of the USC football team, already established wealth, success and a Hollywood lifestyle when O.J. arrived on the scene in the early off-seasons of his pro football career. In the beginning, it was O.J. who wanted to emulate Kardashian, but perhaps because of the shared USC experience, when neither was yet wealthy, Kardashian would remain as loyal a friend as O.J. ever had.

Many of his male friends recall that while O.J.'s light flared bright, and much joy came from simply being around him, he was extremely open in his friendship. He did not just wait for sycophants to call and ask to be with him; he often called out of the blue to initiate get-togethers, as when he came over to see the newborn son of his friend Joe Stellini.

"He wanted to be accepted," one of O.J.'s black friends said. "And they hailed him as the Juice. The 'black super jock.' That was a safe, flattering way to go for him," adding that O.J. knew he "wasn't very good" at acting or broadcasting, and therefore needed people to assure him, because he was "really insecure" and had "trouble with very intelligent people like Howard Cosell and Bob Costas." Once asked about Costas, O.J. called him cocky, but he intimidated him.

In 1977, Marguerite "manipulated" O.J. into buying a new home. It was ostensibly her way of trying to save their marriage, which needed saving with a third child on the way. The house, formerly owned by actor Gig Young (They Shoot Horses, Don't They?) was purchased for $650,000. It was a Tudor located on 3005 Rockingham, and in May of that year the Simpsons made the move from 3005 Elvill. Marguerite was six months pregnant.

A woman whose husband was a luxury jewelry storeowner and friend of O.J., soon received a phone call from her young daughter. She was with her dad at Rockingham one day shortly after the move. Crying, she told her mother, "They're doing bad things." When asked, she told her mom O.J. "yells at his wife and he shoved her and Daddy was weird." The "weird" father was rumored to snort coke with O.J.

While all of this was happening, Nicole Brown was graduating from Dana Hills High School. Almost immediately, she moved into David LeBon's one-bedroom apartment on First and Virgil, downtown L.A. It was not exactly Beverly Hills, especially in those days, long before the revitalization of the inner city. Apparently, they were not lovers, sleeping separately. The apartment had no phone. Shortly thereafter, Nicole got a job at Jax, one of the most exclusive clothing stores in Los Angeles. It was owned by O.J.'s friend Jack Hansen, and frequented by O.J., who bought many of his conservative, yet stylish, clothes there. Many celebrities patronized Jax.

Two weeks later, Hansen decided she was too beautiful to work as a salesgirl at Jax. He also owned a trendy bistro, the Daisy on Rodeo Drive, and wanted her to be a waitress, mixing with the Beautiful People, who ate, drank and partied there. Within a short time, O.J. Simpson came into the Daisy with a large group. They all recalled watching him "fall in love" then and there, with Nicole Brown. It was late June of 1977. Nicole was barely 18 years old. He was 12 years her senior.

"Jack, who's that girl?" he asked Hansen, an ex-baseball player for the Los Angeles Angels in the Pacific Coast League. Hansen made the introduction, and they both flirted with each other. That night O.J. called his friend Mike Militello from Buffalo, now living in L.A.

"I want you to meet this fabulous girl," O.J. told him. "We have to go to lunch at the Daisy tomorrow."

Mike and O.J. met at the Daisy, where O.J. spoke more to Nicole. The next day he brought Bob Kardashian with him.

"Nicole was beautiful, smart, and funny – and totally unimpressed with who O.J. was," recalled Militello. O.J. was "in over his head" with this blond girl from Laguna, not the other way around. He was "infatuated."

Nicole, not a huge football fan, and not even a college girl, much less a USC Trojan, had to ask Militello who he was. Then Tom McCollum was brought along to see Nicole. It was as if O.J. needed the approval of all his friends. With a wife at home in their new house, waiting to deliver their third child, he was already thinking hard and heavy about leaving her and taking up with Nicole. But McCollum noticed what he perceived to be a sense of "insecurity" about Nicole, which she mostly hid under the veneer of beauty, wit and a dazzling smile.

After one of the lunches at the Daisy, O.J. strolled down the street to the store of a friend named Alan Austin.

"Alan, I met the most beautiful girl," he told Austin.

"I knew by his voice that it was not frivolous, that this was going to be permanent," recalled Austin.

On Friday, with a big party planned for that evening, O.J. arrived at the Daisy again. Several of O.J.'s friends were there when he asked Nicole if she wanted to go to the party with him.

"Yes," she replied.

O.J. Simpson, married man, father of soon-to-be-three, role model, pitchman one of the most admired men in the world, had fallen both in love and in lust with Nicole Brown. All that week, Nicole gushed to David LeBon about "him."

"I'm going out with him," she told LeBon. "He's a famous football player. What should I wear?"

She put on a pair of tight jeans and a silk shirt. O.J. picked her up in the lobby and they drove to Stellini's restaurant in his vintage black Rolls Silver Cloud with the license plate "JUICE." Afterward, they parked in a secluded spot where O.J. tore her jeans off and they had sex.

LeBon was shocked to see Nicole, disheveled, her jeans torn, when she arrived home. His first reaction was that she had been raped, but she just told him no, she "liked" him.

Love

O.J. immediately set Nicole up with her own apartment in Westwood, a far safer neighborhood, conveniently near Rockingham. Then O.J. told Marguerite that she had "tricked" him into getting pregnant a third time, and that their marriage was over. Nicole's immediate concern was that she had broken up a marriage, but O.J. had been cheating on her for years and it was only a matter of time.

But Nicole immediately fell head over heels in love with him. Exactly what the nature of that love was is speculation. She had likely never been with a black man before. Perhaps this was "exotic" or even taboo. Like many of O.J.'s friends, she sensed from the beginning that association with him had social benefits. She already had a nice, safe apartment because of him. Marriage to this wealthy, famous Hollywood player could potentially set her up for life, and for the life. But she came from affluence, not the projects, and was smart enough to succeed on her own as Denise already was doing. Friends say she genuinely fell in love with a handsome, engaging fellow, the O.J. everybody else loved.

She also knew how to play games, according to Denise, who said Nicole would listen to the phone ring and not answer it, or tell O.J. she was dating others guy who did not exist, "just to make him jealous," said Denise.

"I knew if I gave in to him he wouldn't really want me," Nicole told Denise.

"She knew right away that this was the man she really wanted," said Denise. "That this was the man she was going to be with."

"She was O.J.'s woman now," wrote Sheila Weller, adding that she quit her job at the Daisy. She gave up her goal of applying to the Brooks Photography Institute. She became a "kept woman' at age 18. At the time, O.J. was making $2.5 million in the third year of his contract with the Buffalo Bills. Entering the 1977 season, he was still considered the best running back in the National Football League during one of its most golden eras. He was still working as a broadcaster in the off-season, switching from ABC to NBC, with a handsome five-year contract, plus a lucrative deal to promote Hertz among other corporations.

"Eve, I've met somebody and you'll know who he is," Nicole told Eve Chin.  
"He's so wonderful. I know you're going to like him."

Nicole moved into fancier digs on Bedford and Charleville, just south of Wilshire Boulevard. Eve helped her decorate it tastefully with "warmth and sunshine."

She also met Al Cowlings, described by Sheila Weller as "O.J.'s errand-doer and Better Self." The three traveled together to the Caribbean.

"I just remember thinking how beautiful she was, and how young, and how blond," Kris Kardashian recalled of meeting Nicole. "She lit up his life."

When Nicole, O.J. and Mike Militello went to Disneyland, she called her mother and told her she was coming by. She "warned" her mom that one of her friends was black.

"I didn't know how to be prejudiced," recalled Judi. "People are people to me."

Judi broke out a bottle of wine in honor of the occasion, and they stayed overnight at the Brown's house. Nicole played the relationship off as casual, but Judi immediately knew it was serious. Judi did not know he was a famed football star. O.J. said that was won of the attractions of Nicole and her family. Groupies and hangers-on, trying to get something from his gridiron fame, constantly approached him but this was different.

Lou was a tougher sell. He once told Nicole growing up in Texas he was not prejudiced until he met a black kid, who apparently was less than impressive and caused Lou to have negative feelings he previously did not have. His main concern was not that O.J. was black, but that society would make it difficult for an inter-racial couple. As the romance developed, in the early days he was kept in the dark about its seriousness. O.J. told Nicole that his own mother was not happy he was with a white girl.

O.J. was in training camp with the Bills when his daughter Aaren was born. He returned to be with his wife, but mainly stayed with Nicole at the Bedford love nest. With Marguerite staying in L.A. to take car of the infant Aaren, Nicole flew to Buffalo to be with O.J. She moved right into the Deer Run Road House,

In his first home game witnessed by Nicole at Rich Stadium – the house O.J. built, in many ways - O.J. ran for over 200 yards. It was only then that the true magnitude of his sports superstardom dawned on Nicole Brown.

After the game, however, O.J. saw Nicole give their friend Mike Militello an innocent kiss of thanks on the cheek. O.J. became enraged and the two had their first fight. Then they went to a post-game party, had a great time, and all was forgotten.

Marguerite surely knew all that was going on. It was embarrassing for her. First O.J. paraded Nicole all over the westside, now she was in their home in Buffalo, obviously and visibly his girlfriend, at all the games. All the Bills' wives and girlfriends - her friends – could plainly see what was happening. Less than a month after Aaren's birth, she filed for a formal separation.

O.J.'s fame and celebrity was at its all-time peak. There are very few people of any profession in American history who ever were as well known and idolized as he was at the point. Nicole basked in it, and took great pride that she was with a black man. It seemed to be a badge of honor telling the world she was not prejudiced. It was also quite accepted by 1977-1978. The 1960s were over. The civil rights demonstrations of the South were a thing of the past. College programs like Alabama and Texas were now fully integrated, with superstar African-American players like Earl Campbell of the Longhorns strutting across the stage.

The 1970 game between the integrated USC Trojans and segregated Alabama Crimson Tide had a monumental effect, now opening doors for full recruitment of black stars in Dixie. The integration of the South, after so many years of struggle, suddenly occurred seamlessly and without incident, really. In 1978, USC traveled to Birmingham for a re-match with coach Bear Bryant's Crimson Tide. Alabama had a fully integrated team, but the news was the lack of news. Nobody thought to even point it out, as by then it was so normal an occurrence. This resulted in irony. USC beat Alabama, but both teams finished the season with one loss and victories in their respective bowl games. Normally, with two teams so evenly matched, one team beating the other in that team's home stadium would answer any debate over who was number one. In 1966, Alabama was unbeaten with a victory over Nebraska in the Sugar Bowl, but finished third in the Associated Press poll behind Notre Dame and Michigan State, both with a tie and no bowl invite. The "Catholic vote" combined with a common desire to punish 'Bama for being all white was blamed on this event in Dixie. Now, 12 years later, the same voters awarded Bear for changing with the times successfully. The A.P. named Alabama the national champion. USC, the school that had given such opportunity to blacks like O.J. Simpson for decades, had to settle for a split title (the UPI vote).

This was a reflection of new attitudes in general society. In 1977 the television program Roots aired to much fanfare. O.J. had a small role playing an African during the slave trade. His relationship with a white woman was much more easily accepted than Sammy Davis's controversial marriage to a Swedish actress in the early 1960s.

Nicole's relationship with O.J. seemed to change her very opinions and desires. One friend, Susie Kehoe, recalled that she now seemed to find black men not just attractive, but even preferable to whites. She would open a magazine and invariably show Susie a photo of some black man.

"Hey, look at this gorgeous guy," Nicole would gush.

Despite getting off to a strong start, O.J.'s skills began to deteriorate in 1977. The team suffered. The powerhouses of the American Football Conference were the Pittsburgh Steelers, the Oakland Raiders, the Miami Dolphins, and the Denver Broncos. Buffalo, a play-off team a few years earlier, had never been able to break into the upper echelon. The Bills traded the great O.J. Simpson to his hometown team, the San Francisco 49ers, prior to the 1978 season.

It could have been a successful homecoming, a chance for O.J. to enjoy glory playing for the team he watched as a kid, when he earned a nickel for each seat cushion he sold at old Kezar Stadium. The team now played at Candlestick Park, where O.J. would wait outside until Willie Mays would come and hang with the local black kids from Potrero Hill.

Any greatness O.J. may still have possessed in 1978 was lost because the 49ers could not block for him. The Bills offensive line in his heyday was the best in pro football; a huge reason for his great success, which O.J. freely stated and rewarded with dinner for his blockers.

But the 49ers were a woeful franchise. They had been contenders in the 1950s, and with star quarterback John Brodie had won three straight division titles from 1970 to 1972. A young Edward DeBartolo Jr. had recently purchased the team, but their great coach of the 1980s dynasty, Bill Walsh was still at Stanford, and his star quarterback, Joe Montana was still at Notre Dame. Superstar safety Ronnie Lott was still at O.J.'s alma mater, USC.

The club fell apart after Brodie retired, and the Los Angels Rams now dominated the NFC West. The Dallas Cowboys were the power team in the conference. The 49ers were also overshadowed by the Oakland Raiders across the bay; the height of Al Davis's empire.

O.J. missed playing with another former West Coast college star, 1970 Heisman winner Jim Plunkett of Stanford. Plunkett was a disappointment in New England, and his homecoming in San Francisco was a failure, too. He was dumped off to the Raiders before the 1978 campaign, where incredibly he would resurrect his career a few years later. O.J. needed no such resurrection, having never stumbled, but his glory days on the gridiron were a thing of the past.

But the trade to Fan Francisco also re-united him with Al Cowlings. Teammates in San Francisco youth football, at Galileo High, CCSF, USC, and from 1970 to 1972 in Buffalo, Cowlings had gone to Houston (1973-1974), the Rams (1975, a division champion), Seattle for a year, then back to the Rams in 1977, before landing on his hometown team in 1978.

Nicole and O.J. moved into a large, loft-style condominium he purchased in San Francisco. It was before the tech revolution that revitalized the City and the region. San Francisco was somewhat shabby, lacking the grandeur of its days as the hub of the West Coast. Los Angeles had all the glamour and sex appeal in those days. A pretty girl like Nicole was almost a "sighting" in San Francisco, whose bars were dominated by gay men. It was often cold and foggy, not the kind of weather that a tanned beach girl like Nicole could parade around in wearing skimpy, tight clothes.

But it was exciting for Nicole, who invited Eve Chen to fly up and see their condo . . . and to meet O.J. for the first time.

"It was such a dear, sweet love," Eve recalled. "You could tell they both adored each other."

O.J. took Nicole and Eve to all the San Francisco haunts, including Ghirardelli Square in north beach, where he went to high school. Eve also noticed that O.J. seemed to "use" her to gain his way, to "lobby" her friends to his way of thinking.

All the while, the minister who ran the housing project in O.J.'s old neighborhood, and his boyhood pal Joe Bell, were trying to get O.J. and Marguerite back together. But when O.J.'s mother, Eunice Simpson, met Nicole, she knew she was now the woman in her son's life. Nicole also met O.J.'s gay father Jimmy, a gourmet cook who charmed her by teaching her a series of recipes she could use to cook for O.J.

But Lou Brown had not yet met O.J. Shortly before Nicole's 19th birthday in May 1978, she had an altercation with O.J. and he punched her in the face. Nicole expertly hid a black eye with make-up, then returned to Laguna, to get away from O.J. and celebrate her birthday. O.J. pulled up to their Laguna home in a black Porsche 914, with a big bow tied to its hood. A friend followed behind him in another car. When Lou came out to see the luxury car, O.J. was gone with his friend.

Nicole told him it was a gift from "someone I've been seeing." Then she told him it was O.J. Simpson.

"I think my father's reaction was, 'Well, if it's gonna be a black guy, I'm glad it's someone who's not a bum,' " said Denise Brown. Lou and O.J. still had not met. O.J.'s gift was not just an act of reconciliation, but part of the on-going pattern of coercion Eve Chen noticed; his ability to manipulate the situation using her friends and family. Now Nicole was listening to her father and friends speak admiringly of this gift, distracting her from the fact he had hit her.

"I should have left him, but I took it!" she told a confidante years later, after O.J. beat her in 1989. "I was so stupid – driving around in a brand new Porsche in Beverly Hills with a black eye."

A pattern was now established that would never end; fights, followed by reconciliation, often with O.J. using somebody close to Nicole – sometimes Judi – to get back in her good graces. Nicole had very little if any experience with men, certainly not fully mature ones, before O.J. He was already an established womanizer and, after his initial infatuation following a divorce, O.J. returned to his normal behavior.

During O.J.'s first season in San Francisco (1978), he began seeing other women. Between training camp and road trips, he was separated from her often and had numerous opportunities. He may have had girlfriends in San Francisco, a town that opened itself up to him in every way. He owned the City in the manner of such legends as Joe DiMaggio and Willie Mays.

Nicole learned of his indiscretions and again drove eight hours to Laguna, where she told Judi about it. "I'm never going back there," she declared.

But shortly thereafter she had a phone conversation with O.J. In that call, O.J. simply told her that if she did not return, he would find "another girlfriend" and have sex with her.

Nicole drove eight hours back to San Francisco. He "owned" her now.

During the 1979 pre-season, little Aaren, the child Marguerite "tricked" O.J. into having, drowned in the family swimming pool in Los Angeles. When O.J. arrived at the hospital, he accused Marguerite of "murdering" the baby, although by all accounts it was a freak occurrence and not her fault. While their eventual divorce was a fait accompli, this event sped up the process.

But even in tragedy O.J. was a master manipulator. During this period of time, Lakers owner Jack Kent Cooke was going through what the Guinness Book of World Records declared to be the largest divorce settlement in history. California family law over the previous two decades favored ex-wives more than any state, but O.J. used the grief over Aaren's drowning, as well as his attorney Skip Taft's intimate knowledge of Marguerite's assets, to arrange a settlement that fell far short of other celebrity divorce agreements of the era. In that settlement, O.J. ended up with the Rockingham estate, a major reversal from normal settlements (especially when children are involved). O.J. had to have Marguerite removed from the house, almost violently, when she refused to leave.

O.J.'s pro career ended not with a bang but with a whimper, although in 1979 he did play for Bill Walsh and was teammates with Joe Montana. The team was a desultory 2-14, but there were signs of the glory days that would follow in the 1980s. In an otherwise meaningless Candlestick Park game against the New Orleans Saints, the 49ers trailed at halftime, 35-7. In the second half, Montana engineered a miracle comeback, like those he specialized in at Notre Dame and later in San Francisco. The 49ers won, 38-35 in overtime. To this day pundits point to this as the beginning of the 49ers five-Super Bowl champion dynasty.

With his career over, O.J. and Nicole moved into the Rockingham house, permanent SoCal residents. He had acted in numerous movies over the years and wanted to make this a successful new career. Holidays were now regular events there. It became the center of social activity among O.J.'s large circle of friends. The Browns regularly came up. Nicole made sure O.J.'s bachelor friends were invited and that attractive single girls would be there.

Nicole recalled how proud O.J. was of that house, but noted that he also called it " 'My house – 'My,' 'my,' 'my.' " To friends O.J. confided an abiding fear of the grinding poverty of his youth, vowing like Scarlett O'Hara to "never be poor in my life again."

Before he contracted AIDS, Jimmy Simpson came to Rockingham and cooked a "fabulous" Southern meal of collard green and okra. A.C. "came with the territory," wrote Sheila Weller. He was known to take Nicole's side when she and O.J. fought, and the Browns always felt – even later – that he was a "good guy," said Denise.

"Sometimes, in fact, the Browns liked A.C. more than O.J. did," wrote Sheila Weller, adding that as late as the 1980s he and O.J. actually got into fist fights on occasion, but that "need and shared history drove them back to each other." Cowlings may have been the only one of O.J.'s friends "allowed" to side against him and remain part of the inner circle.

O.J.'s violent tendencies were often on display. He regularly destroyed inanimate objects. Everybody who observed this gave him a pass. He was O.J. Simpson, not a psychopath. He was charming and handsome. Judi was old school, from Germany, where wives routinely adhered to their husbands. She laughed his rages off.

Once on a ski vacation a fresh-faced young fellow with a British accent approached O.J. He told O.J. he was a big fan and that he was Prince Andrew, at the time second in line to be King of England. O.J. mocked him, thinking it a hoax, and asked for his driver's license. He produced a license with the British Crown on it. He was Prince Andrew.

O.J. continued to be an "incorrigible flirt," one friend recalled, hitting on any cute girl he came across regardless of Nicole's proximity. These included wives, girlfriends, even daughters of friends. Nicole did not take it quietly. She badgered him about it and called him "large head," a variation on his childhood moniker "water head," since O.J.'s skull was indeed so big the Buffalo Bills had to have a special helmet built for him.

Eventually, the necessary act of bringing O.J.'s children into their life occurred. Marguerite had a brief relationship with a rabbi, but it did not last. She moved to Encino, but the two surviving children began spending time with their father at the Rockingham estate. Arnelle admitted that at first Nicole's race was an issue, but they eventually became good friends. Jason and Nicole liked similar music. O.J. lobbied for Jason to move in with them.

The wives and girlfriends of O.J.' pals were astonished at the hero worship exhibited to the Juice by his friends, many of whom were self-made entrepreneurs not easily given to such sentiments. "O.J. is a god to all these men," stated Robin Greer, ex-wife of Mark Slotkin, part of the inner circle. "He can do no wrong. It's disgusting! It was also a little bizarre and scary."

Greer also noted that one key to getting into that inner circle was to win Nicole's approval. As she matured, she was becoming adept at the society life she was living. As she gained confidence, she started to bait O.J. with little criticisms, or to compare his looks – unfavorably – with some handsome man she might see.

O.J. organized a softball team – O.J.'s All-Stars – in a regular game at Roxbury Park on Olympic Boulevard, near the Daisy and Stellini's, their favorite hangouts and post-game destinations. Eventually the game moved to a field in Mandeville Canyon. The team consisted of some of the best athletes in the world, at various times including Kareem Abdul-Jabbar at first base, Lynn Swann catching, along with Bobby Chandler, Ahmad Rashad, Reggie McKenzie, and A.C.

Others in the league were a collection of actors, movie producers and entrepreneurs. It was the "in crowd," something people wanted to be part of in Hollywood. Many of the participants had USC connections. To be a Trojan on top of everything else was to be anointed as royalty. USC, long home of the best film school in the nation, was by the 1980s beginning to dominate the movie industry, its graduates filling the ranks of producers, agents and studio executives. It was also around this time that a young Trojan football player began to associate with the group. His name was Marcus Allen.

A member of USC's 1978 national championship team as a freshman, Allen was a teammate of Charles White when White won the 1979 Heisman Trophy with the unbeaten Trojans. When Allen won USC's fourth Heisman in 1981, he entered a very rare club that included Army's "Mr. Inside" (Doc Blanchard) and "Mr. Outside" (Glenn Davis), Heisman teammates.

Of all the great USC running backs over the years, Allen most closely resembled O.J. Simpson in size, speed and even physical good looks. He broke not just Simpson's college rushing records, but many other records held by some of the great running back who ever played. Allen gained well over 2,000 yards in 1981 and was the first round draft choice of the Raiders, about to move from Oakland to play in his college stadium, the Coliseum in 1982.

Allen was extremely intelligent and media savvy, at the time envisioning a career beyond football in the movies or broadcasting. He was a social climber. With his looks, women wanted to be with him. With his charisma, men wanted to be him. He was nicknamed "Young Juice" because he reminded everybody of O.J. Allen was immediately invited into the inner circle. He was already in the most insider's club of all, the Heisman hierarchy, and became fast friends with O.J., a mentor of sorts. He was one year younger than Nicole, the woman who would see photos of a handsome black man in magazines and declare how "gorgeous" they were.

O.J. and Allen would hang out together, particularly attending USC games on Saturdays when the Raiders were also at home. Allen maintained discretion about his romantic life, but O.J. did not.

"The men and the women were always seriously divided on the subject of O.J.," said Kris Kardashian. "He had such a reputation for infidelity. The women cared for Nicole and went, 'Oh, he's such an idiot - he'll screw anything in a dress.' The guys were like, 'Oh, he's just a big teddy bear.' The guys were so forgiving of him."

(One of these women, who spent years coming to the Rockingham estate, was there enough to know that O.J., "always" parked on the street in front of the house. It was a pattern established over almost 20 years, yet on Jun 12, 1994, for the first time ever, with the limo driver parked in front, not wanting to be seen, he parked on the side street.)

Of course, in this frat boy environment, O.J. was the veritable "rush chairman." He organized many events that did not include the wives and girlfriends. They did include beautiful young girls, often Playmates, models and starlets. These men were not just forgiving of O.J., they were emulating him. Access to hot chicks came through access to O.J. They were not about to blow it with a moral stand. With the birth of the Kardashian children, party central truly switched from their home to the Rockingham estate.

Nicole bristled at O.J.'s womanizing and sometimes left to calm down. One female friend of O.J.'s recalled phone calls he made to her during these episodes, in which Simpson sounded completely disoriented and was "not a normal person." Another time he screamed and swore so vehemently the woman thought to herself that he was "a monster." Another friend heard O.J. scream and yell at Nicole, then stated, "He was an animal."

Housekeeper Maria Baur said Nicole wore sunglasses inside the house, to either hide black-and-blue marks from O.J.'s assaults or the fact she was crying. Patrons at Regular John's, a pizza place the family frequented, said O.J. was "verbally abusive" to her. He called her "white trash."

Robin Greer said he always had a ready excuse and was "perfectly charming," adding, "There's a lot of duality in that man." Later Nicole confided in her that she had bruises on her face.

While it is disputed how he received it, or who gave it to him, O.J. apparently came into possession of an Uzi machine gun – "the weapon of choice of the Medellin drug cartel," wrote Sheila Weller - which Nicole's friends thought "scared" her. She knew of his gun collection, but he kept his knife collection secret from her. Around this time Nicole allegedly told an undisclosed friend, "O.J. said he would kill me if I left him. Or if I cheated on him." She told stories of O.J. beating her with a win bottle.

"My ribs were all broken," she supposedly said.

Some of these stories were told by anonymous sources after the tragedy of 1994. They may not all be true, but there are enough of them to form a pattern. What apparently can be verified is a call Nicole made to a security guard . . . contracted by O.J. to guard the house.

O.J. calmly told the guard all was well, and he left.

"They all kiss his ass!" Nicole said in disgust.

Cowlings had to drive Nicole to the hospital, where Nicole apparently lied and said she fell off her bicycle, mirroring the tale of an injury sustained in her childhood at an ice rink. She knew that a public humiliation of O.J. could end much of their income, deriving from his image of goodwill in the form of broadcasting and commercial gigs. She was still in her early 20s, not yet even married to this man, but she was vulnerable and dependent. She was seduced by the good life just as all O.J.'s poker pals and fellow skirt-chasers were.

"I could never leave him," Nicole told friend Linda Schulman.

According to notes obtained later by the Los Angeles District Attorney's office, O.J.'s "preferred" place to beat his wife was their wine cellar. It was quiet and out of the way. Nobody could hear any shouts from down there. He is said to have locked her there, gone upstairs to watch a sports event, then returned to beat her more. These are acts not just of assault and battery, but also of kidnapping, one of the most serious crimes on the books.

Nicole "told" Denise about it, but somehow in the telling did not make it sound so bad. The psychology behind this could fill medical books. She had remarkable "bounce back" qualities, despite her vulnerability believed she was strong enough to handle the situation, and still loved the charming rake. He could of course express great love and tender feelings for her which, despite the horrors, any psychiatrist would say were, incredibly, still legitimate. The world of women who love the men who abuse them is not, to use a term with several meanings in this case, more than "black and white." Linda Schulman felt Nicole did not reveal the true extent of her situation because she had too much pride to have friends saying, "Poor Nicole . . ."

Then there was the cocaine. It was the apex of the cocaine era. A young college student then at Columbia University, Barack Hussein Obama, stated in his own autobiography that he was regularly doing "blow" in his Waikiki youth, continuing as a college kid.

L.A.'s westside was the epicenter of the American coke scene in the early 1980s. O.J. Simpson was well known to be a cocaine freak, although many who knew him insisted that he only did it to party, never when he was playing football. Many nefarious characters in the L.A. drug scene came around after the 1994 tragedy to tell of O.J. coke stories. Oddly, this would prove slightly helpful to him, lending to the notion that his accusers were "liars" and "criminals," spreading just the whiff of chance that Nicole got caught up in a drug operation of some kind, and that in this operation could be found the "real killers." The "coke story" people were lumped by his defense in with many who told more legitimate stories of his abuse of Nicole, although the evidence of O.J.'s cocaine habit was so widespread that it cannot be denied.

Frankly, coke use, especially then and there, was "normal," almost thought of as a victimless crime. It was comic Richard Pryor's narrow brush with a fiery death after freebasing, and basketball player Len Bias's overdose from "crack" cocaine, that truly woke the nation up to its horrors. Cocaine use had spread as an outgrowth of the gateway drug marijuana during the 1960s. All those poor hippies were now YUPPIES (young upwardly mobile professionals), especially in the entertainment industry. But by the 1980s it was an epidemic, and overdoses were becoming frequent. It practically invented the drug rehabilitation industry.

But while his coke habit existed, O.J.'s sports discipline was so ingrained in him that he avoided true addiction. He also liked to golf early in the morning and did not like to be hung over when he did that. Nicole apparently did her share of coke, according to sources, but there is no evidence it became a real problem for her.

O.J. still had vague political aspirations, and knew if he ever went down that road he had to be clean. He was probably quite sure that his friends were all so loyal to the Juice that none would ever tell tales out school, and he seems also to have been living in a state of denial about beating Nicole. It seems hard to imagine he simply convinced himself it was not something that happened, but there are people who do that and he may have been one of them. An intervention of some kind may well have pointed him to the truth, but there was no person or persons on Earth who were going to engage in any kind of intervention of O.J. Simpson. Not his friends. They wanted to party on and he was the fun master.

But sometimes the tables were reversed. A friend, Billy Kehoe, was an out-of-control drunk who punched his wife at Lakers owner Jerry Buss's party. Afterward O.J. spoke to him for four hours and offered to pay for his alcohol rehabilitation, not to mention putting his kids through military school. It was a reversal in which O.J. was counseling a friend not to do what he was doing, and his denial was such that O.J. may very easily not have realized the entire time he counseled his pal, that did the same things.

On another occasion, Nicole got extremely drunk and embarrassed O.J. in the presence of Frank Sinatra during a Vegas trip. O.J. threw her out of their hotel room and locked the door. Nicole had to wait half-naked in the hallway.

To the average person reading these accounts, the normal reaction, especially knowing how it will all end, is to scream, "Get out." O.J. Simpson had an eye for many ladies, but from the beginning Nicole was different. He saw in her something more than any girlfriend he ever had. As a married man, he was guilty of having lust in his heart from the beginning. He tore Nicole's pant off and had sex with her in a car on their first date, eschewing even a hotel room. But he apparently also fell in love at first sight, and immediately set about marrying her.

He needed marriage, a steady woman in his life. He married Marguerite while still in school, and set out to marry Nicole before the divorce papers with Marguerite were even filed. He easily could have been a "player," a single man going from one hot babe to another, an endless procession of Playmates, models and slutty chicks, all found in great abundance at practically every turn in Los Angeles. While he did go through these kinds of girls like a hot knife through butter, he had some sort of conditioned reflex – perhaps because his parents were divorced – to be married. He was married from age 19 to age 32 and needed that stability.

Nicole was swept off her feet, not just by O.J.'s fame, but his charisma. She saw the same things, and loved him for the same reasons, that his many male friends loved him. The difference was that O.J. knew only love with other men. He was the best friend in the world, a man of total loyalty. His need to control women, however, forced him from his usual self – the loving husband/boyfriend – to a violent predator with women.

Perhaps the fact his father was gay explains this. O.J. surely knew of his dad's sexual orientation at least by his 20s, if not well before that. He may have wanted to prove himself a "he man," the opposite of a fairy. What better way than to lead a semi-violent youth gang, to excel in the manliest of all sports if not activities, football? Or to prove his manhood by bedding the most beautiful women in the world, one after the other? Then, to exert his control by showing who was the "boss"? But of all other acts, what most thoroughly disproves any whiff of homosexuality than the act of marriage, and then children?

Nicole Brown often exhibited strength and independence. She moved out of the safety of her parent's home at 18 to live in downtown Los Angeles. Perhaps if she had pursued a modeling career like her sister, who was no more beautiful than she was, things would have been different. Denise was on her own, a success, soon after high school. This motivated Nicole to make her mark, but the money and self-confidence that Denise experienced was not forthcoming. She wanted too be a photographer, but real success in this field could be years down the road.

Then, almost immediately, came O.J. Simpson. Nicole never had the chance to really succeed on her own. This wealthy, controlling man offered all the answers to her quest for the good life, shelter in the naked city. It was seductive, as he was seductive. While his personality, his looks, his smile, his wonderfulness, which despite everything was the defining part of what almost everybody knew of him, made her always come back, to love him apparently without condition, she also depended on him. As each year passed, never having gone to college or established any sort of career, Nicole knew that if she left O.J. she would have nothing. Many call girls and porn stars in Hollywood could tell a similar tale, but she was raised far too right to ever do something like that.

She could move back in with Lou and Judi, but after being in the middle of Hollywood's glamorous social whirl, that was not an option. O.J. was like the devil, offering no good alternative but his own.

Marriage

The abuse was so bad that Nicole was by the 1980s keeping notes on many of the incidents. She instinctively knew the man she loved was capable of hurting her, or worse. Despite this, she still wanted to marry him. The cynic might say that she was already planning to reap a big divorce settlement even before the wedding. Despite his retirement, his income was still tremendous from Hertz, other endorsements, broadcasting, acting, and investments. While the assets he brought into the marriage were likely protected, the considerable wealth he would make after the marriage would be subject to California's liberal divorce laws.

In 1976, Lee Marvin's live-in girlfriend Michelle Triola, sued the veteran actor for something called "palimony," claiming that while not legally married, they lived together as husband and wife, or what the English called a "common law" marriage. She ultimately did not succeed, although the case opened up more rights for women and wives. The enormous Jack Kent Cooke divorce, which resulted in the forced sale of the Lakers to Jerry Buss, was big news at the time. A marriage certificate was in many ways Nicole's ultimate security policy. Children would greatly increase the value of that policy.

Nicole began to prod O.J. to let her have children. While children are born out of wedlock all the time, especially among Hollywood libertines and African-Americans since the Great Society of 1964-1965, O.J. was a traditional man who did not want his reputation sullied. His bread was buttered most notably by wealthy, white, conservative men (in sports or advertising), and in the 1980s after years in the wilderness, these were the men returning the nation to prosperity under President Ronald Reagan (who O.J. voted for).

But if O.J. supported conservative causes, he was a fraud and hypocrite when it came to abortion. One of Reagan's most forceful planks was the abortion issue. As California Governor he had signed a lenient abortion law, thinking that it would actually cause more women to seek medical opinions that would ultimately result in their choosing life instead of illegal, "back alley" abortions. To his consternation, the results were the opposite. When Roe v. Wade became national law in 1973, genocide resulted. He campaigned against it with the fervor of the converted.

"I already have two kids," O.J. would tell Nicole when she brought up the subject.

Twice Nicole got pregnant. Twice O.J. forced her into abortions. Nicole was no saint. She had her own agenda. She could badger O.J. to the point of driving him batty, and could be devious. She could have taken a stand for life both times, but instead chose to kill her unborn babies. The events of 1994 were by no means the only tragedies in this Shakespearean tale.

When O.J.'s good friend Ron Shipp married, Nicole eagerly asked Nina Shipp, "Let me see your ring." She stared at it wistfully.

"Boy, I wish O.J. and I were married, like you and Ron," she added.

Nobody who knew Nicole at the time ever said race was an issue with her. "So, he's a little darker than me, so what?" she would say when asked. Friend Cici Shahian said Nicole felt O.J.'s "wealth and fame" would insulate the couple from the pressures society might bring to bear on "normal" inter-racial couples.

But Nina Shipp, who gave Nicole some of the first advice she ever sought on marriage, sensed that Nicole was worried. She felt something was not quite right. Her husband was a police officer, what Sheila Weller called the "salt of the Earth." She had an odd premonition that somehow Shipp and O.J. would converge, and that the cause of this convergence would be Nicole.

When Susie Kehoe gave birth to her daughter in 1982, Nicole began yearning for motherhood. "Kids! Kids! That's what I want," she swooned. Sheila Weller wrote in Raging Heart that Nicole felt marriage and a family would go a long way towards, if not making O.J. completely faithful, at least less conspicuous about his infidelity. Nicole was "proud and traditional," recalled Linda Schulman; not surprising since she came from that sort of background with a German mother who placed great value on family.

In the mean time, Nicole went through O.J.'s coat pockets and called his hotel room at four in the morning when he was away on business. Often operators would inform her nobody was answering in the room. Sometimes his flings were even invited to Rockingham for tennis or parties, a terrible insult. Denise recalled one party in which no less than three of O.J.'s girlfriends came. There is no evidence that Nicole was straying on O.J.

O.J. would be watching television and a James Bond girl, or one of Charlie's Angels would appear on screen. He would announce, in fact boast, that he had sex with her. "O.J. could get any girl in this town," one of his flings said. "And did."

While all of this certainly reflects negatively on O.J. Simpson, it again begs examination of what psychology played into Nicole's staying. Again, her vulnerable and dependent side cannot be ignored. Possibly the need, or the seductive desire to keep the life she was living – it could only happen if she stayed with O.J. – may have been stronger than pure love for her philandering boyfriend.

Sometimes O.J. used "beards" to take the blame for his indiscretions, like the time he went to a Lakers game with a blond beauty, all of it captured on TV for Nicole to see and hear about, only to claim she was the date of one of his male friends. Nicole banned the innocent fellow from the house for two years for enabling him. O.J. would hire prostitutes to perform oral sex on men at bachelor parties, all of which got back to Nicole.

Nicole kept a list of license plates she suspected belonged to his girlfriends. She may have hired a private detective, but that could not be verified.

"She was desperate," said Denise.

At parties, celebrities hit on her all the time. The unwritten code of celebrity hood is that infidelity comes with the territory. She was single, and while she may have been with O.J., everybody just figured they had an "arrangement." O.J.'s philandering was so open Vin Scully might as well have broadcast it. If those celebrities knew O.J.'s jealous and violent nature, however, they would have backed off. It was a lesson for Nicole, still a small town girl from conservative Laguna. But at the 1984 Rose Bowl, when O.J. was one of the commentators, Nicole made her infatuation with Marcus Allen – by then an absolute superstar with the World Champion Los Angeles Raiders – known.

"That Marcus Allen," she told somebody. "I have such a crush on him! If I wasn't with O.J., I'd go after him in a minute."

That is an interesting choice of words; she would go after him, not just go out with him. Small town Laguna girl or not, Nicole knew the power she possessed. Only a woman of such allure could even make man like O.J. Simpson jealous. He was with a coterie of slutty girls ranging from porn chicks to Playmates to strippers and the like, girls who slept with many men; none of whom made O.J. jealous. His attitude towards Nicole says much of his narcissistic personality. He truly believed there were special rules for him. He was different, the "chosen one." Other celebs accepted the philandering of spouses and lovers, but O.J.'s world meant he could do all he wanted, while all others – males included, most of whom were happy to do so – worshipped the man like a god.

Shortly after the 1984 Super Bowl – in which Allen starred in the Raiders' 38-9 crushing of Washington – she was driving on Brighton Way in Beverly Hills. She saw O.J. "hugging and kissing" another woman, while fondling her buttocks. It was right in front of a store owned by their good friend Alan Austin, an ostentatious act.

Nicole stopped the car and screamed at her boyfriend, then drove off. She left Rockingham and spent the night with their mutual friends Rick and Linda Schulman, who told her that while he was "a great guy," they advised "this is not a man you can marry." The Schulman's, however, knew she would return to him.

When Nicole tried to assert her will, O.J. would shatter photos of the Brown family hanging on their wall. Linda knew about these violent, selfish acts. When he showed up at the Schulmans, Linda was afraid not to let him in lest he get violent on their property. O.J. marched upstairs and said, "I'm sorry! Nic, I'm sorry! Marry me! Let's get married! I want to marry you. We can get the ring right now! A diamond as big as you want!"

The two came downstairs and Nicole told Linda, "I'll be right back." Two hours later they returned. Nicole had a beautiful diamond engagement ring on her hand. "It was as if the whole conversation we had with her the night before hadn't even happened," she recalled.

"Look how it had to happen," said Denise Brown, of the fact that it was an act of manipulation rather than pure love.

Linda and Rick tried to put on a happy face, but oddly they seemed to see the future; not a double-murder, but heartache, for sure. This was that moment in time that could not be reversed, the tipping point leading to disaster that if man could get in a time machine and change the past, he would change such moments. Then again, O.J. Simpson, who had an almost Satanic power over her, hooked Nicole.

Strangely, it was in some ways Nicole's own traditional morality that now led her on the road she was on. Had she been willing to be one of O.J.'s bimbos, a hot blond happy to co-exist in sin without children, her hold on this man might not have been so tight, and vice versa. O.J. wanted a princess, the daughter of Lou Brown, who was not a bigot but was no race-neutral liberal (at least not then), and for good measure Juditha Brown, who had been raised in Nazi Germany. She was an object, something to acquire, to prove to the world he could have whatever he desired. A black man could have whatever he desired.

USC's legendary assistant coach Marv Goux, the man most responsible for getting O.J. into USC, would often exhort his troops: "Conquest is to go into another man's house and steal what is theirs; his pride, his confidence. Take what is yours without asking." Great, fighting words to fire up the gladiators of Spartacus, or a football team before charging onto Legion Field, or the green plains of the Rose Bowl turf, but not marital advice.

Yet this appears to have been O.J. Simpson's philosophy of life. While there is no evidence he ever studied the Italian diplomat Niccolo Machiavelli, he certainly lived his credo. He was honest and benevolent when he needed to be, when it was convenient, and when it served his purpose. This meant with his coaches and teammates; his business associates and corporate sponsors; his dear friends. This fostered the "good O.J." image that made him a one-man marketing empire. He was the smiling black man. Nobody ever had any need or desire to cheat O.J. Simpson, the symbol of a hip city that got it right. His male friends only saw his smiling side.

But a marriage was different. It was too personal, too day-to-day, too intimate to be maintained as he maintained relationships with golf pals. To make this work, he would need to be Machiavellian. He needed to judge his prey and know how best to handle . . . her. He knew she "needed" him not just out of genuine love, but just as much to legitimize the relationship and give her the self-worth that Denise's modeling career had given her.

In the back of Nicole's mind, whether she verbalized it or even actually thought about it, she knew that marriage – and especially kids – would make her legal and, if a divorce ever occurred, she would have money and imprimatur. It is not logical to conceive that such thoughts never crossed her mind. O.J. hit her and beat her. Surely she knew she was entering a perilous relationship, but to leave in a divorce would be far more lucrative than to just leave, a 24-year old girl with no education or job.

Of course, the prince O.J. Simpson insisted on a pre-nuptial agreement. It took seven to nine months to negotiate, and O.J. insisted it was to protect the financial interests of Arnelle and Jason. The fact that it took that long to "negotiate" indicates that Nicole was not naïve, that she saw this as a semi-business relationship. Almost all of O.J.'s assets were protected, but in the event of a divorce Nicole was given the San Francisco condominium. It already was valued at a substantial $450,000, and had been acquired after O.J. split from Marguerite, so in a sense it had come into the couple's possession while they were together.

In 1984, Denise married a fashion photographer. Nicole decorated the home the wedding was held in. This could possibly be a future career. At the wedding she asked Denise if she was "doing the right thing?" Nicole added hopefully that O.J. had joined a prayer group.

During a trip to Hawaii with Eve Chen and her husband, they socialized with the former USC legend and New York Giants Hall of Famer Frank Gifford, one of O.J.'s broadcast partners with Monday Night Football. Eve, who was particularly in tune with her friend, noticed that Nicole seemed wistful in speaking of what a "nice man" Gifford was, as if this made him so different from her future mate. Later Eve expressed the opinion that a dress worn by Nicole was not as "sporty" as what she usually wore. Nicole seemed hurt.

"The Nicole I knew would have said, 'You don't like it? Eh, so what.' She had lost some of her natural confidence. I could feel tension in her now."

The evening was "so completely overwhelmed by O.J. talking, it was lucky we got to order food. He was so dominating. He was so pushy. He just talked and talked," all the time "controlling" Nicole. Eve, who had great discernment, sensed that Nicole was almost "becoming" O.J., that her natural toughness was ceding to his great will.

Trips like this, to the annual Pro Bowl held every year in Honolulu, were made to order when it came to suiting O.J.'s agenda. He was the legend, a year removed from entry into the Hall of Fame, in his element, "the Man" among men, football's best and brightest.

The tension Eve Chen sensed in Nicole during the Hawaii trip also manifested itself in a strange incident, in which she accused a housekeeper of stealing one of her earrings. She forced Ron Shipp to do an off-duty investigation, which could have jeopardized his career. When he asked her to stay in the background while he got to the bottom of the matter, she became forceful and loud. This was a picture of the way she could badger O.J., pushing things to the edge. She was no wallflower. She was just combustible enough to make a pent-up relationship explode . . . some day.

There was still the coke, too. This certainly did not help. One night Denise joined O.J. and Nicole for a night of dancing. Back at Rockingham, the girls did some lines. Then O.J. started be-littling Nicole about her looks and her fingernails.

"You take Nicole for granted, O.J.," Denise told him, adding that she "deserves better," and "she's the best person you'll ever have."

Then O.J. went off. As he always did when angry, he pulled the Brown family photos – meticulously re-framed and re-hung over and over again by Nicole – off the wall, smashing the glass. He pulled clothes out of Nicole's closet and flung them downstairs, then stepped all over them, all the while screaming insanely, while both girls pleaded, "Stop it, O.J.! Stop it! Please!"

He picked Nicole up bodily as if she was a rag doll and tossed her outside the front door, then did the same with Denise. He slammed the door, leaving them crying in the dark. Denise insisted she not go back to him. It made O.J.'s values and views obvious: he paid for Nicole's clothes and "good life," therefore he owned her. Normal human respect meant nothing to him, at least not when it came to women. Any Christian teachings he may have learned about "doing unto others as you would have them do unto you" were out the window.

Outside of an occasional tussle with Al Cowlings, who was so loyal and so embedded in his life he could get away with it, there do not appear to be any men in his life who ever questioned his supremacy. He was a "king."

The next day, Nicole returned to "get my stuff out of the house, that's all."

"He schmoozed her back in," Denise recalled.

O.J.'s control and manipulation spread, his tentacles making it harder and harder for Nicole to resist his will. He arranged for Lou Brown to take over the lucrative Hertz rental car agency in the swanky Ritz Carlton Hotel in posh Laguna Niguel. It was as if he were buying the Brown's compliance.

On May 19, 1984 Nicole celebrated her 25th birthday at the Ritz. In attendance was David LeBon, who always thought of himself as Nicole's "big brother." He had felt from the beginning that he should have intervened when after her first date with O.J., Nicole returned to the apartment they both rented with jeans that looked like they had been torn apart by a mad man. Nicole assured him the sex was consensual, but David never felt right about it.

Now a successful photographer who worked with many models, he discovered that one of them was having an affair with O.J. She told David they "do it all night, then he goes home to Nicole, then he comes back the next day" and they "do it some more."

In the bathroom of the Ritz Carlton, LeBon confronted O.J. "So what?" he replied. "Look, you don't know what it's like to be O.J. Simpson. I have women all over me. They put their phone numbers in my pocket. What am I supposed to do? Say no?"

"Yeah, you're supposed to say no!" LeBon replied.

It was classic O.J., the narcissist referring to himself by the third person.

LeBon held his peace, however. Meanwhile all the guests were directed to the front of the hotel, where a white Ferrari with a big red bow was parked. It was the same ploy he used to get her back when she retuned home to Laguna after a fight in San Francisco.

"Except now his panache and generosity were being revealed not merely to the Brown family but to all of Nicole's friends," wrote Sheila Weller.

"Now he would have them all in his pocket."

Nicole did not want a big wedding, a major reversal from the hopes and dreams of most young women. To be married to a rich, famous, handsome Hall of Fame football hero would seem a dream come true, to be shared with the world, something to be proud of, bragged about, a point of honor that any girl would want all her friends to know about, even envy her for.

Nicole?

"She didn't want them pitying or whispering about her," Linda Schulman said.

The tragedy of the entire unfolding relationship can be summed up in those words. In a decade the entire world would pity her. Somehow she saw it, like Julius Caesar's wife seeing a vision of his murder, but Nicole could not accurately warn herself of these personal Ides of March.

How truly serious O.J. was can only be speculated with great dubiousness, but he entered a Bible study program with Bob Kardashian's brother Tom, and Marcus Allen, presided over by former UCLA football star Donn Moomaw, the Reverend at Bel Air Presbyterian Church. O.J. agreed to be baptized at the wedding, and promised not to cheat anymore, which was obviously a lie if David LeBon's account of the bathroom confrontation at the Ritz Carlton is accurate.

Kris Kardashian saw positive developments, however. She knew all of the men in O.J.'s inner circle were wayward; too much money, too much opportunity. But she saw progress in Tom Kardashian spiritual side as he progressed through Bible study, as with O.J. and Marcus. Allen's fame was approaching O.J.'s. The handsome, charismatic "Young Juice" was the toast of Los Angeles, a Trojan god and a Raider superstar. He had to fight women off with a stick himself. Only God can truly ground people when they are touched by such heights of fame and worldly fortune.

But the beat went on. During Thanksgiving of 1984 in Laguna, the Browns and O.J. went to dinner. O.J. and Nicole were arguing so vehemently that the entire Brown family crammed into one car, rather than be in the car with O.J. screaming. They followed behind when O.J. ground the car to a halt and pushed Nicole out, then drove off. Nicole silently got in the crammed car, which drove off. The next day "it was as if nothing happened," recalled Lou's daughter from his first marriage.

Around this same period, Ron and Nina Shipp came by to congratulate Nicole on their upcoming wedding. Instead, O.J. told them Nicole "got pissed" and returned to Laguna. Ron, a former USC football player himself, as well as a cop who could sniff out trouble, sensed O.J. had hit her. Nicole later said O.J. had shoved her against a table.

Nicole maintained a veil of secrecy, trying to hide her troubled life from friends and family, as the wedding date approached. She had her hair cut in a stylish, short style, and wore traditional white for the ceremony on February 2, 1985. O.J. was baptized before the wedding. Denise was the maid of honor. Jason and Al Cowlings were O.J.'s best men. Lou walked his daughter down the aisle to the strains of "Lohengrin." Asked how he felt, Brown made clear he knew all was not a bed of roses. He said he was happy when his children were happy, and "commiserate with them when they're unhappy," but added that "it was their own doing that got them into unhappiness." If this was what was going through Lou Brown's mind on February 2, 1985, then he must have been in agony, knowing full well his daughter was getting into trouble.

His Texas background and personal experiences had not made him the world's greatest friend of the black man. He tried to accept O.J. as a son, but he knew he was no gentleman, that chivalry was not part of his code. He knew he was violent, but not how violent. Later Nicole would express in frustration more than racism that she should never have married "a n----r," and that she "knew this would happen." Lou had to be fighting against a sea of emotions, not the least of which was racial animus. But any racial animus he may have had was not based on ignorance or prejudice, which is to "pre-judge" something without knowing about it. This was the opposite. This was formulated from experience, tempered by common sense and analysis; the opposite of ignorance. He just hoped he did not know what he was afraid he knew. Judi insisted Lou was "proud," but after the 1994 tragedy Lou simply could not "separate my feelings then about marrying him from what I feel about him now."

As if she could "educate" O.J. into good behavior, Judi's toast at the wedding centered on the issue of "respect." Cowlings and a prominent USC alum named Wayne Hughes spoke. That evening, Nicole confided to David LeBon's wife, D'Anne, that she was pregnant. Many of their friends were having children during this period.

But even the wedding had its share of tension. One of the guests was Lynn Swann, like O.J. and Marcus Allen a USC legend, an All-American who went on to a Hall of Fame career with four Pittsburgh Steelers Super Bowl champions. Swann was also extremely handsome; an elegant, articulate black man who attended a fancy private high school, and was decidedly not a product of the ghetto. He asked Nicole to dance at the wedding.

"When Nicole danced with Swannie, O.J. stood looking in the window at them: staring," one friend recalled.

Others recalled that Nicole's casual attraction to actor Tom Cruise, who neither apparently never actually met, also produced irrational jealousy from O.J.

In a truly ironic bit of foreshadowing, Nicole's baby shower was held at the home of their friends Robin and Mark Slotkin, at a large, modern residence on North Elm Drive. Four years later, Jose and Kitty Menendez would own the house. In that very home, their two adult sons, dressed as "ninjas," burst in and slaughtered their parents.

Stories of O.J.'s infidelities continued to spread. D'Anne LeBon heard one of them and was quite angry, this coming on top of what O.J. told her husband in the Ritz Carlton bathroom. She spared Nicole the rumor, knowing she heard plenty of others.

As Nicole began to show, O.J. called her "fat," and she was miserable. O.J. came from a world of "locker room jive" in which coaches and teammates would chide each other with put-downs, often to spur an athlete into a greater performance. It was one thing for Marv Goux to say these things to O.J. Simpson or Adrian Young; quite another for O.J. to use this tactic, if that is what it was, to "spur" his pregnant wife into getting in better shape.

O.J. seemed to use Nicole's appearance as an excuse to cheat more. His Bible lessons with Reverend Moomaw were more like seeds scattered by the wayside. One day a pregnant Nicole sat terrified in her car while O.J. bashed in the front windshield with a baseball bat. The police were called. One of the patrolmen was Mark Fuhrman. O.J. defiantly told them, "This is my car! I can do anything I want with it!" They left without doing anything, a pattern that would last for years.

It was also further evidence of O.J.'s psychology, probably honed from his youth as a poor black child in the projects. He had indeed earned all he had, although in truth, after football much was given him without his really working terribly hard. But his feeling of "ownership" extended, it would appear, well beyond cars, homes, clothes, furniture. It extended to people. It certainly extended to the women in his life, and it undoubtedly extended to Nicole. He also may have felt like he "owned" the town of L.A. This term, to "own," is a common sports expression. A team that dominates another ("USC owned the Bruins") or a baseball hitter who bats well against a pitcher ("Koufax owned Mays") are examples. O.J., just like Marcus Allen in the 1980s, "owned" Los Angeles. The L.A.P.D. may well have been, in his view, an extension of a city he practically shaped in the manner of the Chandler family and their L.A. Times.

As for Fuhrman, conspiracy theorists could look at this instance and speculate that here was a racist cop, frustrated by life and his position, seeing this spoiled, arrogant, violent Negro abusing his blond trophy wife. A plot to get back at this uppity black may have been hatched in his mind then and there.

But Nicole was pregnant by now, her independence gone. She gave birth to Sydney Brook Simpson at St. John's Hospital in Santa Monica on October 17, 1985. O.J. called her their "first little Zebra," a reference to a bi-racial child.

"The baby was just heaven," recalled Judi.

But O.J. went through the first career downturns of his life. He had formed a production company called Oriental Productions, but it was failing. He had not established himself as an actor of substance, able to get beyond roles that simply called for him to be black, look strong, and run fast (Roots). An "African-American soap opera," Heart and Soul, went the way of the pilot described by Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction ("It became nothin' ").

The producers of Monday Night Football were frustrated with his syntax and were receiving complaints from viewers who said they could not understand O.J. He was about to get the axe from that lucrative gig. He moved over to the fledgling ESPN, which in 1985 was a mere shell of what it later became. He began to think of a political career. Tom McCollum said O.J. was not "capable" or willing to pay the dues necessary to forge this kind of success (educating ones' self, policy papers, editorial stances). He tried to "educate" O.J. on the essentials of capitalism when he expressed a desire to become a Hertz executive, but his efforts at understanding the rules of the Securities and Exchange Commission went for naught.

USC was a marvelous university with one of the best business schools in the nation. They had been educating the leading politicians, lawyers and executives in Los Angeles for decades, but an athlete could skate through without benefiting from its high-priced education.

"I'm too lazy," O.J. said sadly. "I am what I am."

When O.J. became a father again, it somewhat strained his relationship with Jason, his son from marriage to Marguerite. Jason was a likable, yet troubled kid. He played football at USC, but was no more than a scrub, a comedown for the son of such a Trojan icon. After Sydney's birth, Jason – like his father – took a baseball bat to a shiny, life-sized statue of O.J. and bashed it to bits while screaming, "I hate my father!" over and over again. When O.J. heard he used cocaine, he was indignant, completely forgetting his own use. Jason also stole the family Ferrari, later was arrested for a DUI, and assaulted an employer. Ron Shipp, who at the time was in charge of a special domestic violence unit of the L.A.P.D., helped calm things down, but he was seeing a dynamic of the Simpson family that was most troubling indeed.

Nicole got back into top shape, taking to the fitness craze sweeping the nation at the time. She and Kris Kardashian worked out very hard. They began to hang out together, and one day the two of them met a beautiful brunette named Faye Resnick.

While O.J. was a nightmare, he also provided for Nicole and was often a hopeless romantic, part of his split personality. He also began playing more golf than before. Many felt that his new obsession with the sport helped the marriage somewhat, since it gave him something to do other than philandering. O.J. began eating healthier, in line with Nicole's post-partum fitness regimen. His friends said O.J. was not a "gentleman" on the golf course. He played for money and specialized in one-upmanship, cheating, taunting opponents with Marv Goux-like gamesmanship. If he won, he demanded payment, but he went through outlandish lengths to avoid paying if he lost. His course was the Riviera Country Club in nearby Pacific Palisades, one of the most famous and gorgeous courses in the world, also a PGA tour destination.

On another occasion, O.J. was stopped by the California Highway Patrol for driving 120 miles an hour on the San Diego Freeway. He tried to charm the patrolman by offering his keys to the Ferrari Testarosa for a spin. Another time O.J. called Tom McCollum, and told him he was jailed in Orange County for driving 140 miles per hour; he needed to be bailed out to the tune of $1,500. McCollum dutifully made the trek to the O.C., only to get a cell call from O.J.: "April Fools, you dumb bitch. We're on the first tee."

Whenever O.J. and Nicole got in public fights, O.J.'s way of smoothing things over would be to reach over, grab her butt, and tell his friends, "My woman's got the greatest booty." But Nicole discovered O.J. was seeing the sex kitten Tawny Kitaen, star of super-sensual rock videos and America's Funniest People. She learned that O.J. bought her an expensive pair of diamond stud earrings.

(A few years later Kitaen married Angels star pitcher Chuck Finley and, after an argument, attacked him.)

AIDS was a huge worry by the mid-1980s, and the Left was doing all they could to proffer the notion that it was as much a heterosexual disease as it was a homosexual one, which it was not. But Nicole began worrying that O.J. might give her the dreaded virus. O.J. was known not to wear condoms with his sex partners. Nicole was so anxious she would talk to anybody who would listen about her plight.

She was also a "fighter," as one friend described her. She was in shape, physically fit, perhaps even spurred on by newfound strength from her training regimen. She began slapping O.J., and apparently even kicked him in the genitals on several occasions.

Once at a fancy Rodeo Drive eatery, O.J. joined Jennifer Young and Victoria Sellars for a meal. Jennifer was the daughter of Gig Young (who once lived in his Rockingham estate), Sellars the daughter of Peter Sellars and Swedish beauty Britt Ecklund. Afterward O.J. walked them towards their car when Nicole, possibly spying on him, pulled up in her black Mercedes and screamed, "You motherf----r, if you're going to f---king cheat on me why don't you pick someone pretty?!"

The girls went into a store to hide. Nicole kept circling the neighborhood, screaming and making a scene until the cops arrived. O.J., in full public view, remained very calm and tried to "reason" with her, saying it was just an innocent lunch.

Years later, Jennifer Young stated, "O.J. could never have committed those murders," noting how "lovely and calm he is." This was vintage O.J.; the Machiavellian par excellence, on stage and using his charm to his advantage.

Somehow, some way, the beat went on, and in 1987 Nicole became pregnant again. In what was by then a typical, decade-old pattern, after a night of drinking with A.C., O.J. told Nicole he wanted her to abort the child and get out of his house. When Nicole tried to reason with him, he told him, "I have a gun in my hand right now." She and Sydney left.

O.J., as usual, patched things up and on August 6, 1988, Justin Ryan Simpson was born. Nicole insisted on two things: a Caesarian, and that O.J. not be in the delivery room. That was also the year the Mezzaluna restaurant opened for business at the corner of San Vicente and Gorham in Brentwood.

In late December of 1988, O.J. brought Nicole, the kids, and some friends on a golf vacation to Hawaii. In his mind it was a "concession," telling buddies that when he was on the course, "At least she knows I'm not screwing around." She was already making note of the fact that O.J. did not particularly appear to enjoy being with his young children, and from Jason's tantrums and complaints, this was not a new parental development.

At a fancy restaurant on the island, Nicole had a sympathetic conversation with two men that Tom McCollum said were both homosexual, with lesions on their hands, and at least one of them had AIDS. Denise disputed that. What did happen was that one of them touched little Justin, and according to her kissed him on the forehead. O.J., whose own gay father had died of AIDS three years earlier, became livid. He got up, declaring, "I don't want any infected faggot touching my kid!" He grabbed Justin and headed out. Then O.J., on his own, personally changed the reservations of all the people on the trip, which included Tom McCollum, his girlfriend, Denise and the Browns.

From there, everybody seemingly got drunk and stayed drunk on the plane and in L.A., which included Nicole and O.J. attending a New Year's eve party, pictures of which made the trades. They returned drunkenly to Rockingham. There are several versions of what happened next. O.J. wanted sex, but Nicole – the AIDS episode in Hawaii fresh in her mind – refused, telling him she was afraid he might be as "infected" as the "faggot" in Hawaii. Then she accused him of buying more jewelry for Tawny Kitaen.

O.J. later told a friend they started having sex, but Nicole refused to perform orally on him. His friend was stunned to discover that her refusal was, according to O.J.'s logic, a legitimate excuse for committing violence against her.

O.J. punched her on the forehead and slapped her several times. But when the cops arrived, O.J. told an Officer Farrell it was a "mutual wrestling-type altercation." The officer, however, could not understand why a "wrestling-type altercation" resulted in her deep bruises. After the 1994 tragedy, O.J. told Detective Philip Vannatter that Nicole hit him. Nicole was a "most conditioned" woman, O.J. added, as if the former All-Pro could have been out-wrestled by a girl. A housekeeper who many felt was a liar backed up some of O.J.'s story, claiming Nicole was "tearing up my house."

The more believable story included Nicole running out of the bedroom in fright, and hiding from him. Drunkenly, O.J. marched into the bedroom of their blond nanny, Ruth, and thinking in the darkness it was Nicole, manhandled her until Ruth screamed she was not Nicole.

In the meanwhile, Nicole dialed 9-1-1. A female Officer Milewski and an Officer Edwards arrived, but the gate was locked. A phone call was answered by the housekeeper, who told them all was well and they could leave.

At about that very time, Nicole came flying out of the house in a bra and sweat pants, with mud down the right leg of her pants. She ran across the driveway to release the gate, as if desperate to let the cop in before they heeded the housekeeper's admonition that there was nothing to see there.

"He's going to kill me," she screamed. "He's going to kill me." The officer asked who "he" was and she replied, "O.J." The officer was unaware he was at O.J. Simpson's home, but immediately deduced this was probably his residence. He asked her and she confirmed it.

The female officer took a report, noting Nicole told her O.J. slapped her with open and closed fists, kicked her, and pulled her hair, all while yelling, "I'll kill you." Nicole told Officer Edwards O.J. had "lots of guns." He could tell she sustained obvious injuries.

"You never do anything about him," she complained to the police. "You talk to him and then leave. I want him arrested, I want him out so I can get my kids." She told the officers the police had been out eight prior times for similar reasons. O.J. came out, closed the gate, and remained within his property behind a brick wall. He stated that he did not want Nicole around, and denied beating her. He made a reference to having "two women."

Recent changes in California law mandated that if the cops saw bruising, as with Nicole, they were mandated to make an arrest of the man accused of causing them, even if the injured woman insisted he not be arrested. When the officer informed O.J. he had to make an arrest, he yelled it was a "family matter." The officer told him to put some clothes on, that his supervisor would be there shortly and he would have to go to the station.

O.J.'s attitude with the police was typical of his controlling behavior. This was one time he had to cede it. The charmer, the smiling and loyal friend that so many men saw, was exposed. Few if any of his male friends ever confronted him as these police officers now confronted him, in large measure because they were now operating under laws that had not been in place during past episodes. His sense of entitlement, his arrogance, was appalling.

While O.J. was dressing, the housekeeper Michelle, most likely at O.J.'s urging, came out and put on an act. She walked to the squad car, pulled on Nicole's arm, and told her, "Nicole, don't do this." It was a carefully stage crafted performance by a woman, meant to discredit Nicole's story, although it did not explain her injuries, or the fact that by this point, because of the domestic violence laws the cops were operating under, if Nicole had stood and declared it all a hoax, the police still would have been legally obligated to arrest O.J. But, it was in the record now, a mitigating factor likely orchestrated by a Machiavellian man who wanted to weaken the case, so that if it got to the district attorney he would be more likely not to press charges.

O.J. appeared, dressed, and complained that of all the other officers who had been out – a damning fact in and of itself – Officer Edwards was the only one to make a "big deal" out it it.

The new law was explained to him. Then an event foreshadowing the eerie "slow speed chase" of 1994 occurred. O.J. got in his Bentley and drove away using a side gate. He was undoubtedly still intoxicated, an act of stupidity that could have landed him in even worse trouble. Several units fanned out in search of the Bentley. Nicole wanted to go in the house to take care of her children, and refused medical treatment. She was probably trying to protect her husband's image, which was still worth money to her as a wife or ex-wife.

She returned to Rockingham. The cops left. The bizarre night was not over. O.J. returned 15 minutes later. Nicole called the cops and let them know. Oddly, Edwards waited outside for 45 minutes, expecting O.J. to come out and be arrested. The station called the house, but Nicole said he had departed again. He likely went to the home of Allen and Pam Schwartz, where he slept it off, able to evade a DUI charge, the alcohol eventually passing out of his system. He also contacted his friend Joe Kolkowitz, who was one of his greatest defenders even after the 1994 tragedy. O.J. expressed great remorse.

Nicole called Cowlings. He drove Nicole to St. John's to treat her wounds. O.J. showed up there. Cowlings confronted him.

"You sick motherf—ker, if you ever lay a hand on her again I'll kill you," he told his oldest friend.

Despite all of this drama and criminality, incredibly, O.J. Simpson went to watch USC lose to Michigan in the Rose Bowl that afternoon. A rare Trojans loss in the "granddaddy of 'em all," which they traditionally dominated, was typical of the dark cloud O.J. seemed to bring with him to the Arroyo Seco. He wore a disguise. At the game, O.J. was able to make contact with his fellow Trojan Ron Shipp, who was there with Raiders executive Mike Ornstein. He arranged to have Shipp meet him later. He needed a strategy to deal with his situation. He had fled arrest and was technically a fugitive from the law.

""26 years ago to this day, O.J. had listened to this event on radio and his determination to have a brilliant career had sprung from that moment," wrote Sheila Weller in Raging Heart. "The white Trojan horse and the bugles had inspired him. Today, he was a wife-beater hiding from the police in the stands of the very stadium in which he had shone, in which the whole football-watching world had roared its praises."

If O.J. Simpson had been a literate man, he might well have contemplated Hamlet during those hours. "To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'Tis Nobler in the mind to suffer the Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune, or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles, And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep."

Instead, he just watched the Trojans, who had been in position to win the national title before losing the last regular season game to Notre Dame, implode and blow a halftime lead.

(The next season, Trojans freshman Todd Marinovich, a young hotshot whose own personal demons would be every bit as much a Shakespearean tragedy as O.J.'s, guided Troy past the Wolverines, 17-10.)

Shipp, confronted by the allegations, was shaken by the notion that the rumors of his hero were actually true. The entire L.A.P.D. knew all about O.J. Simpson by now, even if the world did not. In an odd twist of fate, the fact that all these law enforcement professionals knew he was a criminal was somehow fodder for the rumor that would in a little over six years be used to set him free after his worst crime!

Shipp found O.J. hiding out at Ornstein's that evening. He told him it was an "isolated incident," but Shipp either knew or surely suspected it was not. He told him Nicole would not let him come back to Rockingham. Meanwhile, Nicole had Denise come by to take photos of her injuries, which she put in a safety deposit box. She already suspected the contents of this box would be her forlorn voice calling out from the grave.

Shipp found the health nut Nicole smoking a cigarette. When Shipp used O.J.'s term "isolated incident," Nicole exploded. She then found an envelope filled with photos of injuries O.J. caused her, threatening to take them to the National Enquirer. Nicole revealed a very interesting, little-discussed theory of O.J.'s woman-beating behavior, saying she felt it was because his father was gay. She revealed O.J. had pulled a gun on her once. "Ron, I'm so scared," she told him. "One day O.J.'s going to kill me."

Shipp did not dispute O.J.'s violent nature, but like so many others said the man had too much to lose to ever commit such a drastic act. But his work in the domestic violence unit of the police department taught him that this sort of logic goes out the window, that O.J. and Nicole were a unique, combustible combination of people who drove each other to distraction in extreme ways; to love and to hate.

Nicole wanted to be educated on domestic violence, lest she become an object lesson. Shipp promised he would bring his materials over and try to counsel both she and O.J. He cautioned that her husband needed counseling and should not be allowed back in the house until he got some.

Before leaving, Nicole asked Shipp "the way of dying you're most afraid of?" He said drowning. She told Shipp, "Mine's stabbing. To be killed with a knife – to me, that would be the most awful." Many fans of Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho would agree.

Strangely, Shipp was an enabler of a sort. O.J. had fled the scene of a crime and made himself a fugitive. He probably drove drunk. By law he was supposed to have been booked. But the department allowed Shipp to "handle" the delicate situation. Nicole did not want to embarrass her kids, and probably – despite the National Enquirer threat – her husband. She chose not to sign the complaint, informing the investigating officer she did not want to see O.J. prosecuted, but did want the case sent to the city attorney. This seems to be her way of leaving a clue for the future.

O.J. knew that Nicole did not ultimately decide whether to prosecute. In order to soften that chance, he called Officer Farrell and expressed remorse over the fact the police had to be called; that he knew what he did was wrong; and promised to enter counseling. Then he put on a full court press of apology to his wife.

Shipp suggested that the answer to their troubles was the Lord Jesus Christ. O.J. was no atheist, but despite growing up in the black community, which had always found its greatest rock in the Lord, it had never taken. He was too full of pride and vainglory. Nicole was enthusiastic, but Shipp could tell O.J.'s enthusiasm was lip service. Shipp became concerned especially over the fact that "service agencies" did not ultimately back Nicole. She felt abandoned and alone, as if no one was in her corner.

A check list of "batterer" resulted in Nicole saying, "That's him!" over and over. There are those who felt O.J. actually did not believe he killed Nicole, that within him was a unique mechanism – think of Norman Bates in Psycho – of denial that allowed him to go into a separate reality of his own making. The possibility of this manifests itself in the answers he gave to the questions in Shipp's domestic violence manual. For each action, all absolutely and quintessentially describing precisely what O.J. did over and over, he still answered, "That's not me!" The only one he owned, just a little, was jealousy.

Privately, O.J. worried about his Hertz endorsements, and managed to blame Nicole for putting him in this predicament. Women's groups and the Los Angeles Times had the story and wanted her to go public. He began to use Shipp as his PR man and conduit between himself and Nicole. O.J.'s state of denial manifested again when he told his friend he never would hurt his wife. He had to remind O.J. he already had, but it just did not take. He insisted Marguerite had battered him. Shipp suggested O.J. be pro-active and go public, asking the public's forgiveness before they found out about it, and seeking help. It was an era of public confessions. O.J. liked the idea, but undoubtedly his business advisors, fearing rescinded Hertz, broadcasting and movie deals, told him not to. Very possibly – Shipp was haunted by this possibility forever after June 1994 – this failure to accept good advice cost Nicole Simpson her life.

O.J. stayed in the guesthouse, probably fuming that the home he owned was unavailable; no doubt building up a reservoir of resentment that, unleashed in just the right way, would be more volatile than ever. Pressured by women's groups, the government had to charge him with something, but it amounted to a slap on the wrist in the form of a few hundred bucks' fine and some community service, which amounted to O.J. hanging out with some kids with cancer, all of whom worshipped him like a god. His attorney, Howard Weitzman, even blocked an attempt to get O.J. some extra counseling. Nicole sought some private counseling, but later expressed in dismay that even there O.J. was "worshipped." This was the classic isolation of battered woman's syndrome that Shipp's manual outlined. To Shipp, one of the few people who really saw it coming, this was a tragic, slow speed train wreck, a nightmare, a dream sequence he could not stop from happening. Nicole was something straight out of Greek tragedy.

At some point, O.J. realized he had won. He got away with it. He still had his endorsements, his broadcasting, his reputation. After the 1994 tragedy, very few people knew of these incidents, which received scant press attention. Now, re-grouped, stronger than ever, he could concentrate his efforts on controlling Nicole. This came in the form of smothering love and revenge for having put him through this "ordeal." By May he was back in her bed.

AIDS was still an issue with Nicole, especially when she learned of another affair, this time with a black celebrity. O.J. lied and said he passed a test. But now O.J. began to worry that his wife, who had just about had it with him by then – who was still gorgeous and was no longer a little girl – might cheat on him. He had always been jealous and accusatory, but never really thought it would happen. There is nothing in the record saying it had. He and Tom McCollum discussed the possibility.

"I just couldn't take it," he cried.

"Look, Juice," he told O.J. "You two don't belong together." He warned O.J. that if he and Nicole broke up, seemingly inevitable at this point, she would undoubtedly be with another man. It would be impossible to expect her to lead a celibate life, especially since she had been with O.J. since she was still a kid and remained faithful in all the years since. Intellectually, O.J. seemed to acknowledge this, but emotionally he could not. He would call all his friends, like a patient looking for the medical opinion he desperately wanted to hear.

On her 30th birthday, O.J. was back. Kris Kardashian said "he'd have to make good to get back in, and then he'd be so relieved." O.J. brought Nicole, the Kardashians and his friend Alan Austin, along with his girlfriend Donna Estes, to Acapulco. Shortly after, however, Kris had an affair and appeared ready to break up with Robert Kardashian. O.J. spoke to Kris like a "Dutch uncle," trying to keep the marriage together. He also was incredibly generous with all his friends. It was his style, not necessarily a bulwark of goodwill against any bad things he did, or might in the future do, but it had that effect. O.J. continued to be loyal to all his friends, not just the successful ones. People who fell on hard times or ran afoul of the law still engendered his friendship.

While O.J. had a few black friends, like Ron Shipp, he had little involvement in the so-called "black community." Most of his black friends were ex-teammates from USC or the NFL, generally successful, middle class people. His close circle was mostly white, successful entrepreneurs living in L.A.'s affluent westside. He gave to charity and lent his name to causes, but was not spending any considerable time, if any, in his old neighborhood of Potrero Hill, or the ghettos of Los Angeles: Watts, south-central, the Crenshaw district. Nobody could remember his daughter playing with any black dolls.

When people spoke of O.J. Simpson, the phrase "whiter than most white people" often was used. He still used some "black syntax" in his speech; still used some street lingo; but his lifestyle of golf, jet set travel, parties, and corporate success was very "white."

But problems persisted in the marriage. Justin sustained a backyard injury in the same place where O.J.'s daughter Aaren had died when she was a similar age. Nicole was running errands, and O.J. screamed at her, even though Justin turned out to be fine. But life went on. Sydney was enrolled in an elite school. The Simpsons decided to give their kids a Catholic education. Marcus Allen, by then a sure Hall of Famer, lived nearby.

In the fall of 1989, the Simpsons lived in a swank Fifth Avenue condominium in Manhattan, because it was the base of O.J.'s football broadcasting work. During this time, Nicole and Kris commiserated with each other. Neither was happy with their marriage. Nicole told Kris that while she often would call O.J.'s hotel room at two in the morning, and not find him until the next day, "He has to know where I am, every minute of the day." But Nicole hated the idea of divorce as long as their children were still young. She seemed resigned to a kind of "bunker mentality," waiting out the years with a man she both loved and despised. Nicole did not discuss the physical beatings with Kris; the focus of her complaint was her husband's infidelity, but Kris began to sense that after all these years, she no longer even cared about it anymore. It was something to be endured. Then Kris just plain told Nicole she should leave O.J. Simpson.

One day in 1990, Sydney asked her mother, "Mommy, am I black?" She was told she was "white and black." Some friends speculated that Nicole wanted to steer her children to a white identity. Told her daughter would someday be a "black woman," Nicole resisted the notion. O.J. thought himself and his family to be "above color"; he was a product of a time and place – L.A. in the 1960s, 1970s, 1980s, and now early 1990s – that patted itself on the back and said, "We got it right." The rest of the nation might be divided by race, but not Los Angeles, California. O.J.'s USC pedigree played a large role in this; he was the biggest hero of one of the most conservative universities in the world (although, because it drew so many students from foreign countries, USC also had one of the largest percentages of non-white students). O.J., L.A., USC; these were symbols of a new way of thinking, and so was his family. Nicole told herself their wealth and privilege insulated them from racial identity. Also in 1990, Nicole was with Faye Resnick, speaking to Kris by phone.

"I wish I could just walk away," she told her. "But I could never leave. O.J. would kill me." Shortly thereafter, Kris fell in love with the 1976 Olympic decathlon champion Bruce Jenner. Nicole watched with envy.

In 1991, however, Nicole seemed resolved to make a move. She had a crush on her hairdresser, a major source of romance for many women on the westside. Whether she had an affair with him or just a flirtation is not known. Nicole was conflicted. She wanted to be more spiritual, but of course divorce is an abomination in Christianity. One day she told Ron Shipp she was "leaving him!" only to put her hand over her mouth. It had just slipped out.

If Nicole was sleeping with her hairdresser, O.J. did not believe it. He told friends she was going through a "phase," but if she "crosses the line," he would not take her back. "Cross the line" meant sexual intercourse, but did "not take her back" mean killing her? Nicole began seeking out her single friends more than her married ones. "I'm breaking up with O.J.," she told them. Within their tight circle of friends, the divorced men stayed in the group. The divorced women were ostracized. Nicole knew that this was a major part of her life; her income, her social standing, her happiness. But she wanted to lead "a normal life with normal men." O.J. continued to lavish the Browns with gifts, lobbying them to be on his side, mostly with success.

Finally, her friend Robin Greer, who was in real estate, helped her find a rental south of sunset Boulevard. She was still only a few minutes from Rockingham, but it was a major dividing line in Brentwood society.

What God hath joined together, let not man put asunder

When Nicole moved to her new place on North Gretna Green Way, O.J. insisted that she not break up the sets of wedding china because "we'll be back together," which he "guaranteed." He added that they would be "re-married" on February 2, 1994, their wedding anniversary, in Aspen.

Nicole hired a nanny for her kids. When she was away, O.J. would call the residence and speak with her. He was trying to lobby her to his point of view, as he did with everybody else. He was always working, plotting, strategizing. When Nicole would answer – O.J. would call as many as 20 times a night – she would yell at him, demanding that he leave her alone.

O.J. would call Judi, pleading his case. "I sensed his obsession, but I never took it as danger," she recalled. "I thought it was love."

O.J., who had not taken to Reverend Moomaw's Bible teachings, used religion to try and get his family back together. They mutually agreed to bring the children to church, sometimes at Reverend Moomaw's Bel Air Presbyterian, other times at St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church. Some times Nicole would spend the night with O.J., presumably to have sex. But she was finally seeing other men. She began to go to parties, often with Robin Greer and Faye Resnick. Faye was an exquisite beauty and in great demand among the eligible bachelors of the westside. She introduced Nicole to this new world, which was like letting her out of a cage she had been locked in since the age of 18. Faye was officially married herself, but that did not stop her from having a grand old time.

Nicole's first "official" boyfriend was a young guy of around 18 or 19 who seemed to have more in common with her kids than with her. Nicole would get massages and tell the masseuse to help relieve the pain from places on her body where O.J. "beat me a lot." She confided to one person "I got out in time."

Kris and her other friends still sensed some kind of looming danger just beneath the surface. Then Nicole started seeing a sophisticated Neiman-Marcus buyer who was very handsome. At first O.J. expressed the desire, "I hope that she's happy." His friends said he was resigned to the situation at first. But then O.J. began "showing up" wherever Nicole was. In a town as busy and fast-paced as Los Angeles, even in a tight-knit community like Brentwood, people rarely just "run into" each other unless they hang out at the same bar, restaurant, or gym. But O.J. would see them at the park, on the street, always eliciting a big, "There's Daddy" from his kids, which he played up for all he was worth. Unquestionably, he was stalking Nicole. Nicole heard noises in the bushes outside her place. She told Ron Shipp she "saw a face" in the shadows, probably O.J. or, she surmised, Jason. She bought big locks and obtained a can of Mace. She worried that O.J. might have a private detective following her, or even bugging her phone.

She told Marcus Allen, who she had a "crush" on, to "Stop by sometime."

"This is a difficult situation for me; I don't know what side to take," he told her.

"Don't worry about it, Marcus," she replied. "I understand."

But afterward she told herself, "I don't need Marcus Allen."

Nicole took to seeing a therapist in 1992 after reading Dr. Susan Forward's book Men Who Hate Women and the Women Who Love Them, and later Obsessive Love by the same author.

"This is the story of my life," she called it.

Dr. Froward felt she was "terrified" and "exhausted." Nicole described the beatings, the poundings, the kickings, the punchings and the stalkings. The doctor's advice was to cut off all contact with such a man, much easier said than done; the shared parental responsibilities meant such a thing was almost impossible. With a man as wealthy and influential as O.J. this was as likely as suggesting she become the Attorney General. Nicole told Dr. Forward her plan was to "placate" O.J., but the doctor realized such an act was no more likely to result in the desired result than Neville Chamberlain's attempt to appease Adolf Hitler, or the recommendations of arms control inspectors to basically do the same with Saddam Hussein.

"The police won't help me," Nicole told the doctor. She felt very alone.

Nicole felt great guilt when she looked into her children's eyes and saw their pain. Sydney began acting out. O.J. got many of their mutual friends to urge reconciliation. O.J. had "charmed her family," wrote Sheila Weller.

Dr. Forward was very alarmed at O.J.'s charming side, which she understood well. It made Nicole's situation twice as bad. It would have been easier if he was just a monster, instead of Prince Charming four days of the week, a pig three days of the week. Just as dangerous was Nicole's feisty side, her rebelliousness.

Over time, his charm offensive failing, O.J.'s pig side came out more and more in the form of threats to take the kids, cut off her money supply . . . or worse. O.J.'s tantrums and screaming sessions returned. He could not be "placated," the doctor warned Nicole. Dr. Forward was frustrated, telling her patient she could not help her if she did not heed her advice, no matter how difficult it was. Nicole seemed to have a slight case of "Stockholm Syndrome," in which a prisoner is happy only when her jailer is nice to her, and therefore the prisoner bonds with the jailer hoping for that kind of treatment. In a sense, Nicole sought a form of detente, which President Reagan once said was the relationship a turkey has "with his farmer until Thanksgiving Day." The truth – as so many things the Gipper said – hit agonizingly close to home.

Otherwise, Dr. Forward told her, "I don't know how I can help you," adding "I really fear for your life." Nicole, crying, agreed, but she was trapped. In retrospect, the only way she might have really escaped would have been to let O.J. have her children, cut herself off from them, and either disappear with a new identity or leave the country.

But Nicole was determined to divorce the man. She believed this would give her, and her children, certain court-ordered rights and protections.

"What is she trying to prove?" O.J. told confidantes.

Nicole began dressing very provocatively, an act that may have been meant to antagonize O.J. as much as it was to make her feel free and available. She was a smoking hot blond at the height of her sexuality. Being O.J.'s ex, from the standpoint of prospective beaus in line to get some of his money – in theory – this made her one of the most eligible chicks in Brentwood. She was the original "desperate housewife." If the Desperate Housewives franchise had been a cable hit in those days, it is not inconceivable that she, Faye Resnick, Kris Kardashian (is there a doubt?), and even O.J. himself (after Naked Gun he needed the work), might have participated, with all their schemings and splendors. Incredibly, such a public airing of all their dirty laundry might have saved her life, or it might have made for a murder practically carried out on reality television.

But this brazen side of Nicole's behavior, wearing short skirts, her large, tanned breasts practically exploding out of halter top and bikinis, with strappy, high heels; this was pushing her crazed soon-to-be-ex-husband over the edge. This was what scared Dr. Forward the most.

Nicole began spending the night in the beds of men, leaving the nanny to take care of the children. O.J. would call and find out, only to fume. Part of O.J.'s need for controlled stemmed from his childhood, in which his mother often had to work nights while he fended for himself, waiting out the long hours of darkness. Now he imagined his kids doing the same while their mother was not working a job as Eunice Simpson once had, but instead was involved in what O.J.'s imagination had to be near-pornographic acts.

It was a reversal of fortune. On top of that, while Nicole was in her prime O.J. Simpson was slowly but surely getting old. That did not stop him from dating a Victoria's Secret model, but in an odd twist, Nicole's easy acceptance of it may have bothered O.J. even more. His wife cared so little about him that it did not matter if he was sleeping with other women. Nicole's jealousy had always been some strange source of romantic strength for O.J., but no more. It made him feel abandoned and more jealous of her than ever.

Nicole began dating Keith Zlomsowitch, the manager of Mezzaluna. One night at the restaurant, O.J. approached their table, where they dined with friends, and intimidated him. Nicole took him outside, where O.J. made a scene, waving his hands. To the young men of Brentwood, this was a warning, that to sleep with Nicole Simpson was to incur O.J.'s wrath. But he was still O.J. Simpson, American hero. Nobody outside of Nicole's inner circle really felt this guy would risk it all in a true act of violence. Besides, to those in the know at least, O.J. battered women, not men. He was a coward, the powerhouse tailback who exploded into the mayhem of a defensive front, yet nobody knew of any fight he ever had with men. Men were "honorable," to be lent a hand and told "nice play" before heading back to the huddle. Women were the fantasy sluts made available to them for post-game pleasures. Thus was O.J.'s world. It was the world of men like Marcus Allen, too, but for whatever reason he like most other men were either raised better, or innately sensed when to draw the line, that to be a real man was to be a gentle man. As Nicole had surmised, perhaps O.J. acted out to prove he was not his gay father. His wiring; something was out of whack.

At a West Hollywood restaurant called Tryst – which O.J. probably stalked Nicole to – he sat down at an adjoining table and just stared Nicole's party down as if he were a linebacker trying to get in the head of an opposing quarterback. A week later he followed Keith and Nicole to the Comedy Store, watched them, then followed them to Roxbury. When they discovered his presence they made a hasty retreat back to Nicole's, where they were intimate. Keith returned to his home without spending the night, but came back the next day. He was giving Nicole a neck massage when O.J. burst into the residence, berating them about "what you guys are doing."

He also claimed to have "watched you last night." O.J. spoke to Nicole privately, then extended a handshake to Keith, telling him he was a "proud man." This actually is not as unusual as it sounds. It is in line with O.J.'s nature, which was to respect men, not women. After he left, Keith saw the curtains had been opened. Later, Keith was at the Laguna home when the sisters and the children went out to the beach. When the phone rang and nobody picked it up, he did. It was O.J., livid. It was too much for Keith. He split up with Nicole. It was a "victory" for O.J., who may have felt he had derived a winning strategy: intimidate Nicole's boyfriends until they hit the highway.

The divorce was cause for further headache. O.J. insisted on the letter of the pre-nuptial agreement, leaving Nicole nothing more than the San Francisco property. She would have to sell it to make money, but where would she live? She would also have to pay taxes on the capital gains. The great O.J. also made it clear he only wanted his son Justin, not his daughter Sydney. Again, this was his personality. Men (boys) were of value, women (girls) were not. Worse, Sydney knew her father felt this way about her.

After Magic Johnson revealed that he had HIV, Nicole was incredibly relieved that she was not with O.J. any more. Denise told her he had heard O.J. say he would kill Nicole if she as with another man.

By 1993, O.J. was seeing the exotic model Paula Barbieri. He was 45. Hi friends felt that O.J. was sinking into a morass. His movie career seemed to have hit the skids. His relationship with a beautiful young woman now seemed slightly desperate. He was not the stud of past days. After Keith Nicole began dating a young UCLA graduate named Brett Shaves, a paralegal with Jaffe and Clements, the firm handling her divorce. He fell hard for Nicole. The relationship lasted six months. But the pattern was the same. Brett and Nicole enter Nicky Blair's or Mezzaluna: there is O.J. Brett would drive Nicole's Ferrari: O.J. was tailing them.

Today, this form of stalking is illegal in California. An actress named Rebecca Shaeffer had been stalked and killed a few years before, as had Theresa Saldana (Raging Bull), but the legislature had not yet enacted the changes it eventually would. Not that any law was likely to stop O.J. Simpson. While many have wondered how a man in such a position of celebrity and high profile would risk it all, these incidents answer that question. He had a controlling side that was above not only the law, but reason and common sense. O.J., a man easily recognized, stopped, asked for autographs and pictures, could not reasonably expect to tail his ex-wife without anybody paying just a little attention recognizing what was going on. He did it anyway. Again, in his mind his "strategy" was working. He managed to drive Shaves away as he had driven Zlomsowitch into the sunset.

Just before Brett broke up with Nicole, he said O.J.'s constant intrusions were "spooky," and said, "I'm scared for those kids. I have a feeling something bad is gonna happen."

In court papers, O.J. declared that his broadcast earnings were $100,000 less than before, and he had lost two fast-food joints in the 1992 LA. riots, ironically caused by rampaging blacks setting fire to black-owned businesses. Nicole ended up with $10,000 a month and a lump sum settlement of $433,750, which was certainly better than getting only a San Francisco condo she did not wish to live in. She planned to sell the property and buy a place in Brentwood. Finally the divorce was finalized on October 15, 1992.

She also met a fun-loving, handsome party boy named Kato Kaelin, a fringe "actor" like so many in L.A. She enjoyed going to bars with him, and let him stay in her guesthouse. By now, according to her friends, Nicole was dating Marcus Allen. Marcus has always denied it. This had to be particularly ironic for the Juice; seeing "Young Juice," his protégé, with his now ex-wife, although there is no evidence he knew of it, if indeed it was happening, but those were the rumors. His resemblance to O.J. in so many ways is telling of Simpson's hold on his wife. She still loved and needed him, and sought a relationship with his "shadow." But Allen's public persona was almost as golden as O.J.'s. If he were to marry, or even take up in an open way with the wife, ex or not, of O.J. Simpson, it would be fodder for the scandal sheets.

Then Nicole told Susie Kehoe she was tired of dating "younger guys," and "I miss O.J." Then Nicole heard O.J. was thinking of selling Rockingham and moving to Florida. That rocked her to the core. Then came perhaps the worst decision of her life.

She decided to return to him. Incredibly, after all the stalking and jealousy, O.J.'s first reaction was, "Don't call! I like my life now!" That meant a relationship with Paula Barbieri. Whether his fatal attraction to Nicole would have re-kindled later can only be speculated on, but now it was Nicole pursuing O.J. O.J. confided to friends he did not want any more of her "screaming and yelling," and flatly stated "I don't want to" get back with her.

Then Nicole got aggressive! This was the sort of volatile relationship that frightened Dr. Forward so much; two hot tempers, combustible, aggressive. A tragedy in the making. A friend named Cathy Randa stated that after a while it became a strange turn-on for O.J. Nicole began stalking O.J. Finally O.J. came out and spoke to her. Nicole literally begged for him to come back. Apparently it was not just O.J. she missed; it was Rockingham, the friends, the parties, the family together, the life. Then they went to Cabo San Lucas together. "Nicole had walked to the brink of zero hour and won him back," wrote Sheila Weller. O.J. viewed this as one of his greatest victories, right up there with beating UCLA in 1967, winning the Heisman Trophy, or getting elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

Then, according to rumor, Nicole told O.J. about Marcus Allen, who was planning to marry his girlfriend. This created an odd love quadrangle of passion, recriminations and jealousy between O.J., Allen, Nicole, and Paula Barbieri. When Paula called the Rockingham house and Nicole answered, Nicole was not happy. Shortly thereafter, Nicole, O.J., Faye Resnick and her boyfriend went to a sushi place in Hermosa Beach. O.J. tried to hit on a girl while making a phone call. Something was said and he "flipped like a switch," wrote Sheila Weller. A huge public argument ensued.

Still, O.J. was there to toast Lou at his 70th birthday party. The two hugged, best of buddies. But Faye Resnick was influencing Nicole, and she did not favor O.J. Nicole wanted to buy a property of her own, a big turn away from the schizophrenic desire to return to Rockingham and the life.

A realtor named Jeane McKenna, an attractive blond once married to Dodgers player Jim Lefebvre, recalled Nicole complaining of O.J.'s cocaine use. She helped her buy a house south of Montana Avenue on Bundy Drive, a fairly busy thoroughfare that connects to the Santa Monica Freeway. O.J. was not happy about it.

Then it all started up again. O.J. showed up, broke into the house, and Nicole called 9-1-1, claiming, "My ex-husband, or my husband" had broken in and was "ranting and raving." In the background the operator heard O.J. making reference to Nicole providing oral sex to Keith Zlomsowitch. She reiterated "he's crazy."

O.J. left before the cops arrived. After they departed, O.J. returned and she called again. "He's back." Asked who he was, she replied, "He's O.J. Simpson, I think you know his record . . . he's freaking going nuts."

O.J. was in the back rambling about hookers and blowjobs. Nicole told the operator she did not want to stay on the line, she wanted to escape the house with her children. She held the phone up and the operator could hear O.J. ranting and swearing, making reference to the National Enquirer.

Three days later they re-united. Tom McCollum's reaction: "Move 5,000 miles from each other!" Around this same time, a handsome young actor-hopeful began hanging around the trendy shops, bistros and bars of Brentwood. His name was Ronald Goldman.

During the Christmas holidays of 1993, Kris Kardashian, now with Bruce Jenner, threw a party at their Malibu home. Nicole was in the kitchen getting ready to leave when she noticed a holiday gift with a card. She read it. It was to O.J., from Paula Barbieri. Nicole was none too pleased.

She argued with O.J. during the drive along the Pacific Coast Highway. Strangely, the hanger-on Kato Kaelin was with them. For some reason Nicole was determined that he continue to freeload off of them, but her new Bundy house had no guest quarters. O.J., naturally jealous, especially of a hot young dude like Kato, decided that he could live in his guest house at Rockingham, as if the chance that the fellow could make do in this world on his own steam was beyond all possibility. But somehow moving into O.J.'s house was a betrayal of Nicole, a further oddity. O.J. was using him to spy on Nicole. In getting back together with O.J. Simpson, Nicole had managed to weave a strange web, and within this web was a growing number of people, all coming together in a cosmic conflagration of bad timing and worse karma.

Then they arrived at the Jenner house. Already tense from a simmering argument in the car, O.J. and Nicole tried to relax amid the festive atmosphere. Then a man named Joseph Perulli entered the house. He was a handsome, dark-haired fellow who had dated Nicole. Kris did not invite him, knowing Nicole and O.J. would be there, but he showed up to hand out a Christmas basket to his friends, Kris and Bruce. Immediately, the atmosphere became tense, with O.J. stewing. But Perulli would not leave.

"This is never going to end," Kris recalled. "He's never going to leave."

Bruce went over to talk to O.J., who had what Vietnam War veterans call the "thousand-yard stare," blank and "sort of getting crazed," said Kris. Finally, he stormed out with Nicole.

But as 1993 turned to 1994, Nicole felt pretty good about things. She was "back" with O.J., sort of, but still lived at 875 South Bundy Drive, giving her independence. That independence meant freedom to date other men, which she somehow seemed to think she could get away with. But O.J. Simpson was a proud man, very well aware that whenever Nicole was in the presence of another man, everybody knew that his woman was stepping out on him. He was a proud, egotistical, controlling batterer. The clock ticked; a time bomb.

He also had no love lost for Faye Resnick, the smoking hot brunette who was running a swath through the men on L.A.'s westside, often bringing a scantily-clad Nicole along for the ride.

The uneasy arrangement continued, with O.J. taking Nicole to Atlanta for the Super Bowl, then on to a Florida. In Florida, Tom McCollum sensed that "something was wrong," ands they spoke of the Menendez case, which had recently resulted in a hung jury in their double-murder trial.

"They should take 'em out and shoot 'em!" O.J. told McCollum, but perhaps he also noticed how a good lawyer could sway a jury

In March Nicole accompanied O.J., along with their kids, to the premiere of Naked Gun 33 1/3: The Final Insult. It was the last time they were photographed together. The Naked Gun series had made a star out of Leslie Nielsen. Elvis Presley's beautiful ex-wife, Priscilla, had been marvelous. Other actors did star turns in the franchise. Even baseball star Reggie Jackson did a scene in which he was "programmed" to kill the Queen of England at a baseball game. O.J. had played Nordberg, the odd couple partner of Nielsen's Frank Drebin. Everything was twisted around. His name, Nordberg, was the opposite of what an African-American would be called. O.J.'s character was clumsy, a black Inspector Clouseau, except not fleshed out. He always met with a bad fate, an accident, a terrible calamity like accidently having his stretcher roll off, down the stairs, and over the railing of Dodger Stadium, to crash below in what would kill a normal human, but in a comic turn just seemed to always put him in the hospital, with Drebin visiting, expressing sympathy, and accidentally causing him further anguish.

O.J.'s scenes were funny, but it was because of Nielsen, or the director. These films, many believe (a TV movie about the 1994 tragedy played it up) were a big part of his pent-up anger towards Nicole. When O.J. was offered the part, he showed the screenplay to his wife, expressing enthusiasm at the role, which he saw as a chance to further his career, demonstrate his acting chops. Nicole had read it. Feisty and opinionated, she had seen the role for what it was; a dufus, a prop. The comedy of the scenes was pure slapstick, but required little from O.J. He was no Charlie Chaplin aping Adolf Hitler in The Great Dictator.

She had the audacity to laugh at her husband, to mock and make fun of him. This set O.J. Simpson into one of his rages. Now, in March of 1994, they sat through the screening, which again was funny, but had the result of making O.J. look again like a stooge. Perhaps O.J. realized that as he watched it, in knowing his wife and maybe even his kids quietly felt the same way. This was not the airing of some highlight reel, number 32 slicing and dicing the Bruins in a broken field sprint, or carrying half the Jets' defense on his back in the snow of Shea Stadium. Oh, the come down. Even the movie's title mocked him: The Final Insult.

The days passed. Nicole, O.J., and A.C. attended Marcus Allen's 34th birthday party on Melrose Avenue. O.J. had to be watching them out of the corner of his eye. He must have known or suspected they had something going on, at least at one time.

Over Easter Nicole went to Cabo. O.J. was hoping to revive his movie career, and did a TV pilot called Frogman. He played a Navy SEAL–type, and had to learn a swift, complicated attack with a large knife. After filming he joined Nicole in Cabo. Friends said his presence upset her. When he returned he entered a downtown Los Angeles knife store, Ross Cutlery, and purchased a folding stiletto, similar to what his character used. It added to his large knife collection. He also told a friend Nicole was "too much trouble."

Nicole had a circle of young male friends. In some ways, they were the college pals she never had. Her youth had been given to O.J. Simpson and the mature, glamorous world he lived in. Now she was hanging with guys in their early 20s, some of whom she even let drive her white Ferrari.

According to reports, most if not all of these friends were platonic. They were generally college-types from good families with decent morals, but to O.J. Simpson, his hot wife surrounded by young studs conjured the worst fears and scenarios in his mind. While one of them, Mike Davis was black, most of the others were "white boys." O.J. Simpson was described by one pal as the "least prejudiced person in the world." His friends were predominantly white, and his critics felt he rejected his black identity. But he was still O.J., the football hero from the projects. Race was impossible to avoid, and to this proud fellow, it had a sexual meaning. He had achieved "conquest," his school's fight song, the focus of Marv Goux's pep talks, of the white race by "taking what's yours without asking," in the form of an 18-year old blond who he practically raped in a car on their first date.

Society was different. Now, a liberal woman could "give" herself to the black man as a form of reparation for past injustices. It was a political act. While there is little if any evidence that this was Nicole's motivation, there is no question that it is the motivation of many guilty white girls. But, to have the tables turned?

O.J. was "the man who seemed to dog and provoke her – every day that she wasn't dogging and provoking him," wrote Sheila Weller, adding that theirs was a "no-win" experience. Many felt that way. Tom McCollum certainly saw disaster ahead if they did not make their split a final one.

By May, Nicole was telling her young friends that she was again resolved not to be with O.J. any more. Faye Resnick was also influencing her. She later alleged she and Nicole had a physical affair. The rumors of an affair with Marcus Allen were hot and heavy, which was like playing with dynamite.

O.J. and Nicole attended the first communion of Denise's young son. The next day, 34-year old Nicole Brown Simpson made out her will! The following week, O.J. did not show for Sydney's first communion. A friend named Rolf Bauer said this was the last straw of a sort for Nicole, and ultimately was the reason she did not invite him to dinner at Mezzaluna on June 12. The couple had a big fight over money. Another argument resulted in O.J. agreeing to see a therapist for his tempter. He actually attended some sessions, abruptly stopping shortly before June 12.

When Nicole got sick, O.J. tried to comfort her. Her 35th birthday was on May 19, and O.J. gave her some beautiful jewelry. When Ron Shipp called Nicole he was troubled, sensing something wrong. He began to worry that Nicole's increasingly wild single life was no healthier than the abusive relationship she had with O.J.

Then Nicole "broke up" with O.J., returning the jewelry, declaring, "I can't be bought." Her closest friends began to sense that, finally, she was over him. O.J.'s reaction was to "woo Paula Barbieri back in earnest," wrote Sheila Weller. A friend saw them together at the House of Blues, stating that O.J. was drunk but she "had her guard up." O.J. seemed "hurt."

On May 27, a store called Cinema Secrets received an order for a disguise; short mustache, short beard, surgical glue. It was paid for on O.J.'s credit card. Cathy Randa picked up the order. Later O.J. told investigators he wore disguises in public on occasion. Those who know him say he never did. He was well known to love attention in public.

In early June, Nicole noticed a spare key to her house was missing. On June 5, Nicolle discovered that O.J. was threatening to call the IRS and inform them that she had declared a tax break that she was not entitled to. The potential cost to the government was $90,000. Told O.J. would never do that to his own children, Nicole said he would because "he's crazy." Two days later Nicole called a women's shelter and told them O.J. Simpson was stalking her.

On June 10 Nicole told a friend she had been reading Dr. Susan Forward's Book Obsessive Love. "I Finally get it," she stated. "O.J. is a classic obsessive. He fits the pattern in every way." Whether she recognized – as Dr. Forward and Ron Shipp had – that she, too, was an obsessive, is not readily known.

Because of the potential of O.J. informing her to the IRS, she had to consider moving out of the Bundy place. When she and a friend went looking at property, she seemed to get spooked by the idea of living close to North Rockingham. She began thinking of Malibu. On June 11 she actively began making plans to leave Bundy and buy the Malibu property. On June 11 she watched Sydney rehearse to the soundtrack of the movie Footloose. The mother of another girl noticed that while O.J. had attended the previous year – it was on father's day – he was not here this time, but her reaction was that this seemed a very civilized divorce.

On June 12, Paula Barbieri broke up with O.J. Simpson.

Around midnight, as June 12 was turning into the 13th, a neighbor of Nicole's named Bettina Rasmussen was taking a stroll with her husband, Sukru Boztepe. They noticed a dog trailing blood on its paws. They followed the dog to the courtyard of Nicole Brown Simpson's home on North Bundy Drive, where they found two massacred, bloodied human beings, both undoubtedly dead. They were Nicole and Ronald Goldman. The police were quickly informed.

Running interference

Mark Fuhrman received a phone call at 1:05 in the morning on June 13, 1994. "We've got a double homicide," Ron Phillips of the West Los Angeles Homicide Division told him. "One of the victims might be the wife of O.J. Simpson."

Fuhrman had been called to the Simpson house at North Rockingham in 1986 on one of Nicole's many domestic abuse complaints, but this murder scene was at an address a few minutes away, on North Bundy Drive. It would have been impossible not to immediately consider the possibility that the suspect was O.J. Simpson.

The Simpson's young children were found sleeping upstairs, and had been quietly taken to the West L.A. station, not yet aware of the horror their lives would become. Nicole was dressed for indoors, her shoes removed. An ice cream was not yet melted. Romantic music played on the stereo. There were lighted candles around the bathtub.

Ron Goldman was dressed for outdoors. His shoes were still on. There was blood everywhere, and obvious blood tracks. A knife had killed both. It appeared that the killings had been done in an unprofessional manner. The murderer had left clues without taking the time to remove them or, more precisely, had failed to execute a well-planned killing that left no clues. It was sloppy. The suspect had apparently been bleeding, as well. A left glove had been dropped, apparently lost in the struggle.

As Fuhrman made his notes, Detective Phillips told him the case had been assigned to Robbery/Homicide. He would not be the lead investigator. He immediately knew this was a huge case, the killing of the ex-wife one of the biggest celebrities in the world . . . a few minutes from where that celebrity lived. The man the case would be assigned to, Detective Philip Vannatter, arrived at 4:05 A.M. Fuhrman and Phillips had never met him.

At first Fuhrman felt his work was done. He wanted to grab breakfast at Coco's. He would have to consolidate his notes into a report, and knew it would be a long day. But Phillips received a phone call on his cell. Then he asked Fuhrman if he knew how to get to O.J. Simpson's estate on North Rockingham Avenue. Fuhrman had some vague memory of the directions, having been there some eight years earlier. The original purpose of the visit was to deliver an "in person" notice of death to Mr. Simpson, and give him a chance to be with his kids. For Fuhrman, his first thoughts were that breakfast at Coco's was out the window.

There were other police there, so the job of telling O.J. his wife was dead did not fall on Fuhrman's shoulders, so he looked around. O.J.'s white Ford Bronco was parked on Rockingham at a haphazard angle. Later, it was discovered that he _always_ parked that automobile in a different location, one that all his neighbors saw and took for granted was the place he parked it. Now, for the very first time ever, it was parked in a different location (as if he did not want somebody parked in front of the main gate to know it was there, or was arriving there). Fuhrman inspected it. He saw a piece of splintered wood nearby, oddly out of place as everything else was perfectly manicured and ordered. The hood was cold. The vehicle was very clean, except for a reddish-brown stain inside which, using his flashlight, appeared to be blood. He found several more small bloodstains on the doorsill and also where the driver's shoes had touched the floor. A dirty shovel seemed out of place in the otherwise-pristine white Bronco. He told Detectives Vannatter and his partner, Tom Lange, that he saw bloodstains. A DMV check revealed the Bronco registered to the Hertz rental car company.

O.J. was not home. To the cops, two possibilities materialized. One was that O.J. was a suspect. The other was that he was a victim. The security car that oversaw the house was called. The detectives determined that they now had probable cause to enter the Simpson home. Their first concern was that a killer was on the loose. Victims could be inside the house, or even the killer. Fuhrman jumped the wall. The security man told them the maid was supposed to be inside, but she had not appeared. Fuhrman released the gate and the other police entered. They rang the doorbell.

Kato Kaelin was discovered in the bungalow. He told the police that O.J.'s daughter Arnelle was in the next bungalow. Kaelin informed the police that around 10:45, he heard loud thumps, which he thought had been an earthquake. He told the police a limo had picked up O.J. Fuhrman walked outside the bungalow. Knowing there had been no earthquake, he suspected a person had been responsible for the thumps. He came across O.J.'s right-hand glove, which matched the left-hand one found at the crime scene. It had blood on it. He suspected the killer might still be in the shadows, near him. He drew his weapon.

Then Phillips informed everybody that O.J. was in Chicago. He had left the property around 11 at night. Everybody thought the same thing; he had time to do this crime. Phillips and Fuhrman returned to Bundy to match the gloves. They matched. Then Fuhrman returned to North Rockingham. Further investigation revealed that the blood at Bundy, at Rockingham (on the walkway, inside the light-stained oak floor), and of course in the Bronco, would eventually be determined to be a combination of O.J., Nicole and Goldman's blood. While some tiny possibility existed that O.J. and Nicole – a married couple that fought a lot – shed blood at Nicole's house, in the car, and at O.J.'s home, there was absolutely no logical reason - beyond O.J.'s involvement in some way – that Goldman's blood would be part of the mix.

Any question as to whether Rockingham was a related crime scene was now over. Arnelle handled the immediate, terrible task of dealing with the two children. Al Cowlings was called and came over to be with the children, too. They, along with Kaelin, were all transported to the West L.A. station house. The home was inspected to make sure nobody else was there. In O.J.'s room, some black socks were on the floor. Vannatter began the process of obtaining a legal search warrant, and told Fuhrman he was in charge of the crime scene. H wanted to impound the Bronco, but Vannatter canceled the request.

A next-door neighbor named Rosa Lopez was questioned. She spoke perfect English. At the trial she pretended not to speak the language. As the day broke, word was leaking out. Ron Shipp called the house. He knew Fuhrman well.

"O.J. didn't hurt Nicole, did he?" he asked. It was his first reaction.

The media was already gathering. Around mid-day, O.J. arrived. He had been called in Chicago and told to come home immediately. Prosecutor Christopher Darden noticed something unusual about O.J.'s reaction.

"Simpson hadn't asked which ex-wife was murdered," he stated. "He hadn't asked how his ex-wife had been killed or by whom."

O.J. made 13 methodical phone calls from Chicago. One was to Nicole's parents. Denise came on the phone, hysterical. "You killed her, you brutal motherf----r!" she screamed at him. Then O.J. asked Mrs. Brown, "What are your girls trying to do to me?" Again, it was all about O.J. He made 14 additional calls on his cell phone. One was to Kato Kaelin, to set up his alibi.

In Los Angeles, a black officer named Don Thompson handcuffed him and led him toward the house. The immediate concern was that he would walk around, contaminating the crime scene.

O.J. already knew that his wife was dead, but his initial response was to ask why the police were at his house. It seemed to be a greater concern to him than the murder. Then he was told a blood trail from North Bundy had led directly to his home. He then began to sweat and hyperventilate, muttering, "Oh man, oh man, oh man."

O.J. was taken to Parker Center. He immediately "lawyered up" with his attorney, Howard Weitzman. Back at his house, the police found freshly watched black sweats, a perfect outfit to wear if one wished to be undetected in the dark. They also found more blood smears in the bathroom, and a knife box with the weapon removed. Fuhrman found the movie _Ghost_ in the VCR. The film is about love, jealousy and murder. Then Marcia Clark, the first prosecutor assigned to the case, arrived and was given a tour of the evidence by Fuhrman. He was there all day, finally leaving at 6:00 P.M. As he left, Fuhrman thought to himself that people get away with murder every day.

Despite the presence of Howard Weitzman, Orenthal James Simpson agreed to speak to Detectives Lange and Vannatter on the afternoon of June 13. He already had been told that a blood trail connected the Bundy residence to the Rockingham residence. Why did he agree to speak without his attorney present, having signed a Constitutional advisement and waiver? According to Fuhrman, it was because he had "an ego so large that he gambled his life on his ability to withstand the questions of two seasoned homicide detectives."

This speaks to his personality, and in large measure why Nicole stayed with him so long. He could talk. He had the "gift of gab." It had served him well his whole life. In addition to using his silver tongue to lure his wife back to him countless times, it had made him popular, a multi-millionaire pitchman, and one of the most loved athletes of all time. But he did not realize how much evidence the police already had accumulated against him. He also knew that both in the public conscience, as well as in law enforcement vernacular, "only the guilty hide behind their lawyers." Innocent people usually are eager to speak and exonerate themselves. He wanted to look like an innocent man, to the cops and to the media.

O.J. was asked about previous crime reports filed by his ex-wife. He confirmed the 1989 New Year's incident adding, "I didn't make a report," and also an altercation from a year earlier when he "kicked her door or something."
The detectives moved to the Bronco; it's haphazard parking angle (they did not yet know it was parked in a place it never had been parked in before) and the bloodstains. He was vague and unresponsive. O.J. claimed not to have driven the Bronco since the previous afternoon, a statement that would later be proven a lie when the report from another driver he almost hit driving back from the murder was revealed.

Then O.J. said he had tried to find his "girlfriend," Paula Barbieri, after the dance recital, a contradiction with his assertion that he had not driven since the afternoon (not to mention Sydney's dance recital which started at 4:30). O.J.'s answers also contradicted what Kato Kaelin had told them.

O.J. had a severe cut on his hand. He said he could not recall how he had been cut. He claimed to have broken a glass in Chicago, upset after getting the call from the L.A.P.D. that Nicole was dead. He tried to say this cut caused the blood in the Bronco, but that was impossible. He had not been in the Bronco after returning from Chicago. He added some incoherencies about being in a "rush." Later, his defense invented the theory that he went into the Bronco to get his cell phone. None of these answers made sense; he expected people to believe that despite a sizable, bloody cut, he never wrapped or treated it, just ran around with blood dripping all over the place, not to mention that he could not recall how he got cut originally. When pressed by the interrogators, he gave as his "answer" that he ate at McDonald's and was in a hurry. Later he claimed he was cut playing golf, an injury that golf historians cannot recall since the game was invented in Scotland in the Middle Ages, yet O.J. was tracking blood as if he was on the set of _Braveheart_.

Later, O.J. said he was playing golf in his backyard, contradicting his "rushing around" answer, but limo driver Allan Park said he told him he had overslept. In a civil trail brought by the Goldmans, O.J. changed his story again; he had not been cut until he injured his knuckle in reaction to the news of Nicole's death. This meant he claimed he cut himself playing golf, then changed it to a broken glass in Chicago, then back to playing golf, then back to a knuckle injury in Chicago. He tried to say he had been cut but it re-opened. O.J. also said he had not bled at Nicole's house, even though his blood was found at Nicole's house.

O.J. claimed to have been a "battered husband." He turned down a lie detector test because he said he had "weird thoughts." Around this time, largely at _the suggestion_ of the cops, O.J. invoked his right to counsel, at which time Lange told him he was the prime suspect. Overall, it was a poorly conducted interrogation by both detectives, and was of little if any help to the prosecution. What should have been a long, grueling Q&A meant to wear down the suspect, lasted only 37 minutes.

Because of his celebrity status, O.J. was allowed to leave on his own recognizance. He was not yet arrested, and the public did not truly believe he was a suspect. Incredibly, the white Bronco was not confiscated, to be gone over with a "fine tooth comb" for blood and other DNA. It remained in O.J.'s possession.

On the evening of Thursday, July 16, O.J.'s new lawyer, criminal big shot Robert Shapiro, talked the police into letting his client surrender himself at 8:30 in the morning the next day. Detective Lange did him one better; he said he had until 11 to get O.J. down to the station for his arrest. Shapiro said O.J. was suicidal, but would do his best.

O.J. was not at Rockingham. He was at Bob Kardashian's house in Encino, performing a number of legalistic tasks in preparation for the arrest and possible incarceration. Kardashian was seen carrying O.J.'s garment bag after he returned from Chicago. Never proven, it has been speculated that this contained O.J.'s bloody clothes and the murder weapon, disposed of by his friend.

The next day, the detectives stood waiting around for an hour past the 11:00 A.M. deadline for the suspect to present himself. They determined he was a fugitive and went to Kardashian's house to arrest him. They were directed to his room. He was not there.

At 1:55 the L.A.P.D. held a televised news conference, announcing in effect that he was a wanted man. This was enormous news to the general public, which had found the idea of O.J., Simpson murdering his wife to be beyond the ken. Almost nobody, not even his biggest fans, many teammates and associates, had any idea that he was a habitual wife-batterer. An hour later District Attorney Gil Garcetti publicly called him a fugitive from justice.

At the time, CNN was the only 24-hour a day cable news channel. Word spread around the globe to turn them on and watch. Rumors began circulating within the police department that O.J. had committed suicide. At 5:00 P.M. in a TV news briefing, Bob Kardashian read a "suicide letter" O.J. left in his bedroom.

Then the white Bronco was spotted on the Los Angeles freeways. A phalanx of law enforcement vehicles chased him, with helicopters watching from the sky. Then the media got wind of it, and suddenly the "slow speed chase" was televised for the entire world to see. The entire world, it seemed, did see it. This was one of the all-time media events, ever. It was like Bobby Thomson's "shot heard 'round the world" in 1951, or the moons hot in 1969. The great majority of human beings aware of anything, with access to a TV or radio, can recall where they were when this happened. The world wide web had launched in 1993 and owed much of its growth to people following it via the Internet. It is not a coincidence that cable television expanded far beyond what it was in 1994, with Fox News, MSNBC, and other stations coming into being in the years after the chase, and the subsequent, obsessive coverage that followed over the next year-plus.

Al Cowlings had arrived at Kardashian's home and helped spirit his oldest friend away. Exactly what happened, why it happened, whose idea it was, what was said in the vehicle; most of this remains speculation to this day. A.C. had told O.J. he would "kill" him if he ever hurt Nicole again, after learning of one of the beatings. Whether he knew, suspected or believed O.J. had killed her now, he did not turn on him. His instincts were to protect him.

There is no doubt O.J. was in fact suicidal, but the motivations behind this emotion were not fleshed out, either. A man whose ex-wife had just been murdered might be suicidal. A man racked with guilt over having murdered his ex-wife could feel the same way. Cowlings was just the man to talk his pal from killing himself, and O.J. probably knew he would need him at this very moment, which is why he "recruited" him to take him . . . somewhere.

But where? Speculation was that they were headed to Nicole's gravesite in Orange County, where O.J. had sat uncomfortably the previous day with family members, many of whom suspected him even as he sat mourning with them in an utterly bizarre scene.

But he may have been trying to make a break for the Mexican border, some two hours away (longer with heavy traffic). Many were reminded of a Sam Peckinpah movie, _The Getaway_ , in which Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw make a break south of the border.

Bob Tur of the Los Angeles News Service, contracted by L.A. television station KCBS, had exclusive coverage, but eventually 20 others joined the chase, a potentially hazardous aerial conflagration over highly populated communities. It was only a few days before the longest evening of the year, so visibility was excellent.

A motorist on the 405/San Diego Freeway first spotted the Bronco. The police tracked O.J.'s cell phone. With a police vehicle blaring its sirens right behind them, a call was made and answered by A.C., who told the police O.J. was in the back seat with a gun to his head. Beginning at that point, the police car backed off. About 20 law enforcement vehicles trailed, at some times paralleled, and even drove ahead of the Bronco, which proceeded at around 35 miles per hour.

Every radio and TV station canceled its regular programming, it seems, and focused on the event. Of course, that meant most of the drivers on the L.A. freeways knew what was going on. They heard it on the radio, received calls on cell phones, or just plain saw the freeways ahead of them parting like the Red Sea. Aware some very potentially dangerous activity was taking place, with police cars everywhere, they held back.

It was rush hour on a Friday. The freeways O.J. and A.C. traversed – the 405, the 605, the 5 – are at that time crawls, near parking lots. The trip from Brentwood to Laguna Beach, some 45 minutes or so absent traffic, on a normal Friday could take two hours or more. The entire time the "slow speed chase" occurred, there was never a traffic jam, or any other automobile blocking, or slowing their pace, in any way. It was completely surreal.

Once they knew they were being followed, A.C. and O.J. gave up any plans to visit Nicole's gravesite or the Mexican border. They did not head straight back to North Rockingham, either. They traversed and cris-crossed much of the Los Angeles freeway system. Presumably, the reason for this was to give A.C. a chance to talk O.J. out of killing himself, and to strategize on what the best plan of action was. An incredibly bizarre thing happened along the way. People gathered at freeway overpasses. Makeshift signs were unfurled. Especially in black neighborhoods, the general chant was, "Go, O.J., go," right out of the old Hertz commercials. It was a foretaste of the trial. His support from the black community was already clear.

USC sports announcer Pete Arbogast contacted O.J.'s old Trojans coach, John McKay, who went on the air to encourage his former star to turn himself in. Detective Lange then realized he had O.J.'s cell phone number and called him directly, urging him to throw the gun out the window. O.J. apologized and tried to rationalize his behavior. He said he was "the only one who deserved to get hurt" and desired to "just gonna go with Nicole," a veiled reference to suicide and the after-life. O.J.'s friend Al Michaels, one of the most famous sports announcers in the world, interpreted O.J.'s action as an admission of guilt.

By this time, most programming, including an NBA Finals game, was interrupted to show the "slow speed chase." Tom Brokaw, Peter Jennings and Barbara Walters were among the network anchors and personalities covering it. Pizza deliveries were at an all-time high as people refused to leave their homes or even take their eyes off TV sets.

O.J. demanded that he speak to Eunice Simpson. Then he returned to North Rockingham, where his son Justin ran to the car. He remained in his seat for 45 more minutes, negotiating with the police. Finally he was allowed to go inside where he drank some orange juice and spoke to his mom. Shapiro arrived a few minutes later and announced O.J, had surrendered to the authorities.

The cops searched the Bronco, where they found $8,000 in cash, clothes, a .357 Magnum, a passport, family pictures, a fake goatee and mustache. Despite the fact these were precisely the items a murderer would have on him when he made his escape from justice, somehow, some way, the jury never heard any of this! While the public had not yet learned of the DNA evidence that the police already had, the entire "slow speed chase" crystallized his guilt in their minds. It was simply the act of a desperate, guilty man thinking not of his murdered wife, or of justice being served (catching the "real killers"), but only of himself. A selfish, narcissistic act, the pattern of his life.

Law enforcement would add everything up quickly: the DNA, the "slow speed chase," and as the investigation deepened, very strong circumstantial evidence combined with motive, opportunity, and past behavior. Many experienced police and prosecutors agreed that in their entire careers, never had so much evidence accumulated in a murder case. The only thing missing was videotape or an eyewitness.

God's lonely man

Christopher Darden was a black militant. He grew up in Richmond, California, which in some ways is the ultimate "wrong side of the tracks." In this case, it was the wrong side of a bridge and a body of water. Richmond and Marin County are two communities that stare across a section of San Francisco Bay called San Pablo Bay, right at each other. Marin County is one of the wealthiest, whitest, most affluent suburbs in the world; bedroom community of San Francisco with multi-million dollar homes perched atop spectacular hills and mountainsides, offering breathtaking vistas of bay, ocean, and skyscraper cityscapes. Its privileged children attend the best public and private schools, in preparation for higher education at Cal or Stanford; USC, the Ivy League; or wherever their hearts desire. It is one of the most liberal, totally reliable Democratic voting blocs in the United States, a place where President Barack Obama is nothing less than a great hero.

However, racial tolerance is in some ways mere lip service in Marin. Blacks are rare sightings. Those few blacks who do live in Marin are normally upscale, well dressed, well mannered, and professional, the "right" kind of African-Americans. There is one black community in the county, a tiny enclave called Marin City, which is tucked away behind a freeway, next to a mountain, in such a way as to be de facto segregation. The good liberals of Marin County do not seem to have anything to do with Marin City in any way, and while they are too politically correct to verbalize it out loud, stare at all-black, crime-ridden, gang-infested Richmond, just a quick jaunt across the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge, and pray to whatever secular icon they pray to, thanking her for separating them from this menace to society.

Christopher Darden stared out across the bay every day at luxurious Marin and elegant San Francisco. He saw two worlds unavailable to him. His first reaction was to blame the white man, and assume a militant stance. He had no use for the "white liberals" of a place like Marin, who he knew might offer platitudes and good feeling for the plight of the urban black, but no solution was ever forthcoming. By the time he came of age in the mid-1970s, the fact that the Great Society had failed Richmond, as with all other black communities, was well recognized. So, he turned to the Black Panthers, headquartered next door in Oakland, another once-white, now-blighted black community.

But a funny thing happened along the way. Christopher Darden was smart. He also had something few other blacks had: a father. An actual biological father who married and stayed with his mother, raising a family.

While Richmond in the 1960s and early 1970s was a wasteland, it was also not nearly as horrendous as it is today. When critics of the Iraq War were howling the loudest, some of George W. Bush's supporters pointed out that, by and large, most of Iraq was far safer than most of Richmond or Oakland.

So Darden had values. He went to church. He believed in God. He played sports. He stayed in school. He stayed out of trouble. He did things the right way. He graduated from high school, then went to San Jose State, a commuter school. He graduated and dreamt big dreams: to be a lawyer. He was accepted - possibly via some "affirmative action," but maybe not - into the fairly prestigious UC, Hastings College of Law in San Francisco. It was tough and he never felt particularly accepted, but he fought through it and graduated, then passed the bar. He moved to Los Angeles and joined the district attorney's office in 1995. Over the next nine years, he handled varied cases, but one of his specialties was investigation into accusations of racism in the L.A.P.D. The department had its share of racist cops. It was not the perfect, glorious force Chief William Parker, and TV shows like Dragnet, had long promoted.

A lot of Southerners, or people with Southern roots, had always gravitated to Los Angeles, ever since the family of George S. Patton, whose ancestors were Confederate War heroes, had helped settle the place in the 19th Century. Many people over the years purposefully chose L.A. instead of San Francisco, because San Francisco was too liberal, too morally casual, for their tastes.

L.A. also had a huge black population. They came for gold, for opportunity, for the war, to build ships, and a better life. Many ended up in the ghettos of Watts and south-central. They seethed. In 1965 and 1991 they rioted out of racial hatred and anger. The ghettos were cesspools of crime. The white - and black - cops on the force knew full well that crime ran rampant in these neighborhoods. The worst parts were war zones, like the modern day Richmond Darden once had lived in, but escaped from.

Darden's initial obsession, like Ahab of Moby Dick, was the Great White, but he was not a whale, he was a race. However, Darden's Christianity, his work ethic, and his good character were recognized. He was promoted, and worked closely with many whites. He respected them, they respected him. Whites could no longer be called "devils," a term many black militants, but not Darden, used for them. The old sayings, be-littled by the Left, were pretty obviously true. If you worked hard you really could succeed. Darden did just that.

Now, in 1994, the biggest murder case of the 20th Century had occurred right here in paradise, the tony Brentwood section of Los Angeles. A female prosecutor named Marcia Clark was assigned to it. She was feisty and attractive. She was also a friend and close associate of Darden. She asked Darden to be part of the prosecution.

Unquestionably, he had earned this confidence through good performance and effective lawyering, but it would be stupid to assume the color of his skin was not a major factor. They needed a black man to prosecute a black man. Darden was now thrown into a boiling pit of racial animosities that would try the souls of the best of men.

Christopher Darden lived in Carson. Every day, he drove to work in downtown Los Angeles. There may not be a commute that encompasses the entirety of diverse Los Angeles more than the route he drove each day. Carson itself is perhaps the most multi-cultural city in the country. It is the hometown of famed film director Quentin Tarantino, who invented characters straight out of this experience: blacks, whites, Latinos, Pacific islanders. Carson sits at the cusp of what many refer to as the south bay, a stretch of coastal land from the Los Angeles International Airport south to the Palos Verdes peninsula. This includes towns like El Segundo, Manhattan Beach, Hermosa Beach, Redondo Beach, and Torrance. The Beach Boys grew up on the endless strand, mythologizing the surf culture and classic California blonds . . . like Nicole Brown Simpson.

The Beach Boys grew up in Hawthorne. Once upon a time, towns like Hawthorne, Inglewood, Gardena and Carson were considered part of the south bay, a state of mind as much as a place. Working class white families populated them. Many policemen lived there. But the 1965 Watts riots, which were almost next-door, created total "white flight." The Carson Christopher Darden lived in was an entirely different place from what The Beach Boys experienced growing up in the 1950s and early 1960s.

The drive from Carson to downtown L.A. was gnarly. Sometimes Darden would take surface streets to avoid gridlocked freeways, but there were no real short cuts. Whether he drove on the streets or the Harbor Freeway (110), the drive afforded a good view of life in the underclasses of L.A. Neighboring Gardena, once a suburb, was now gang territory, and it only got worse from there. Picking up the Harbor Freeway, the driver literally looks down from high overpasses upon the ravages of Watts, south-central, and a few miles to the east, the war zone known as Compton. The driver, especially at night, is struck by the pervasive fear of his car breaking down, of being somehow forced off the freeway into these mean streets. For a white man or woman, such a fate is fraught with peril. For a black man in a nice car wearing a suit, his chances are not much better.

But Darden noticed that in the summer of 1994 – the summer of Simpson – the freeways were more gridlocked than normal. He chanced it, each day driving 20 miles through the ghetto, then the garment district, past skid row. _Finally_ , like a beacon of hope, the driver sees the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum approaching, and next to that the gleaming spires and buildings that make up the University of Southern California, a bastion of wealth, affluence and influence – not to mention O.J. Simpson's greatest stomping grounds - until finally arriving at the L.A. County Criminal Courthouse. For Darden, the Richmond native who once dabbled with the Black Panthers, who joined the D.A.'s office to track down racism, to use his gifts to help the unfortunate, it was a lesson in social disparity: graffiti, gangs, gun-toting teenagers, violence and filth. The greatest nation in the world, the most prosperous of all countries, had failed these people and there was no hope in sight.

He drove on Main Street, one stretch of which was so violent it was called Dodge City, home of the Bloods, the Rollin' 60s, the 8 Trey Gangsta Crips, and the Seven Deadly Dwarves. He would pass a Catholic Church that was usually shuttered from drive-by shootings when they tried to hold services for murdered black teenagers. A "civilian" accidentally wearing the wrong gang colors in the wrong neighborhood was likely to be the dead child being memorialized. Burned-out businesses lay unbuilt after the 1992 Rodney King riots.

"Even the cops won't go in without backup," Darden stated of some of neighborhoods.

The 'hood in L.A. is a conundrum of sorts. It is not the grinding lack of existence that South African Apartheid was, or the cardboard shantytowns and "shotgun" shack life of the old Jim Crow South. The worst neighborhoods in L.A. were once fairly nice, blue-collar suburbs where factory workers made a living and supported families. Many people live in single-family dwellings with a front porch, a yard (with a tall, wrought-iron fence), and a driveway, on cul-de-sacs and wide, palm-tree lined streets with plenty of parking. The easy racist answer as to why they are war zones is that black people cannot succeed; when blacks move in, everything goes to hell. The conservative answer is different: when liberals create a welfare state, all goes to hell. One fact backs up this assertion. The less racist America has become, the worse off black neighborhoods became.

To a thinking man like Darden, these and other sociological questions swirled around his head as he made this daily trek in 1994. He also was puzzled by a section of the "suicide note" O.J. had Robert Kardashian read. "I'm sorry for the Goldman family. I know how much it hurts."

"I wondered, why apologize to the Goldman family if he was innocent?" Darden thought. "And why write a suicide note at all?"

Darden thought of O.J. as more than a suspect. Here was a successful black man from the San Francisco Bay Area, just like himself. He thought of Roman Polanski, who had escaped a child rape charge by fleeing to Europe, and wondered why Juice had not done that. Perhaps the drive in the white Bronco with A.C. had been done with this purpose in mind. O.J. did not have to leave by crossing the Mexican border or by plane, either. He could have grabbed a boat.

At some point that summer, word came down that Darden might be assigned the Simpson case. He told his father, Eddie Darden. "Black folks ain't gonna convict O.J. Simpson," he told his son. "Black folks want two kinds of justice, like everyone else. One for them and one for the other guy."

Darden knew then and there he was up against it. His own father had seen the future. Darden tried to convince himself that blacks were fair, blacks would follow the law, blacks wanted justice. He tried to convince himself of this over and over.

"You'll catch hell if you work on that one," Mr. Darden told Christopher. "There'll be hell to pay, you work on that one." He asked his dad whether he should do it. "You have to do what you think is right," he was told.

Shortly thereafter, Marcia Clark did assign Darden key responsibilities on the case, although she would be the main prosecutor. Both of them represented symbolism: a woman pursuing justice in the death of a battered woman, and a black man tasked with looking beyond race in the murder trial of another African-American. Largely forgotten was Ronald Goldman, the pretty Jewish kid trying to get break into the plastic world of Hollywood and L.A.'s westside.

One of the first things that concerned them was a complaint filed against Officer Mark Fuhrman in an earlier case, alleging that he had planted evidence. There were other rumors, that he was a racist, even a collector of Nazi memorabilia.

Clark asked Darden his opinion. "Well, to be honest, black people don't think he's guilty," he told her. "But black people will do the right thing if the evidence is there." He did not sound confident.

In the beginning, the government considered prosecuting Cowlings, too, for aiding and abetting a fugitive. He had been warned by cell phone during the slow speed chase that he was in violation of the law for driving O.J. Darden was given the task of addressing the grand jury. He reminded them that O.J. needed neither cash nor a passport to commit suicide. He wanted to convey the impression that the white Bronco chase had been all about his escape from justice, making Cowlings his guilty accomplice. At his own preliminary hearing, O.J. told the court he was, "Absolutely, 100 percent not guilty."

The prosecution wanted to question Kardashian, who had stopped practicing law several years earlier and might not be able to assert attorney-client privilege. Kardashian applied for and was granted re-instatement of his law license after the murders, but the legal conclusion was that, licensed or not, he had acted as O.J.'s attorney, giving him privilege. Of all the people involved with O.J., including Al Cowlings, Kardashian may have known more than anybody except Nicole. He knew all about his pal's battering of Nicole, and very likely was given a full confession in the days after the tragedy.

O.J.'s attorney was a notorious race-baiter named Johnnie Cochran, a black graduate of UCLA and Loyola law School who handled mostly-black, mostly-guilty black celebrities. Mostly, he used tricks and sleight of hand to get his clients off. These included Michael Jackson (child molestation), actor Todd Bridges (bomb threats), rappers Tupac Shakur (sexual assault) and Snoop Dogg (murder), boxer Riddick Bowe (assault), and Black Panther Geronimo Pratt (kidnap, murder). He also represented the only running back, prior to Walter Payton, who might have been considered greater than O.J. Simpson. That was Jim Brown, African-American (assault).

Darden was frustrated early to discover that Cochran had surrounded O.J. with a tight inner circle of close friends and advisors who kept their mouths shut, and when pressed insisted on legal representation even if not accused of crimes.

"I felt the emptiness I've experienced so many times, the feeling we were fighting for Nicole and Ron and that everyone else was protecting this murderer," Darden wrote in his 1996 memoir, _In Contempt_ with Jess Walter.

One day early in the case, a call came into the prosecutor's office from an anonymous local news reporter saying that she had received a phone call stating that Cowlings and O.J. had planned to slip into Mexico, but had to change plans when the "Christmas lights" (police) appeared behind them. A.C. had concocted the cemetery story. This tipster also said Kaelin had seen O.J. behind the bungalow, not just heard a bump. The tipster's name was Jennifer Peace. A phone number was provided.

Darden called and arranged a meeting. She did not show up. A search warrant was obtained for her residence, a West Hollywood duplex. With a TV reporter nearby, Darden and the police made contact with her. She let them in. Peace was an adult movie actress, known to have dated A.C. Her stage name was Devon Shire, after a street in the San Fernando Valley – where 99 percent of porn films are shot - called Devonshire. She was 23, and came from Kentucky at the age of nine.

"She didn't look like I thought a porn actress should look," recalled Darden. "Jennifer was very pretty, perhaps five feet, five inches tall, with dark hair and large brown eyes. It was clear, even with her loose-fitting dress, that Jennifer Peace was pregnant."

The residence was in disrepair. The smell of dog feces was present. Reporters had gotten wind of her story and were prowling outside. For this reason, her windows were closed shut in the mid-summer heart. The smell was God-awful. She was trapped. It was a picture of fallen man.

One of the law enforcement personnel opened a window. He also noticed a booklet about AIDS, "which made me shiver." Veteran porn actor Ron Jeremy had set her up with A.C. She said all A.C. ever did was talk about O.J. Simpson. Cowlings told her about arguments O.J. had with Nicole. Cowling apparently saw Peace as a conduit to the world of porn, and asked for phone numbers of at least one other adult actress. Jennifer told Darden they had a "monogamous relationship" and she was not bothered by it.

A.C. told Peace that Nicole used racial slurs during arguments with O.J.

"I can't believe I married a n----r," Nicole supposedly had told her husband. "I knew this would happen to me."

She said this did not "enrage" O.J. any more than he already had been. In the months prior to the murder, Cowlings expressed extra concern over his friend. Something was more wrong than usual. "I don't know what he's up to," he told her.

After the murder, Cowlings met Peace at a hotel. He was crying, saying Nicole did not deserve such a fate. He told Peace that O.J. stalked Ron Goldman two nights before the killings. The slow speed chase was intended as an escape to Mexico, then the Bahamas.

Peace's testimony was both good and bad for the prosecution. She had been urged to tell her story and did so freely. There was no indication that she tried to sell information. To Darden, she was sincere and, in his mind, this "iced it for me." But she was also an "awful witness, a porn actress . . ." On top of all that, Peace told Darden she "didn't want to be the one to convict Simpson."

There were also tabloid offers, so even if she did not initially intend to tell what she knew for money, it was inevitable that she would be accused of it. She changed the story, as well, and would be "worthless at trial." But she knew things that had not been released to the public. Clearly, she knew what Cowlings knew.

Darden followed one thread, the Bahamas destination. He discovered that O.J. had friends in the Bahamas with a boat who were alerted "that O.J. was coming . . ." After the "slow speed chase" word filtered that he was not. Darden went there personally and learned that practically the whole island had expected him. As Darden was learning more and more, however, he discovered that some witnesses, previously open, began to clam up . . . as if Bob Kardashian had paid them off. Darden was concerned that so many key witnesses – Peace, Kardashian, Cowlings, others – would protect a murderer that he might not get to the bottom of the case. There were no accomplices, nobody who could be "turned" as in most gang-related trials. He was frustrated, in that he was discovering circumstantial and hearsay evidence convincing him of O.J.'s guilt, but knowing he could not use much if any of it.

By October, Darden was the case manager. He was still in the background, meaning he was not yet a highly visible public figure, and thus subject to the increasingly polarized racial divide falling like a pall on the case, and on the city. He did not – yet – have to worry about "every homie in Southern California" wondering if "I was betraying my race."

Darden pointed out that he prosecuted "thousands of black men," and wondered why all the poor black criminals of Inglewood "deserve less support than one from Brentwood?" He began to see a "deep, illogical prejudice" enveloping the case, but this was coming not from racist whites, but racist blacks. Johnnie Cochran was "rarely subtle" about stirring this pot, and he began to realize that if he did not take the case, he would be letting Cochran win. The defense was afraid of Darden. He was both a skilled attorney as well as a symbol, like a black conservative politician with the power to unite both whites and blacks into a single voting bloc.

Darden concluded that there was "an abundance of evidence here" and, as a veteran prosecutor, felt the L.A.P.D. – despite numerous assertions of error later made by Fuhrman – had done a good job investigating. He firmly believed "nobody is above the law." His own background, a poor kid rising up from the streets of Richmond, made him naturally want to seek the same justice for the wealthy as the "minimum wage earner in Compton." He was an idealist about to be thrown into a world that would strip him of his cherished idealism. He knew it and was "torn" by his "responsibilities as a black man." Despite the pervasive belief by many that the color of his skin was a major factor in his being chosen as case manager, Darden was convinced this was not the case. But would he be seen as "a brother putting another brother in jail."

Darden again convinced himself that African-Americans would be fair. He admitted to being "naïve" in this hope. He told himself there were black cops in black neighborhoods, black judges, and black politicians. He used this logic to justify his place as a black prosecutor of a black criminal.

"Should blacks take themselves out of the justice system because it is unfair?" he asked. "Or should we work within the system to change it?" Darden freely admitted there was plenty of racial bias in the judicial system; that was one of the reasons he joined the district attorney's office in the first place. But he was also a Christian man, and he knew he was in a battle with "evil." He thought about Nicole lying in a pool of blood; a lily white blond, so proud of her own lack of racial prejudice who, after being beaten time and time again by a black man, finally uttered the N-word herself, as if forced by experience in a sinful world controlled by the Prince of Darkness, to discard her God-given innocence. Now he was confronted by the image of a woman with "her throat slit all the way to her spine, and Ronald Goldman, his hands diced by the knife that killed him, finished off with one last plunge of the blade into his chest," stated Darden. "I had been called to help those two people get some justice; who was I to turn it down because I might be uncomfortable?"

O.J. had nine lawyers flooding the prosecution with meaningless document requests, all meant to tie up their case. Darden himself pointed out that he was chosen out of more than 900 attorneys available to the D.A.'s office. Even if he was picked because he was black, he was by no means the only black prosecutor. He was qualified and, over the previous months, acquitted himself well in his early investigative work.

The blood evidence "was overwhelming," stated Darden, echoing the view of many on the case that this was seemingly the most cut-and-dried – to use an unfortunate pun – forensics case they had ever seen. His blood was at Nicole's condo, both victims' blood was in his Bronco (along with his), which had been missing for an hour at the time of the killings, and seen in a traffic altercation right after them. There was his bloody glove at Rockingham, the same as the bloody glove he left in a hurry at the condo. They were clearly his gloves. He left bloody shoe prints in his size, from $160 shoes he owned. That did not include the circumstantial evidence, the motive, the time line, and of course his past behavior, perhaps the most damning fact of all.

Darden was concerned about Fuhrman, but knew there were too many other officers near him for him to have planted the blood, which would have been an elaborate ruse probably requiring that he kill Nicole and Goldman in order to set it up. A large conspiracy would have been required to carry it out.

"10 racist cops couldn't have pulled this one off," stated Darden. Of course, had they done so, it would have been a complete role reversal from a decade of lenient behavior in which the cops favored O.J. time after time, leaving Nicole vulnerable and helpless in the end. "The prisons were full of people convicted on half the evidence we had against Simpson," he added.

_But_ it would come down to a jury . . . of O.J. Simpson's peers? Who were his peers? Six ex-USC Trojans and six ex-Buffalo Bills football players? Six members of the Riviera Country Club and six members of the Screen Actors Guild? These and most any other combination of American citizens would have found him guilty. But the one group Darden knew just might let a murderer walk was the one Cochran was aiming at getting, and Darden felt almost helpless in preventing it.

Darden himself agreed that the case should be held at the downtown criminal building. There were L.A. County courthouses all over one of the vastest counties in America, including one on the westside, minutes from his home and the murder sight. A jury of 12 average Americans and alternates from that pool would have produced a majority of whites, maybe a black or a Latino or two; probably a few Jews; maybe some movie people; likely a UCLA graduate or two, probably more likely than any Trojans. Generally educated, and a good, honest jury.

But the media onslaught was expected to be so huge that it was decided only the downtown courthouse had the capacity to handle it. Despite the logic of this, the defense lost the case because they allowed it to happen. When Darden saw the jury pool, he knew the case was lost. He did not tell himself that, or even admit it in his memoirs, but he did write "as soon as I saw the first-teamers, I could tell it was one of the worst juries – from a prosecutor's standpoint – that I'd ever seen." He insisted he was _not_ talking about race, but to dismiss race from this equation would be like the manager of the 1927 Yankees learning both Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig were hurt and could not play in the World series, only to insist injuries were not a factor in his club's chances.

"These were simply not happy-looking, motivated, or successful people," stated Darden, who was probably a Democrat then if the case did not steer him to the Republicans. He might as well have described typical Democrats who make up the constituency of Al Sharpton or Jesse Jackson, two race-extortionists of the Left who were howling bloody murder in the media throughout the case. Darden knew he had to pick from among people who were "angry at the system . . . 12 people lined up at the grinder with big axes."

Darden went over all the questionnaires jurors must fill out. They were overwhelmingly black, and most expressed that they had followed the case and felt that blacks were wrongfully convicted time and time again. There is something inherently evil in this view, a big lie that becomes so big it festers into the very essence of a community, of a people. These were blacks who lived in high-crime downtown neighborhoods. They _knew_ blacks and Latinos committed the crimes in those neighborhoods. They were, in fact, the very _victims_ of those crimes.

"I was still clinging to my belief that blacks had a strong sense of morality and justice," stated Darden, and this would lead them to do the right thing. In his gut he knew this was not true.

"Just give me one black on that jury," said the smug Cochran, who practically seemed to be listening to Satan whisper instructions in his ear throughout. But it was Satan, and Cochran, who knew human nature better than the idealist Darden.

The jury was almost entirely black, few advanced beyond high school, and was mostly uneducated without college backgrounds, yet the prosecution had to show them sophisticated forensic evidence? Darden continued to insist after the case he had nothing against black jurors, but he knew Cochran would play the infamous "race card," and these were the kind of people who could be manipulated by it.

That is how the devil would do it.

Darden was stunned that a police department that had "practically looked the other way" while O.J. beat his wife was suddenly a racist force, and that there might just be 12 people dumb enough, or immoral enough, to go for it. Cochran, the great black emancipator, was in fact the man who knew he _needed_ these blacks because apparently no other jury pool would provide such stupidity; the sort of stupidity that could set his client free. It was literally an _Alice in Wonderland_ world in which white was black, and black was white. Nothing made sense, except to the puppet-master Cochran . . . or whoever _his_ master was. Yet that is what Darden saw happening, like a slow speed train wreck unfolding before his eyes, O.J. Simpson's "innocence" declared as "bogus retribution for past injustices."

While most people think the D.A. blew it, first by allowing for a downtown jury, then for the people selected, veterans of the case insist that as bad as they seemed, "They were the best of the lot," said Bill Hodgman, an experienced prosecutor and part of the team Clark assembled. Darden read questionnaires for those on the second tier, and realized Hodgman was right. Typical answers included statements like "black men get picked on quite a bit," that this was the reason O.J. was arrested, that jurors did not know a single person who had not been hassled by the cops . . . although in truth most people in America would probably answer yes to that question, most referencing some "unfair" traffic stop.

Other potential jurors had criminal backgrounds. Others claimed the justice system "cheated" them. One had a brother in jail for a killing, but claimed he had been railroaded . . . despite having pleaded guilty to murder. Others said "innocent" people are convicted of "things they didn't do." They all seemed to voraciously read the tabloids, in addition to _People_ and the _L.A. Times_ , yet apparently not articles about the evidence accumulated against O.J. Simpson.

"There was no way to win with this group," Darden concluded.

Unlike most jurors, a majority appeared to _want_ to be on this jury. Their motivations ranged from doing their part to free an unjustly accused black man, to being in the same room with a celebrity, to maybe catching his eye and have him smile at them. Blacks were in "shock" that he was a suspect. One remarked of O.J.'s "friendly image." After hearing Nicole scream for help in a 9-1-1 call just one year earlier, another said it seemed like normal relations. Where, in the black community? Others thought it occasionally appropriate to hit ones' wife, and that family violence needed to be handled internally. Asked if domestic violence was warranted, one juror replied, "Hell yes."

If these answers reflected a true picture of African-American society, they tell the story of why an entire race of people have in large measure failed to achieve even a semblance of the American Dream. Certainly, these answers reflect a new morality, post-Great Society. The black America prior to 1964-1965 was Christian, consisting largely of fathers raising families. They were discriminated against but banded together, finding strength in overcoming obstacles. Seeing their men abused and their women disrespected by white racists, they never would have justified hitting _each other_. Now handed welfare checks and told by guilt-laden liberals the fault was not theirs, they reverted to the worst side of themselves. This microcosm of society was playing itself out before the horrified eyes of Christopher Darden, who was now the modern version of Thomas Wolfe's "God's Lonely Man."

Another juror expressed admiration for the defense team. They seemed to love F. Lee Bailey and wanted to talk to Cochran, their hero. They smiled at Shapiro. They looked at Darden as if he was the enemy, their stares piercing his soul. Black jurors took the prosecution questions, know as _voir dire_ , as if they were police interrogations. Complaints about restaurant service, police stops, and beatings were repeated.

"It was a nightmare jury pool, a stagnant, shallow pool of bitterness and anger, and I couldn't say I was the least bit surprised," recalled to Darden, referring to the white Simi Valley jury that largely exonerated the police who beat Rodney King in 1991. It was obvious this was the black communities' chance at revenge. President George H.W. Bush had insisted that the cops be "re-tried" on federal civil rights charges, basically un-Constitutional, tantamount to "double jeopardy." If he thought Republicans or whites would get the slightest bit of "credit" for allowing this injustice to happen, they were wrong. Blacks gave the pandering Democrat Bill Clinton – "the "first black President" – 90 percent of their unearned vote. The truth was nowhere to be found, much less setting anybody free.

Darden, who grew up with these "same" people in Richmond, understood down deep what he was up against, and that it could not be overcome. Not with DNA evidence. It was a perfect storm blowing entirely against his legal team. Cochran and O.J.'s defense saw it building and played its momentum for all it was worth.

Darden went so far as to call the perfect prosecution juror "an upper-middle-class, college-educated Republican, living in the suburbs because he had to get out of the crime-ridden city; a law-and-justice type, a person who had no use for criminals or those charged with a crime." Since 1994, downtown Los Angeles has undergone revitalization. It was just beginning under Mayor Richard Riordan in 1994, but had not taken hold yet. Today, many educated white professionals do in fact live in luxury downtown high rises, and might have made up some portion of the Simpson jury pool. But this percentage was too tiny to make any difference at O.J.'s trial.

These jurors were men and women raised on rap and hip-hop. They came from a "gangsta" culture. In 1994, the Los Angeles Raiders "escaped" from the Coliseum because their silver-and-black color scheme had turned their home games into gang territory. Drug dealers, criminals and misogynists were the heroes of these people. To expect them to have sympathy for a couple of whites living on the westside was ludicrous. Again Darden tried to convince himself there was enough of a "healthy black middle class" and "conservative, tough-on-crime blacks" to convict O.J. Simpson. Maybe such people lived in Ladera Heights (not part of the downtown jury pool), or could be found within the small category successful enough to have moved into the suburbs. Whether he was right or not, the celebrity status of the defendant, combined with the extraordinary manipulation of racial emotions Cochran was already engaging in during _voir dire_ , made this a pipe dream.

Downtown juries had "more sympathy for the gangsters than the cops," according to Darden. Veteran prosecutors recited a litany of horror stories to Darden, from past cases, one after the other, of downtown juries making "outrageous" decisions, letting murderers and cop-killers go free despite airtight cases against them. "Jurors will assume the cops are lying," was the general downtown rule. Darden knew he would have to put Fuhrman on the stand. His heart sank.

Darden's post-mortem, in which he addressed the accusation that he "lost the case" by allowing it to be tried downtown instead of in the Santa Monica courthouse, showed that he was too honest and ethical to try such a case, just as many felt Mitt Romney was too decent a person to go head to head with the Chicago machine that opposed him in 2012. Darden was "dealing with the devil," and like the CIA in mortal struggle with Godless Communism, needed to play by a different set of rules.

"If the prosecutors had moved the Simpson case out of downtown to avoid black jurors, I would not have worked on it," he wrote in his memoir, _In Contempt_. As noble as this statement may be, any prosecutor faced with a similar case in the future would be crazy to follow this same line of thinking.

When Cochran and his black protégé, Carl Douglas, learned Darden was on the Simpson case, Darden felt "like a dying man being eyed by vultures." He knew the defense would use the media to make him part of the case, to excoriate him as an "Uncle Tom." As a God-fearing man, he needed to gird his strength, drawing from Jesus' courage in the face of Pontius Pilate's judgment. When the press found out, his phone rang incessantly. His mother said she was "proud," but his own father "was a bit more reserved."

Cochran, the black lawyer who was hired for practically every case he had handled specifically _because he was black_ , accused Darden of having been brought on board for the same reason. Cochran said the defense was "concerned about it. Why now?" After that, death threats against Darden started rolling in. He felt like a man without a country.

Talk radio was now filled with discussion of Darden. A black attorney named Leo Terrell, who has made a living out of being a Left-wing media maven for years, essentially said Darden's responsibility was to blacks (read: let O.J. go free), or at least to reject the case. Darden wanted to do interviews, defending himself, but District Attorney Gil Garcetti did not want him to. Darden knew what whites did not; the case was being decided not on the _CBS Evening News_ , but in black barbershops and black Baptist churches.

At the time, white conservative talk show host Rush Limbaugh was having a field day making fun of the black Democrat Mayor of Washington, D.C., Marion Berry. He had been caught on tape smoking crack, among other things. To most blacks, whites had a responsibility to somehow _not know what they knew_ about blacks. All the normal rules of society did not really apply to the conduct of blacks. All the evidence and interviews in the world were not going to change that.

The great American revolutionary Thomas Paine, author of _Common Sense_ , wrote, "There does not exist in the compass of language an arrangement of words to express so much as the means of effecting a counter-revolution. The means must be an obliteration of knowledge; and it has never yet been discovered how to make man unknow his knowledge, or unthink his thoughts." Strangely, black public opinion seemed to discard the very notion of Original Sin. Once knowledge of sin is possessed, it cannot be undone, yet Johnnie Cochran, the man doing the bidding of . . . who, or what?, was counting on human weakness, which was to reject truth in 1994-1995 just as they had 2,000 years before when He manifested Himself as the Son of Man.

In the mean time, Christopher Darden was alone with the images of two murdered human beings haunting him.

Around this time, Darden received a credible tip that somebody in the crime lab was "assisting" the defense by placing O.J.'s blood on a clean swatch. They examined every possible angle regarding the chance that Fuhrman had planted blood, but that was airtight in their favor. They also knew the defense would argue it anyway. Truth was not their ally. Cochran would plant in the jury's minds the _possibility_ , and they would use their own prejudices in processing this possibility.

Dozens of book proposals making outrageous claims were also being spread throughout Los Angeles and to the tabloids by "authors" hoping to make a buck by landing some kind of scoop. Even some of the jurors were said to be working on book deals. One proposal, by a Colorado writer named Stephen Singular, claimed Mark Fuhrman was Nicole Simpson's "special cop" since the incident he investigated at North Rockingham in the mid-1980s, and that he was motivated by this event to get O.J. Singular painted an elaborate scenario describing how Fuhrman could plant evidence to set O.J. up, but failed to explain that if Fuhrman were Nicole's "special cop," then in order to "set O.J. up" in advance, it would require his having Nicole killed. According to Singular, Fuhrman worked with somebody in the crime lab to set this all up. Darden began to realize that O.J.'s "dream team," praised in the press as the greatest legal eagles in the nation, costing the defendant millions, were actually relying on a theory proposed by a man Carl Douglas had dismissed as "a nut."

As Darden waded into the case, he became convinced that O.J. had a psychological disorder that more or less allowed him to "blame" women for his beating them. He definitely had a form of "transference," in which a person blames all of _his_ faults on another person by attributing his behavior to the other. This appeared to be the locus of his "battered husband" defense, although Nicole had in fact struck him, getting physical with him, albeit normally if not at all times only in self-defense. "How dare she hit me after I hit her." Whether he was capable of living a delusion, killing Nicole and Goldman yet actually _not knowing_ he had done it, seemed incongruous yet not impossible. Darden also seemed to get to the heart of O.J.'s rage, which was that he had "raised her from her youth"; she owed him everything she had; all the material possessions she had were earned by _his_ talents and abilities; even her family owed much of their financial gain to his benevolence; yet she was ungrateful. He could not buy her love or gratitude.

In the mean time, Darden was stunned to read a _National Law Journal_ survey of lawyers that revealed only 27 percent of them thought O.J. would be convicted. These people had read the evidence and knew it was rock solid, but they felt as Eddie Darden did that blacks would not convict one of their own.

"We have found the unconvictable client," famed defense lawyer William Kunstler, a foul perverter of the law who was in his day what Cochran was now.

"What the hell have I gotten into," Darden asked himself.

The more Darden researched Fuhrman, the more convinced he was that the officer had strong racist sentiments, "awful beliefs." He began to formulate a plan, which was to expose Fuhrman's racial bigotry on the stand, diffusing Cochran's obvious attempt to do the same, before he got to him. Then, once that was established, he would take him through the evidence, which was what it was no matter who the messenger was. Prior to the trial, the prosecution still felt there was no way the conspiracy theories about planting DNA and a bloody glove had any credibility. They certainly knew they were untrue. But Darden still did not realize how devious Cochran was. The lead defense attorney would focus as much on Darden himself, literally planting in the jury's mind the idea that there was "a conflict of interest between being black and being a prosecutor," that he was an "apologist" for a racist, and other outrages. While Cochran's assertions were _actually_ racist, essentially saying no black man is qualified or honest enough to handle the responsibilities Darden was handling, a strange psychosis had settled over the African-American population. It was Cochran, not Darden, who had his finger on this virulent pulse.

In truth, the "apologist' was Cochran. He was an apologist for a man he knew to be guilty, yet of his own free will allowed to drip from his lips the lie that he was innocent. Darden watched Cochran hug O.J. like a brother, the scorn building in his own soul. With it, the last vestiges of what innocence the young boy from Richmond might have had left after a hard-bitten decade prosecuting L.A. criminality.

"If your blood is tracked all over the scene and the victim's blood is all over your vehicle, if you have motive and opportunity, if there is no way you could have been set up, you are a murderer," is the way Darden saw it. "All the racists in Los Angeles couldn't change that."

Today, two decades later, America has elected a largely unqualified man whose very love of country remains in question among his detractors. He was elected Commander-in-Chief above all other reasons, because is black. In light of this and the post-O.J. events leading up to it, Darden's assertions, made shortly after the 1996 trial, appear utterly naïve. He was yet unaware that the O.J. Simpson murder case was part of a larger mosaic that Ronald Reagan once warned about; that choices and events were happening that would lead a nation that was once the "last best hope of man on Earth," and thus "sentence them to take the first step into a thousand years of darkness."

Darden did, however, sense something awful, which was that "first step into a thousand years of darkness" had a name: Mark Fuhrman. Attitudes about him varied. He was personable and intelligent, definitely good at his job. A lot of people liked him. If he was a racist, he had hidden it from most, but not all. Darden reached a chilling conclusion that speaks to racism, which was that it was easier to categorize racists as "ignorant fools. There is nothing more unsettling than a smart racist." If a man's attitude was based on facts, anecdotes, experience, were they not valid? Certainly more so than an ignorant hillbilly who knew not what he spake. On the other hand, Adolf Hitler's attitude about Jews had been based on anecdotes, personal experience, over the course of many years in Vienna, in the trenches of the Great War, and in depression-era Germany.

But when they finally met, Darden had an uneasy feeling about him. He was immediately impressed with his size. Fuhrman was an ex-athlete who had once been an amateur bodybuilder. Asked about the N-word, he replied "I'm not gonna say that I never used a racial slur." He claimed he had never used the word on the job. Among his listed sports heroes were George Foreman and Magic Johnson, both black. He also liked Larry Bird. If O.J. Simpson had once been his guy, he no longer was, but of course Fuhrman did not grow up in L.A., rooting for the Trojans, like so many other cops.

Darden admitted to what Darden already knew, but the prosecutor felt he was being evasive about any "skeletons that we don't know about." But Darden was deeply concerned about something that seemed to pass over the heads of white cops and prosecutors; the _effect_ of the N-word on the black psyche. This is one of the great frustrations of whites. Blacks _call each other n----r all the time_! It is a common word in hip and rap music. Occasionally, comedian Bill Cosby will publicly express dismay that this is allowed, but his is a voice in the wilderness. Nothing has changed in 20 years; the word is commonplace among blacks, utterly taboo with whites. In the years since the Simpson trial, use of the word by a white, or even a whiff of suspicion, is virtually the end of a career and a reputation.

When Darden met with Cochran in Judge Lance Ito's back bench, he told his adversary they should not make the case about race. Cochran stared straight ahead. Tben Darden argued that the N-word should not be allowed in the courtroom. He argued that jurors hearing the word would have to ask themselves, "Either you are with the Man or you are with the brothers. That is what it does." He went on to criticize rap music for its flagrant use of the N-word. He added that Detective Fuhrman was just one of a number of investigators who collected one item out of some 800 collected. He said racial slurs uttered 15 years earlier were inadmissible. He added that Cochran wanted to "inflame the passions of the jury" by asking them to pick racial sides. The "mountain of evidence" was overwhelming against the defendant.

To "blind" people with the N-word would not serve justice, Darden argued. "Mr. Cochran wants to play the ace of spades and play the race card, but this isn't a race case and we shouldn't be allowed to play that card . . ." he quoted from _The Nations_ by Andre Hacker: "It will reveal that whites have never created so wrenching an epithet or even the most benighted members of their own race . . . a persistent reminder that you are still perceived as a degraded species of humanity, a level to which whites can never descent."

Darden appealed to Cochran's own history, reminding him how he felt when first called a n----r (Darden recalled in his memoirs that he initially heard it from a group of white boys on bicycles in downtown Richmond). The jury, he argued, needed to be directed toward the evidence, not a word that, aside from rumor of a single, passionate instance, never was uttered by O.J. or Nicole to each other, and had no place alongside the events of June 12. Mark Fuhrman was quickly becoming the focus of the case, but Judge Ito had the power to stop it.

Cochran responded with condescension to "my good friend, Mr. Chris Darden." He called Darden's remarks "incredible' and "demeaning to African-Americans as a group." Then he _apologized to the black race in America_!

"He was apologizing for me?" Darden asked, knowing the answer.

Trial of the century

Johnnie Cochran said blacks had lived under 200 years of oppression, which is an interesting, semi-false statement. In fact, largely English, Spanish and Dutch slave traders, prior to the birth of America in 1776, had brought them to the North American continent. The United States inherited them. In 1787, while the Founding Fathers hammered out the Constitution, a plan was hatched to end slavery. It was vital to the Southern economy and was politically too difficult to end "cold turkey," so it was decided that in 1808 they would stop importing them. The theory was that the existing slaves in America would eventually grow old and die. End of slavery.

The "problem" was that, largely unlike any slaveholders in the history of slavery – a thriving institution that had existed as long as man trod the Earth – American slaves were allowed to marry and have families. Thus, they never "died off." Some 634,000 white Union soldiers were killed or wounded, in essence, so that slaves could be free. Never in history had anything remotely like that ever occurred. When the war started, if somebody predicted such a thing they would have been branded a lunatic, but that is what happened.

According to the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade database, edited by professors David Eltis and David Richardson, about 388,000 slaves were shipped to North America. An additional 60,000 to 70,000 Africans originally landed in the Caribbean before being shipped to the United States, bringing the total to around 450,000 African slaves in this nation. Most of the 42 million African-Americans today descend from this small group. Many have said some 30-60 million Africans died during the slave trade. This of course encompasses a period that starts some 300 years prior to the birth of America, includes slaves who died in transport, and the vastly larger number of slaves who ended up shipped to, and dying in, the Caribbean, Cuba and what is today called Latin America.

Obviously, this means that in studying the slave trade, one must separate and make an exception of the United States, as an entity, as opposed to lumping it in with the larger industry. By the time of the Civil War, slave families had expanded their population to 4 million.

40,000 black soldiers died fighting for the Union Army. 1,161 slaves were executed. How many slaves were "killed" by starvation, malnourishment, mistreatment, violence, or other forms is really just speculation, but it does not appear to be a highly significant number. America was a capitalist system and maintaining healthy slaves was good business. It is probably fair to say 10,000 were killed by other than natural means. Many attribute a far greater statistical number, but this is done by including all who died, including by sickness and old age, which of course happens to all human beings.

The Confederates suffered 358,000 killed and wounded. Using the available metrics, 594,000 white Union soldiers died between 1861 and 1865, compared to 10,000 black slaves between 1776 and 1865. Adding the Confederates numbers, the figures are 925,000 white Americans dying in a cause over slavery, compared to 10,000 blacks over 89 years.

Most significantly, approximately four score and seven years after the Founding Fathers wrote the Constitution, a thriving institution that had existed since before Biblical times, in all four corners of the world, was ended on American shores, by Americans using laws written by Americans, and ultimately at the expense of blood shed by 925,000 white Americans soldiers, 40,000 black American soldiers, and 10,000 black American slaves.

Slavery did not end because a foreign power came to America, defeated America, and forced America to abandon slavery. Americans chose to end it, and thus did end it, even when the cost for doing so ultimately reached almost 1 million American lives. When America ended slavery, it was ended once and for all as a legitimate trade between nations, never to return.

But when Johnnie Cochran got up to defend his use of the word n----r before Judge Lance Ito, the last thing on Earth he was willing to do was admit that one single one of those 594,000 white Union soldiers had died so he could be free, and the last thing he would ever do was to admit that America – "the last best hope of man on Earth," stated Ronald Reagan - was where slavery had come to die.

"At that moment, I hated Johnnie Cochran," recalled Darden. In so doing, Cochran had won. He succeeded in reducing his foe to his level, and began the process of reducing an entire country, which had made so much racial progress over the previous 30 years, to his level.

When Darden returned to his office, the phones were ringing off the hook. The general reaction from blacks was: "You f-----g sellout motherf----r." He was called a "disgrace to your race," accused of being "used" by the Man. Others said he was a dead man if seen on the streets. The abuse came not just from blacks, but also from white racists who called his family "apes." Darden had once "hated" the white race for calling him a n----r. Now it was all turned around. The word had "power," he stated, but that power would be "misused" and made to "blind us to reason."

The media called it "a game," but to Darden it was no game. Now Darden was out of the shadows and into the forefront of the biggest media sensation, perhaps ever. O.J. Simpson was being turned into a "political prisoner," an American Nelson Mandela.

"And then, out of my fatigue and anger came prayer," recalled Darden. "It was all I could do. God Himself placed His hand on my heart, calmed me, and allowed me to rid myself of the hatred and free my spirit from the burden that weighed on me." After that he had first his good night's sleep in three months.

If Cochran or O.J. Simpson prayed, did they ask God to forgive them their trespasses?

Cochrane wore "shimmery, Buck-and-the-Preacher suits, trying to contain his smile – the arrogant grin of a guy dealt two aces, who always carries two others in his sock," wrote Darden. His strategy: deny and scream racism, just as he had done in the Michael Jackson child molestation case. The rest of the "dream team" included Robert Shapiro, F. Lee Bailey, Gerald Uelman, Alan Dershowitz, Peter Neufeld, Barry Scheck, Carl Douglas, Sara Caplan, and off to the side, Robert Kardashian. Each had a specific specialty, ranging from celebrity representation (Shapiro), attack dog questioning (Bailey), research (Uelman), Constitutional law (Dershowitz), DNA (Neufeld, Scheck), a black face (Douglas), law clerk (Caplan), and friendship (Kardashian).

In December of 1994, Marcia Clark and her team discovered the "message from the grave," Nicole Simpson's safe deposit box containing photos of her beat-up face from the 1989 attack . . . the one in which O.J. said she was a "conditioned woman" who battered him. Also included was her will, which seemed specifically designed for a young person expecting to die young.

"He continued to beat me for hours as I kept crawling for the door," she had written. She described O.J. hitting her while having sex with her, the ultimate humiliation, which brings up the very real possibility that he was also a rapist. It described his gun threats and demands to abort Sydney. This led to the unsealing, and discovery of, 62 separate, recorded cases of abuse, manipulation and threats. The police had been called on some occasions, but not most of them. She told the cops she felt O.J. was "going to kill me" in 1993. She told her mother she was scared. People came forward to describe O.J. planning to break into her house, of his many stalkings of her, most of which she was unaware. Faye Resnick said O.J. had warned her he would kill Nicole. His attitude at the funeral seemed oddly guilty to most. Nicole had called the Sojourn shelter in Santa Monica four days before her death, seeking respite.

O.J. Simpson's reaction to all this? He rolled his eyes, complained, and had to be told to stay quiet. "Simpson couldn't stand for the world to know the truth about him," stated Darden. At other times he had the "thousand-yard stare" of a man who had killed too much in combat. The defense called truthful facts about their client's character a "smear campaign."

When the trial began, Darden made eye contact with the Goldmans and the Browns. These were his "clients" as much as the people of the state of California. Darden was tasked with the opening statement. He asked the jury if they really did know O.J. Simpson? He detailed the history of his abuse and his controlling behavior. Then Clark addressed the forensics. With each piece of evidence, she intoned from the report the words, "Matches the defendant." The cut on his hand; the bloody footprint matched to his size 12 $160 Bruno Magli loafers; his bloody glove at the murder scene; his other bloody glove at the house; blood in the house, the foyer, and the Bronco; blood from three different people mixed together, at Bundy, in the Bronco, transported from Bundy to Rockingham in the car; at Rockingham: "Matches the defendant."

"Blood is where it should not be," Clark said. There was additional hair and fiber evidence, all pointing to O.J. as the murderer. O.J. had no alibi. Cell phone records from O.J. to Paula Barbieri at 10:02 and 10:03 P.M. showed he was driving around in the Bronco. Barbieri had broken up with him that day, adding to his sense of loneliness and desperation, to his state of mind. Pundits said that from an evidentiary standpoint, it was all over but the shouting. The symbolism of race was the only thing the defense had to outweigh the facts. Darden was hammered in the liberal media for having the temerity to be a black man trying to convict a brother. It was almost as if they wee saying this was traditionally the white man's role, to railroad the poor Negro; let the Man carry out his traditional oppressive duty. There was no Fox News, which would have been the only network really supporting Darden. Court TV, a fairly new network, was getting huge ratings, and some of its stars would later make up the Fox line-up.

"It was bad for our case, but it was worse for the country," recalled Darden. "We were being ratcheted back 50 years because of a lying, murdering ex-jock and his unprincipled legal team. And the media, the pundits, and the star struck judge played gleefully along."

The prosecution also got the distinct impression that Cochran had access to files he should not have had. He knew everybody in the D.A.'s office and may have had spies. On January 25, he quoted Martin Luther King. "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere," he said. He went on to skillfully place in the minds of jurors the notion that the injustice of the Rodney King beating and the acquittal of the cops by a Simi Valley jury, could only be made right by acquitting O.J. Naturally, he made no mention of the federal case President Bush immediately ordered of the officers, which _had_ resulted in convictions. That did not fit his narrative. Certainly telling the downtown blacks on that jury that the only justice they had received of late came courtesy of a white patrician Republican was of no value to his cause. If Bush thought it would aid his re-election, he was sadly mistaken, as well.

Polls showed that 80 percent of the black community sided with O.J. Cochran told them they would have to go back to that community, and deal with their decision. This was incredible. Not even the most vile of racists could truly believe that 80 percent of African-Americans, with the evidence already known, could be so dumb as to believe O.J. was innocent. Cochran knew he did not need truthful belief. It was worse than that. He knew that the jury, and an entire race of people, was willing to live, to actually _be_ a lie, in order to get "justice." This was a lesson subsequently learned by liberals, the Democratic Party, and Barack Obama. It was a template for success in the courtroom, the media, and in politics. It was, as Reagan warned, "the first step into a thousand years of darkness." Over time, many thoughtful black conservatives would emerge in opposition to this, but in 1994 Christopher Darden felt that none of these people existed. If they did, their voices were drowned out. He was all by himself.

Darden told the jury they were the "conscience of the community," which seemingly should have pointed towards his client's guilt, but a dark age, a pall of evil was hanging like a cloud over America. Darden also knew that his remarks were "also directed at me." He said Darden was "offensive to women," a ludicrous statement yet effective coming out of his silver-tongued mouth.

Cochran also broke numerous rules of judicial and ethical conduct, most of which were allowed by Judge Ito. He objected to everything. He called witnesses previously not disclosed, including a known liar who had stolen a credit card, ran up $20,000 in charges, then tried to sell a story to the tabloids, who claimed she saw four Hispanic and whit men leaving Nicole's condo at 10:45. Cochran said the police discovering her story to be fabricated was a "rush to judgment." Other witnesses, like Dr. Ron Fishman, who O.J. told after the dance recital he was not finished with Nicole yet, were not called. Actual, true facts were of no value to Johnnie Cochran or O.J. Simpson, but they had at their ample disposal plenty of lies.

Cochran in his opening statement said he would call the maid Nicole had slapped. She never was called, because if she had, the prosecution would have asked her about the 1989 beating. Yet Cochran managed to let the jury know that Nicole had slapped a maid. An expert who called O.J. the "classic profile of a batterer," claimed she would only work for the defense for $250,000. Apparently she got her fee. She wrote a note to Cochran, asking that he tell O.J. he "is doing great."

Cochran described O.J.'s great attributes, his "circle of benevolence," which was essentially his habit of paying everybody off with money and gifts. Darden had seen his tax returns, however. He gave to those who could help him or he needed. He gave virtually nothing to charity.

Darden addressed the jury on the issue of O.J.'s past battering. He reminded them of the 1989 incident, in which O.J. told the cops, "You've been here eight times before and now you're going to arrest me?" This was typical of his arrogance. He was somehow unable to see that the reason the police had been there eight times was _his_ fault. He also told the police, "I've got two other women . . ." as if cheating on his wife was some sort of badge of honor, or excuse for hitting her. Darden recounted how a half-naked Nicole ran out and told Officer John Edwards, "He's going to kill me."

Nest came Ron Shipp, described by Darden as "honest and forthright." Perhaps he and Darden stood as exceptions to the general rule, representatives of honesty and decency in the African-American community. While Darden described O.J.'s past violent behavior, he sensed more disturbing body language among the black jurors. He hoped to reach the women on the jury, but they seemed to look at him with stone faces, unmoved. It was if violence, domestic and otherwise, was such a common trait among blacks that to describe a black being violent was like describing a guy who snores loud. So what?

Thus did Darden fear that Shipp's testimony might fall on deaf ears. A decent, law-abiding black man who cared for all of humanity, without regard for color; was this truly the exception to the rule? If so, the case was lost, but worse, so was the country. A cancer had metastasized and spread, and was inoperable. Evil minions, including one in a Buck-and-the-Preacher suit, were spreading it.

"It was eating me up," Shipp said on the stand, of his responsibility to testify against his friend, O.J. Simpson. "I knew I didn't want to tell you guys and be in this position."

They had known each other 26 years. Shipp did some minor P.I. work for O.J., like running license plate numbers. O.J. showed Shipp an article about "pathological jealousy," and admitted he fit the pattern. In some ways, Shipp had hurt Nicole by introducing so many police officers to O.J. It made Nicole feel helpless, like law enforcement had not been on her side. It certainly put the lie to Cochran's "racist cops" defense.

Shipp told the jury that the night after the murders, O.J. told him in person, "You know, to be honest, Shipp, I've had some dreams of killing her." Darden was unable to let the jury know that this had been his response to a possible lie detector test. Such tests were inadmissible in California, so Darden was prevented from referencing it.

Carl Douglass then accused Shipp of lying, complete with a pool of spit spewing out of his mouth. He accused him of having an affair with a blond, of drinking took much, and tried to say that his testimony was a ploy to get "acting jobs."

Naturally, Shipp was dismissed as a sellout and a snitch. The _L.A. Sentinel_ , a black newspaper, dismissed him as a drunk and said the only people accusing O.J. were "addicts and liars." Darden realized he was "operating under two different sets of values." The fact that Shipp was Nicole's friend as well as O.J.'s seemed irrelevant to African-Americans. The ranks were being closed.

Shipp, like Darden, now faced death threats from all his peaceful "brothers." He was now afraid of his own people, a "demoralizing" set of circumstances. "The world is different for us now," Darden told him. The attacks against Shipp were viewed as a warning to anyone "courageous enough to testify against O.J. Simpson," stated Darden.

The lessons from this strategy were not lost on the Clinton Administration, which discredited and ruined reputations of numerous women who had the courage to come forward with descriptions of Bill Clinton's philandering, sexual assaults, rapes . . . maybe even murders. Later, Barack Obama's strategy was to blame all criticism on racism. A compliant media would do all they could to destroy conservatives.

"I can sleep at night – unlike a lot of others," Shipp stated, but he was wrong. The devil sleeps well, if indeed he sleeps.

When Faye Resnick testified, she became an immediate _cause célèbre_ with her beauty and westside poise. She told the jury O.J. said to her he would kill Nicole if he found him with another man, but the black jurors could care less about the testimony of a sexy, too-tanned white socialite. Women like this were the enemy, white broads "stealing" black men from black women, just as Nicole had done. The resentment against this kind of woman was palpable. All blame was placed on white women who steal black men; never on the black men themselves, who remained blameless.

But many witnesses were going to the tabloids. This made them virtually useless to the prosecution. One said he was with Ron Goldman at a Starbuck's with Nicole when they saw O.J. stalking them. Goldman and Nicole were not alive to corroborate this, and when he told it to the scandal sheets he was of no value to Darden. Jill Shively, the woman who barely evaded a traffic accident when O.J. was racing away from the crime scene minutes after committing the murders, had taken $5,000 for a TV appearance. Shipp had never accepted money. His reward was to be "carved up by ruthless defense lawyers while Ito looked on," stated Darden. Ito was exceptionally impotent, allowing these offenses to go on as if he was being paid by O.J. himself. The porn actress Jennifer Peace (Devon Shire) was lost; her profession and statements to the press eliminated her testimony, which she had reluctantly told Darden, about Cowlings admitting O.J. told him he killed Nicole. An inmate at the LA. jail where O.J. was held said he told him if Nicole had not come to the door with a knife in her hand, she would still be alive. It was inadmissible as evidence.

Even Marguerite, O.J.'s ex-wife, remained loyal to him. She was of that class of black women scorned in favor of a white girl, and the villain in such cases was never the black man. O.J. had beaten her a number of times in the 1970s. Police had been called. She refused to cooperate. Despite a tremendous amount of discovery painting the picture of a controlling woman-batterer, Judge Ito constantly penalized the prosecution, disallowing most of it.

One witness, a screenwriter, described a dog, an Akita, making a "plaintive wail" at around 10:15 the night of the murders. Another witness saw the Akita pacing back and forth in front of the gate to Nicole's condo. A call to the cops was not responded to. Another witness came across the dog and saw that its paws were bloody. He asked Sukru Boztepe to keep the animal, but it wanted out so, curious, he let it take him to the scene of the crime, where he discovered the bodies. When Marcia Clark showed graphic photos of the carved-up Nicole to Boztepe, asking if that was what he saw, O.J. turned away, Denise Brown started to cry, Tanya Brown covered her face, Kim Goldman wept, while "The jurors looked on impassively," recalled Darden.

It was unreal. Murder, death, mayhem. All apparently part of the African-American experience. A dead white girl and a Jewish kid? So what. What was that compared to the gangs and the drug dealers? If Darden did not already know the case was lost, this came close to cinching it. These people could not be reached. Where was their humanity?

Ring of Fire

When one of the prosecution lawyers, a veteran named Bill Hodgman who considered Cochran a friend and had always given him extra access, had a seizure and had to be removed from the case, the defense chortled, "We almost killed Hodgman."

"I guess he couldn't handle your opening statement," joked Douglas.

"They laughed like children, the cold, insensitive bastards," recalled Darden.

He looked over and saw Cochran "sitting there smugly." Darden walked over to him and warned him that no matter what happened, "I'm gonna be here."

"I'm sure you will, my brother," Cochran replied. He said it the way Satan would say it.

The abuse continued for Darden. Blacks would see him on the road and accuse him of being a "sellout." It got so bad he almost thought his name was changed to "motherf----r," such a sweet refrain so often heard among the peaceful citizens of the black community. One black ran to his car and said, "Somebody is going to get you all . . ." before spitting all over Darden's face. This was the new life for the former quasi-Black Panther who joined the district attorney's office to root out racism.

If the case had not turned already, it did when the jurors were bused to the Rockingham state for a tour of O.J.'s home. First they stopped at Ron Goldman's apartment at Gorham and San Vicente, near Mezzaluna. Then they went to the restaurant, followed by a tour of the Bundy condo, and finally O.J.'s place. The jury seemed more like football fans tailgating before a big game. One wore a San Francisco 49ers cap, O.J.'s last team. O.J. stayed in the police car. Few if any notes were taken. They were bored by evidence, emotionally unmoved. That is, until they got to the Hall of Fame, which is what the North Rockingham house might as well have been. A plethora of collegiate and pro memorabilia alike. A chauffeur took them on a tour. They oohed and ahed at the sight of signed jerseys, photos of record-breaking games, MVP and All-Pro awards, of plaques an honors worthy of one of the greatest athletes in the history of the world.

Cochran's team had arranged the house for maximum benefit. Prominent photos of Eunice Simpson and other family members were hung. A Bible was brought out of mothballs and placed next to the bed. A copy of Scott Turow's bestseller _Presumed Innocent_ was near the fireplace.

"Nice touch," Darden thought to himself.

Pictures of O.J. with J. Edgar Hoover, Bing Crosby and others were hanging. The grounds were like a national park, or a golf course. "They were sight-seeing," is how Darden described them. The purpose of the display was to convey the idea that no man would risk such a life by killing his ex-wife or anybody else. Incredibly, O.J. was allowed to point out features of his house as if they were party guests. He wore no restraints and looked to be free as a bird. The jury was led to the front yard, where his defense claimed he was "hitting golf balls" during the murder, their concocted excuse for his sweaty appearance in the cab to LAX.

"I could see right through, right to the evil, and he didn't like it," Darden recalled of O.J. that day.

When the police and the forensics experts took the stand, the defense "didn't ask questions, really," stated Darden. All they did was accuse the L.A.P.D. of racism and planting evidence. The cops, their image already sullied by the Rodney King beating and aftermath, were on the defensive. Cochran made up stories of Colombian drug dealers. "Their case was a wild spaghetti of theories and racial insinuations thrown against the wall, and some of it was bound to stick," stated Darden. When not going on a  
"wild goose chase" with witnesses, Cochran demeaned Darden to the jury and to Judge Ito, who just sat there like a lump on a log. When Darden complained, Judge Ito threatened him with contempt. Darden was so sick of it all he was ready for some jail time.

"A cruel, double murderer was on the verge of going free and I wasn't about to hide my disgust, my humanity, behind a law degree," recalled Darden. "I was going to keep fighting."

Darden was not the only one at the breaking point. The press was filled with rumors about Marcia Clark. She and Darden were romantic. Details of her past divorce. She was suicidal. She was promiscuous. She was a bad mother. Topless photos of her existed. As a white woman, she elicited no sympathy from the jury. Then the _National Enquirer_ revealed that Darden's older brother, Michael, a military veteran, was addicted to crack, had AIDS and was dying. She and Darden survived using gallows humor. Judge Ito, in the mean time, was "drunk with media attention," stated Darden.

Clark and Darden were in the ring of fire.

According to polling, 64 percent of the American public could identify Ito compared to only 52 percent knowing Newt Gingrich, the new Speaker of the House whose Contract with America returned Congress to the Republicans for the first time since Dwight Eisenhower's first Presidential term. 75 percent knew who Kato Kaelin was. Only 25 percent could identify Vice-President Al Gore.

In a strange way, Darden and the other principals understood something only O.J. Simpson and other major celebrities, particularly sports stars, had experienced. The athlete's professional work is watched and judged by millions. Most professionals do theirs in relative anonymity, but the total saturation of the global media put Darden, Clark and the others in a spotlight seemingly reserved for a Marilyn Monroe, a Joe DiMaggio . . . an O.J. Simpson. When they went out, people told them they were the most recognized people in L.A. All the while, "I felt as if my constituents had voted me out of the 'hood, revoked my ghetto pass," Darden recalled.

The racial animus got worse, especially from black women who suspected Darden was with Marcia; another black man choosing a white woman. But it would only get worse, for the inevitable involvement of Mark Fuhrman was coming, like the Titanic headed for an iceberg. Darden's initial reservations about the detective just got worse. He was becoming convinced that regardless of his evolution from an angry, divorced, racist ex-Marine to a seemingly decent member of society, he was a ticking time bomb that would explode his whole case. It was precarious enough is it was.

"Every time I talked to Fuhrman, I wanted less and less to do with him," stated Darden. Fuhrman was adamant that he had nothing to hide. Darden was increasingly convinced he did and, worse, Cochran already had it. Fuhrman was "smart and smooth," Darden noted. Was he smart and smooth enough? He worried that Fuhrman might feel he was too sharp to be cornered by a black like Cochran. Darden realized that if all the rumors about Fuhrman turned out to be true, then their names would be inextricably linked. This nightmare he was living, which he assumed would end with the trial, had the potential to be a millstone around his neck forever.

While the prosecution wrestled with the best Fuhrman strategy, Darden discovered a coterie of O.J.'s inner circle, including his maid, his friends, his advisors, and his legal team, had closed ranks to hide evidence, coach witnesses, and conveniently failed to remember incriminating incidents. Questioning Detective Tom Lange, Cochran made sure to mention he lived in Simi Valley, a code word for racism in the black community after an all-white jury from that town essentially acquitted the cops of the Rodney King beating.

If O.J. had been one of Simon Legree's slaves and Nicole the slave owner's cruel white daughter, it would not have changed the fact that he had – premeditated or not – murdered her, not to mention the innocent Goldman. For the next eight days, they went after Lange, not so much questioning him as planting more racist conspiracy theories in the jury's heads. Then they brought in Fuhrman, trying to trip him up on the issue of planted evidence. Phil Vannatter, a respected veteran, went through the same treatment. Had he not come across this case, he probably would have been retired by now.

"26 years and no one has ever accused me of lying," he told the court in disgust. The jury just stared at him as if to say, "So what, white man. Now you know how we feel."

Vannatter and Fuhrman had never met. How could they have planned a conspiracy? It was a theory, an argument, and a line of questioning Darden and Clark knew they never would have needed to address if they had a jury they could trust. Now the prosecution was on trial, and the rules were Cuban or Russian: guilty until proven innocent.

A great nation brought low.

Vannatter plugged away at this injustice. He laid out the time line, the blood trail, the DNA, the forensics, and O.J.'s lies. His bleeding hand had gone from a paper cut to "playing golf" to a shard of glass in Chicago.

Clark handled Kato Kaelin, who was obviously covering up for O.J. with alibis. One of his friends said Kaelin told him O.J. had stated, "Thank God, you can tell them I was home all the time." That was hearsay, however. "Throughout his testimony, Kato played dumb," recalled Darden. "It was the perfect role for him; he was a natural."

He seemed to represent a cottage industry of vacuous Southern Californians holding some piece of the puzzle, each hoping to cash that piece in somehow, none of whom cared a whit about justice or, apparently, whether there was a God judging their hearts and minds. Their creed was, "I don't want to be the one to convict the guy." There had been a tiny minority of exceptions, such as Ron Shipp, who was excoriated by the defense and the media. They learned that lesson well. Al Cowlings had once told O.J. he would kill him if ever hurt his friend Nicole again, but that had just been talk.

Cowlings himself, who knew _everything_ , invoked his Fifth Amendment right not to self-incriminate himself. This may have been the biggest mistake the prosecution made. They had initially brought a case against Cowlings for aiding and abetting a criminal act, only to eventually drop it. An immunity deal may have forced him to testify. More than likely O.J. paid him off in case he had to withstand prosecution. Either way, it was another part of a larger mosaic in which justice was badly failed.

Aside from Shipp, another honest witness was Allan Park, the limousine driver, who was never part of O.J.'s inner circle. He testified the Ford Bronco was not parked in front of the estate when he arrived at 10:22, when O.J. was "hitting golf balls" in the front yard, as Cochran wanted the jury to believe. Park did not know that O.J. _always_ parked in front, right where he was, but on this night and this night only, he parked out back at a haphazard angle. At 10:55 – Park never saw anybody hitting golf balls – O.J. entered the house, then came out claiming not to have been hitting golf balls, but having "overslept." Except he was sweating . . . from hitting golf balls? Later O.J. denied he overslept. He needed the golf ball story to explain his sweat. The circumstantial evidence of O.J.'s stalking, wife-battering, and lies on the night in question, may very well have been enough to convict him, absent his having transported the blood of three people, two of them murdered, from one house to another, like a Red Cross truck.

Even Kaelin's testimony helped establish that O.J. was not home when he claimed either to be "sleeping" or "hitting golf balls." He had no alibi for the 70- to 80-minute gap that the police knew was when the murders took place five minutes from his house. But criminologist Dennis Fung – think of "blood spatter expert" Dexter Morgan on Showtime's _Dexter_ , absent being a serial killer - had made some crucial errors, and was a worse witness.

Barry Scheck, O.J.'s "blood guy," now introduced a new theory, which was that a mistake had been made handling the evidence, or possibly a conspiracy had been carried out to frame the defendant after the fact. For nine days the defense hammered at him. Then, after he was done, Fung _went to the defense table and shook hands with O.J. Simpson_! Pundits said he had a slight case of Stockholm Syndrome. At that point, many legal experts began to say the trial was out of control, and the defense was winning because of it. One former judge, George Dell, pointed out that many convicted murderers were on death row with far less evidence against them than O.J. . . . but the case "demonstrates that if you have enough money . . . the trail will go differently." While it may be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to ascend to Heaven, as Christ told his disciples in the Gospel According to Matthew, a rich man could still buy a verdict. That was seemingly far more important to O.J. Simpson, then and now, than to ascend to Heaven. It also appeared to be more important to Johnnie Cochran and F. Lee Bailey. For the jury, it was a marathon. Many had wanted on, but they were getting more than they bargained for.

Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it.

When one juror was dismissed, a young Hispanic woman who had been the victim of domestic abuse was brought in as an alternate, but she was dismissed. As time passed, the attrition rate for the jury became one every two weeks. Darden described them as "stone-faced." When Denise Brown cried, describing years of abuse her sister experienced at the hands of her eventual killer, the jury "just sat there." Dull eyes, "seemingly unmoved", met graphic photos that made grizzled prosecutors gasp. It was as they were mesmerized, distancing them from what had once made them human.

It was a bad year in many ways. That summer, the Major League baseball players struck in the middle of a record-breaking season. The World Series, which had been played through two world wars, for the first time since 1904 was not held. A piece of America died in 1994.

Most of the time, white jurors were replaced with black ones. Darden felt a black juror named Willie Cravin fundamentally changed the jury chemistry. It was apparent to him they were racially polarized. One of the remaining white jurors called Cravin a bully. Through Cravin, a clique developed. Four black jurors gave succor to Cochran, smiling and letting him know they were on his side. There were some dismissals and strange side occurrences, understandable considering the strain they were under. One juror sat for a TV interview, stating that just because O.J. beat his wife, it did not make him a murderer. Another juror, a pretty young black woman, complained she was being watched through a two-way mirror in her hotel room. Later she posed for _Playboy._ Cochran helped arrange tickets to a UCLA football game for one juror. One juror heard another call the trial "payback time." Another carried a book about black rage, which described black violence as "gettin' some back," adding that "our random rage in the old days makes perfect sense to me." A former juror actually published a book in June of 1995 that read, "For black jurors, Simpson was one of our own." By June, Cravin was replaced. Overall, 10 jurors had been replaced. They now had eight black women, two white women, a black man, and a Latino man. Darden wondered about the "social dynamics," whether the black women all thought of Nicole as a white whore stealing an available black stud. It was grotesque.

The media went crazy, and it looked like a mistrial might ensue. Darden was now sure the jury could not get past race. They were people "who couldn't forgive," supposedly the essence of Christianity. Statistically, the forensics evidence pinpointed O.J. as the killer by a margin of 170 million to one, or 6.8 billion. There was no real reasonable doubt.

"We couldn't know it, but in their eyes, the case was already over," stated Chris Darden, God's lonely man. Still, he and his fellow attorneys needed to carry on, for the Goldmans and the Browns. Fred, Patti and Kim Goldman made the trek to the downtown courthouse almost every day. The Browns had the additional pressure of dealing with O.J. and Nicole's two children, now in their custody. They despised Johnnie Cochran almost as much as O.J. Simpson. Doggedly, Clark and Darden kept going, rising at six, working until midnight; weekends, holidays, no personal lives. They were amazed to find that even Hollywood liberals supported the prosecution.

With Cowlings pleading the Fifth, the Bronco was also off-limits. The jury did not hear how the defendant bought a fake beard and stuffed an enveloped with almost $9,000 in cash and, with a gun in his possession, headed off to Mexico like Steve McQueen in a Peckinpah film. They knew that Cochran and his "actor" client would present a sob story about wanting to join his dead wife, to visit her grave, to find the "real killers," or the meaning of life . . . The news footage showing crowds of fans cheering on O.J. would not help Darden and Clark, either.

Incredibly, Judge Ito did not allow Nicole's phone call to a women's shelter four days before her murder, calling it hearsay. There was "an inordinate amount of hearsay evidence – stuff that the public heard about, but the jury didn't," stated Darden. "It's difficult for a prosecutor when the media has a better case than you do."

Nicole's sessions with Dr. Susan Forward were inadmissible, for reasons that remain unclear. Doctor-client privilege? Hearsay? O.J.'s drug use? Nicole's conversations with Faye Resnick and others? Much of it was inadmissible. Nicole's rumored affair with Marcus Allen? Never entered into evidence.

The tab kept piling up: $6 million in taxpayer money.

In the mean time, Cochran warned Darden to "watch out for the brothers." He was warning his adversary that blacks were out to get him. Then Cochran, like the devil offering Christ all the kingdoms of the world, told him he would "see what we can do about getting you back in." He presented himself as the sole path that would allow Christopher Darden to find acceptance in the African-American community after his "betrayal" of them. It was one of the most disgusting things that a disgusting man had ever done.

Darden argued that his responsibilities as a human being were greater than his responsibilities to African-Americans, that in fact being a role model for his daughter, being an upstanding citizen pursuing blind truth, was better than the lie Darden had decided to support.

Darden did not tell Cochrane, "Get thee behind me, Satan."

But he should have. Just as his fellow Jews had betrayed Christ, there was even a report that Darden found himself _booed in church_.

Meanwhile, O.J. was a "cold, stone-faced bastard . . . a calm murderer," according to Darden. When one witness testified that he could tell a man was black by hearing his voice Cochran, while "leaning on the podium in his off-white, linen suit, like some angry plantation owner," acted as if it was racism on par with a slave auction. Darden felt like "I had the urge to beat <Cochran's> ass right there in the courtroom."

Judge Ito seemed helplessly out of control of events in his courtroom.

The case moved to the shoes and the gloves. The prints outside Nicole's condominium were clearly O.J.'s distinctive $160 Bruno Maglis. Only 300 pairs of this style were sold in O.J.'s size 12. The odds that somebody else wore those shoes were almost as astronomical as the one-in-6.8 billion chance that the blood did not match O.J. as the killer. They discovered O.J.'s hair samples in a hat he wore, then moved to the gloves.

They found the gloves used had been sold in Bloomingdale's between 1989 and 1992. There was no Bloomingdale's west of Chicago. They knew O.J. spent winters in New York working as a football announcer. They discovered that on December 18, 1990, Nicole Simpson bought the gloves in question, $55 a pair, when she and her husband were back east. All the bar codes matched up. They were O.J.'s gloves.

Photos of O.J. working the sidelines of cold, wintery football games showed him wearing those very gloves. An expert on the gloves testified they were made to be "tight."

"It was clear," recalled Darden. "These were the gloves. But the jury sat there, stone-faced and unimpressed with everything." Facts were apparently of no value to them. The defense pushed the theory that Fuhrman somehow got hold of a unique set of gloves unavailable west of Chicago, and planted them.

"All the racists in L.A. couldn't change the fact we were staring at O.J. Simpson's gloves," stated Darden. He turned to Clark. "Let's put them on him now," he suggested.

Clark shook her head, fearing O.J. would pretend they did not fit. While discussing the possibility with Judge Ito and Cochran, the lead defense counsel used a strange choice of words in describing O.J. putting the gloves on: "performance." Darden had a strange fear that Cochran had prepared for this moment, even though he was feigning surprise.

"The tension was thick in the courtroom," Darden recalled as O.J. was called forward to try the gloves on. With a crooked smile, O.J. _crooked his fingers_ , and pretended to try and put the gloves on. He pulled and tugged, not letting his own hands into the gloves. Incredibly, this sham was allowed. To millions of TV viewers, it was obvious he had faked it, pretending the gloves did not fit. To the jury, whether they were dumb or just played dumb, the effort was valid.

The glove expert examined O.J.'s hands and testified the gloves would be _large_ on him, not too small. His testimony might as well have been made in a forest, unheard by human ears. 61 percent of the public said they thought the gloves fit. Rush Limbaugh used a pointer to scientifically demonstrate on his TV show how the gloves fit. None of it mattered. The prosecution now had a defeatist attitude. Experts called the glove incident the "biggest blunder of the case." The prosecution had done what every law school professor tells them never to do. "Don't ask a question you do not know the answer to." Gil Garcetti was grim. Darden told him he took full responsibility. The faces of Nicole and Goldman haunted him from the grave.

"God, what had I done?" Darden recalled asking himself.

Genocide

"Hey, you know anything about some tapes Fuhrman made with a writer? Some tapes where he uses 50 epithets?"

It was "a good source" Darden knew, alerting him that Cochran was trying to find these tapes. The tapes, he was told, were "in L.A. That's all I know."

_The New Yorker_ outlined the defense strategy, which was to focus on Fuhrman's racism. His notes at the crime scenes, Rockingham and Bundy, were excellent. He had all the earmarks of a solid witness, if not for this potential tripwire. More than 10 years earlier, he told a woman named Katherine Bell, "If I had my way, they would take all the n-----s, put them together in a big group and burn them."

"Genocide," thought Darden. "Jesus. What was I getting into?"

Mark Fuhrman, a veteran of the force, was probably still a racist. He had a slightly troubled past. He was from Washington state and had done a tour in the Marine Corps where he reportedly had some trouble dealing with minority Marines, but his alleged remarks to Bell, if true, were beyond racism. This was genocide. The imagery of "burning" an entire ethnic group of human beings evoked Adolf Hitler and the Holocaust, in which 12 million people (6 million Jews) had been murdered in concentration camps, many of their bodies then incinerated in huge, grotesque ovens. It was the kind of crime, like the 35 million killed by Joseph Stalin, or the 60 million killed by Mao Tse-tung, that the narrator in the Ronald Reagan documentary In the Face of Evil called "incomprehensible."

But this was not necessarily incomprehensible. Fuhrman gave a face, a voice, the color of authority; worst of all, he seemed to drape it all with the American flag. A disturbing parallel also existed. Fuhrman, like Hitler, had wanted to be an artist before joining the military. He saw the last days of combat with the Marines in Vietnam, 1973, just as Hitler saw war as a young soldier, too.

His trouble with blacks and Mexicans came during a time in which the post-Watergate military, which hit that year (1973) was filled with quasi-criminals allowed to join instead of doing jail time, in order to meet quotas. Fuhrman was disgusted that "a bunch of n-----s and Mexicans that should have been in prison" gave him orders.

As a Marine M.P. Fuhrman was said to pull over any car containing a black man and a white woman. He would make up an excuse, and expressed disgust at the prospect that an inter-racial couple could be in love. He joined the L.A.P.D. and made intemperate remarks about "dumb" n-----s and Mexicans.

His police file also was disturbing, indicating that he experienced post-traumatic stress disorder so bad he feared killing someone. Despite having arrived in Vietnam well after the worst fighting, he apparently saw some hairy things that stuck with him. Working 60 to 80 hours a week investigating a Mexican gang (some of the most ruthless killers on the face of the Earth) had exacerbated his tension. Fuhrman had given much of himself to his country, both in the corps and on the force, but felt disrespected and unappreciated. He had told somebody he fantasized about killing criminals when "no one sees him." He may have even been suicidal going through two divorces.

The Kathleen Bell incident had occurred more than a decade prior, a period Judge Ito deemed inadmissible. This was still very, very dangerous for the prosecution. Cochran and his team were itching to get it into the trial. There were still ways it could happen. If Fuhrman were tripped up, caught in a lie; if some new evidence was presented that somehow made it important, _admissible_ , Darden knew it was a bombshell, a Damocles sword hanging over their heads.

Fuhrman denied the Bell story. Whether he had said what was alleged to Bell or not, he believed it was inadmissible anyway. He stated he had not used the N-word in 10 years, which was the period the judge deemed admissible. Darden knew that even though Judge Ito had ruled this way, Cochran might get him to reverse course and Fuhrman would be like an open sore, exposed to a mostly-black jury. Things got no better when Darden learned a rumor about Nazi swastikas was true.

"The craftsmanship is incredible," Fuhrman told him. Thousands of World War II veterans had returned with Nazi war items and Japanese Samurai swords, spoils of victory, but no explanation for this sense of conquest would "explain" Fuhrman. Was a Nazi symbol a spoil of war or a political statement? Besides, Fuhrman had not fought in World War II.

An investigation determined that a number of minority Marines who knew the man had positive things to say about him. Fuhrman's partner, Ron Phillips, adamantly denied that he was a racist. "Mark really dislikes criminals," he said. Many cops make this blanket statement; they hate "scumbags." Statistically, most were of color, however. Phillips said he heard of Fuhrman's past statements, but had not heard them personally. Fuhrman was friends with a black woman deputy D.A. They met for lunch and he baby-sat her kids. He played basketball three times a week at the YMCA with "a bunch of brothers."

Darden could hear the clichés about basketball and "some of my best friends are . . ." Still, a hardcore racist does not baby sit the children of a black. Fuhrman did not like affirmative action, hardly unusual. He respected hard work, intellect, character. As a cop he dealt with the worst lowlifes on the street. It was impossible not to be jaded, but these experiences often result in a certain amount of respect for law-abiding minorities. One of Fuhrman's white colleagues with the L.A.P.D., a former USC pitcher named Phil Smith, once described a gang crime that resulted in the death of a little Mexican girl.

"There's something extraordinarily beautiful about little Mexican girls," he said, truly having empathy for the loss her family suffered. "I mean, cops don't hate blacks or Mexicans. We protect the law-abiding citizens, but we do hate scumbags."

Yet, the white experience and the black experience were very different. Smith's assertion that they "protect law-abiding citizens" was not the same as the Simpson jurors. Perhaps they appreciated the arrival of a squad car after their house was burglarized, or a quick response after being assaulted, but there was a pervasive sense that young black men doing nothing were rousted and unfairly convicted.

Phillips either did not know about, or denied that Fuhrman collected Nazi paraphernalia. He denied he received white separatist literature. His plans to retire in Idaho, the home of the Aryan Nation, were just a coincidence, he said. "Look," Phillips said. "Mark is a hot dog and has always been one. He's not a racist."

Darden contacted all the black cops who had worked with Fuhrman, and got very positive reports. He told himself Malcolm X had changed after years of virulent racism against "blue-eyed devils." As a Christian, he knew the redemptive powers of Jesus.

A man named Hodge told the defense Fuhrman used the N-word, but he had a long arrest record. One day Darden was on the phone with a member of the defense team, who admitted that evidence had not been planted, and that O.J.'s guilt "looks bad," but that did not mean the jury would convict. This was the essence of the Simpson case, of course, then and now.

But the Fuhrman rumors persisted. Darden knew this was big trouble. Then he found out the tapes did in fact exist. Laura Hart McKinney, a screenwriter in North Carolina, made the tapes as part of research for a cop movie. She had taped Fuhrman, and it was less than a decade prior to 1994. It was mid-July of 1995 when Darden learned of this. Cochran was working to acquire them, first in a North Carolina trial court, then in an appellate court. Darden knew it had the potential to "undo all we had done."

On August 7, the North Carolina court granted the defense motion for the tapes. Darden had worried that the blood evidence was too complicated for the jury. Later one juror spoke of "all the business about blood," unable to stay on top of it. But the North Carolina ruling meant "it ceased to matter," Darden stated.

For one thing, the tapes potentially made Fuhrman a perjurer, a liar. If he lied about using the N-word, he could have lied about the evidence. Darden received his copy of the tapes on August 11. There were 17 cassettes. A group of D.A. secretaries transcribed them "and it was a disaster."

Drinking tequila to ease his pain, Darden read through the "awful pages. It was worse than I had imagined." Fuhrman called women "split-tails." He referred to a "n----r driving a Porsche that doesn't look like he's got a $300 suit on, you always stop him . . . How do you intellectualize when you punch a n----r? He either deserves it or he doesn't." It got worse. Fuhrman talked about planting evidence and lying about cases. He complained about a partner who was "so hung up on the rules and stuff . . . this job is not rules . . . F—k the rules; we'll make them up later."

Much of it was from 1985, nine years prior. They went all the way up to 1994, when _The New Yorker_ floated the theory of a racist cop planting evidence. Fuhrman read it and told McKinney to stay quiet about the screenplay.

Fuhrman used the N-word at least three dozen times over 10 years. He bragged of beating suspects and said planting evidence was routine. He denied planting evidence in the Simpson case, but relished being in the spotlight.

"I'm the key witness in the biggest case of the century," he bragged to McKinney. "And if I go down, they lose the case. The glove is everything. Without the glove – bye, bye."

Many of the meetings were held at Hennessy's, a popular Manhattan Beach watering hole. The tapes, however, could not accurately be described as verbatim quotes and opinions of Mark Fuhrman. In fact, they were the basis for a fictionalized police officer who expressed these views. Fuhrman may have been channeling his true opinions, even desires, into this "character," but the purpose of the interviews was to create scenarios and attitudes, through his words, that would later be made into the character. This character was undoubtedly a racist, but to create a realistic racist character is not necessarily an act of racism. If so, then Harper Lee would have been racist for creating racist characters in To Kill A Mockingbird.

Laura Hart McKinney was apparently not racist, yet she laughed and joked at many of Fuhrman's racist diatribes. She seemingly understood that the "character" coming through was not necessarily Fuhrman, but Fuhrman giving voice to screenplay dialogue. That said, Fuhrman seemed to relish this chance to let loose, to be given freedom under the cover of an act, or the creation of a fiction, to say what he felt was true, was on his mind, and in his heart. However, just as Harper Lee was not a racist for giving character's she invented racist attitudes, Fuhrman may have felt he was "acting," or employing what acting coaches called "the method," which is to get into character and not merely parrot words from a page. This is a major source of disagreement among acting teachers and actors. Dustin Hoffman, for instance, was of "the method," needing to find his own motivation and place that into his character. Sir Laurence Olivier, on the other hand, felt they were just words on a page, and talent alone transformed those words into believability on stage or screen.

The tapes lasted until 1994. The last timed Fuhrman uttered the N-word was in 1988. If in fact he felt he was "acting," the question as to whether "he" had ever uttered the word is in question. If an actor, say Sean Penn or Samuel L. Jackson, used the N-word in a role, would he be required to say that he - Penn or Jackson - had ever said it, or qualify it by saying his character in Casualties of War or Pulp Fiction said it?

Furthermore, Fuhrman was a smart man. Nothing could be dumber than for a police officer to say what he said on tape. Absent the O.J. Simpson murder trial or any other trial, if anybody who got hold of those tapes and gave them to his superiors, it would likely result in his being fired or disciplined. Perhaps his superiors would have hidden it for PR purposes, but there was no value in being quoted like that. This adds to the theory that, dumb an idea as it may have been, he really was "channeling" a fictionalized screenplay character.

Darden was not aware that much of what Fuhrman said had been for effect. Any logical person had to ask why an otherwise-intelligent police officer would allow such incendiary things to be taped. The purpose of the tapes was to create a persona, a screenplay character. But it was impossible to separate that character from Mark Fuhrman. It cut too close to home. Johnnie Cochran was certainly not going to give him the benefit of the doubt, and the jury would not, either.

Darden sat in his office, drank some more tequila, despairing. He knew Cochran and his team was poring over these words at this very time; chortling, laughing, seeing the way clear so a murderer could walk.

He stopped reading, but that would not make it go away. Darden was living a nightmare. Not only was he the public face of black betrayal, he would be inextricably linked to the name of a blatant racist. History would judge him culpable, the loser of the biggest case of all time because he had hitched his wagon, in irony worthy of Shakespeare, to the very sort of racist cop he originally joined the district office to put away.

However, whether Fuhrman thought he or a character he channeled "said" this word was immaterial. He had almost surely used the word on other occasions. He had racist thoughts. He freely admitted it and apologized for it. While it was explained that his words were part of a channeling, or acting process, in order to get into a character, he never hid behind this excuse. He later made it very clear he was wrong. These racist thoughts were bad enough that he underwent some counseling, ostensibly over anger management issues, but it is also true that in the 1990s, he seemed to have made vast improvement. Whether he did so in a conscious manner in order to assuage guilt, or as a form of therapy, or strictly because he was changing for the better, he had by 1994 established solid relations with black colleagues, rising early for basketball with fellow black officers. Blacks on the force had no problems with him in the 1990s. There were no racial complaints from citizens. But perhaps most telling, he went out of his way to help free a black man wrongfully accused of killing a white man, after he came across exonerating evidence. Lastly "there is no evidence that his feelings toward blacks ever manifested themselves in any criminal behavior against them," either before, or as part of, the O.J. Simpson murder case, wrote famed L.A. prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi.

But none of that mattered. What is known of Fuhrman 20 years after the murders indicates that whatever motivated him to tell Kathleen Bell blacks should all be gathered up and "burned," while unquestionably genuine hatred, was also not a true desire. It was fantasy, a horrible one, but had some cosmic switch been made available to him in which the devil himself tempted him with the power to, in one fell swoop, kill all blacks, surely he would have come to his senses and not doe not.

Through counseling, the healing of wounds, putting divorces behind him, and getting past his Vietnam experiences, by 1994 – the only time that matters as it pertains to the Simpson case – he appeared to have become a pretty normal fellow. Maybe not a "nice guy," but not a monster.

The _beat_ went on. It turned out Fuhrman had a previous altercation with _Judge Lance Ito's wife_. This could mean a mistrial, since it involved a possible conflict of interest for the judge. The murder victims and their families were by now utterly peripheral.

"We were going to lose," Darden recalled thinking. "We heaped disrespect and dishonor upon the legal profession," and he was "disappointed in myself for taking part." The case was now "one long distraction about racism." But Cochran, who apparently knew about Fuhrman all along, had laid a trap. The prosecution fell for it. The forensics, the circumstantial evidence, the bare facts, that had come and gone, its effect now papered over by racism. Darden was sure the jury knew everything in the media, regardless of sequestration. Cochran feigned more mock outrage.

Then Laura Hart McKinney was called. She was "coquettish and breathless," as described by Darden. She suddenly expressed "newfound outrage" at the content of the tapes, even though she was heard giggling at Fuhrman's tirades. In North Carolina, McKinney testified that Fuhrman had represented "a fictitious character." Now, facing a mostly-black Los Angeles jury, she changed her tune, distancing herself from Fuhrman prattling on about "dumb n-----s" and "Mexicans who can't even spell the name of the car they're driving."

"They don't do anything," Fuhrman had said of female cops, managing to offend women and blacks simultaneously. "They don't go out and initiate contact with some six-foot, five-inch-inch n----r that's been in prison for seven years, pumping weights."

42 times Fuhrman used the N-word over nine years, by McKinney's count. He said it casually, in an ordinary manner. The McKinney tapes opened a Pandora's box of new discovery. Judge Ito now allowed the testimony of Kathleen Bell and Natalie Singer. It was Bell whom Fuhrman had told he wanted to burn all people to death.

Darden knew what he was discovering, Cochran was discovering; probably had long before. There were rumors that the defense had stolen Fuhrman's personnel file, which was supposed to remain confidential. Doctor-client privilege had been breached, and it was damaging. His wife claimed he was "hateful" when she left him, and a psychiatrist wrote he had "fond memories of killing and beating up on people without any remorse . . ." He used excessive force. Hurting people was "fun." He was a narcissist, self-indulgent and unstable. However, the doctor believed much of this was just talk, delusions of grandeur in a sense, and over time he should recover.

On top of that, Darden had worked in the special investigations division, where his specialty was rooting out racist cops. Now he needed to cooperate and coordinate a key part of the prosecution with a guy who would at the very least be suspicious of him. Darden decided that he would not try and argue against Fuhrman's racism, only that it had nothing to do with _The People v. O.J. Simpson_. Further, there was no evidence of any racial bias in the case at hand. Was bigotry worse than double murder? That was the question Cochran was hanging his defense upon.

What we hath wrought

Darden had argued against using Fuhrman, but the rest of the prosecution knew they needed his testimony. The Goldman's approached Darden, concerned about him as well. Finally it was the moment the world was waiting for. Fuhrman's reputation as a "racist cop," true or untrue, was firmly planted in the imagination of the public by a media that could not say it loud enough. He was a liberal dream, a picture of every accusation ever leveled at the Right.

Dressed in a navy blue suit and red tie, perfectly coiffed, Fuhrman told Clark he was "Nervous. Reluctant." He said for the most part he had seen evidence ignored in favor of his personal issues exposed.

Clark asked about Kathleen Bell's letter, in which he had told he her wanted all the blacks rounded up and burned, a horror scene straight out of Auschwitz. Fuhrman denied it. He believed it had been stricken from the evidence.

Fuhrman then testified that he and Ron Phillips were the 10th and 11th policemen on the scene, hardly the originators of a conspiracy. Fuhrman went on to tell how he saw the blood spots and followed their trail. Clark led him through discovery of the bloody glove.

Waiting on the other side was F. Lee Bailey, a legend but by 1994 over the hill. He was an alcoholic, rescued from a DUI by Shapiro himself. So far, he had not played a major role in the case, but he was reserved for Fuhrman. He bullied witnesses; it was his style. He was "a foul-mouthed, arrogant SOB," recalled Darden. Bailey hated him.

Bailey went after Fuhrman about Kathleen Bell. Judge Ito allowed it, even though it had nothing to do with the Simpson murder evidence. Bailey, using wordplay, asked if he saw a couple gloves. Fuhrman said he had not seen them, he "found one." Bailey sarcastically asked whether Fuhrman's goal was to be alone at the south wall where the glove was found. "It just worked out that way," Bailey said (not asking), in a derisive tone.

"That's how it worked out," Fuhrman replied. This was followed by Bailey rambling, theorizing, and making inappropriate racial statements, all allowed by Judge Ito. Bailey told Fuhrman a former Marine named Cordoba he once served with had told him "Marine to Marine" (Bailey had served in the corps) that Fuhrman once called him either "boy" or n----r. That night, Cordoba told NBC's _Dateline_ he had not spoken to Bailey. Bailey was apparently lying. Judge Ito allowed it.

"This is the kind of nonsense that gives lawyers a bad name," Clark told the court the next day after playing Cordoba's interview.

Then Bailey got nasty, repeating the word "n----r" the way Phillies manager Ben Chapman used it to bait Jackie Robinson in the most infamous scene of the Dodger star's breakthrough 1947 rookie season. Cochran pretended he had nothing to with it, a total lie. He was the puppet-master of a grotesque display, made even worse by the fact he was literally using the identical strategy of a notorious racist. _Newsweek_ had leaked the prosecution's preparation of Fuhrman, which included this tactic, even though Clark and Darden had thought it was beneath even Darden and Bailey. It was not.

Finally, Bailey got to the crux of the matter, covering ground many thought was off-limits, deemed inadmissible by Judge Ito. He asked if the policeman had used the word "n----r" in the past 10 years. This was after the Kathleen Bell time frame. Where was he going with it? The drama in the courtroom was something out of _A Few Good Men_ , which also involved Marines. Darden whispered to Clark to object, but she did not.

"No, not that I recall, no."

Bailey even gave Fuhrman an out of sorts, asking if it was "possible" he had forgotten addressing a member of the African-American race "as a n----r." During this period of time, Fuhrman could have used the same technique as First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton. She testified over illegalities she and her husband engaged in over a land deal in Arkansas called Whitewater. Over and over an over, Mrs. Clinton repeated the same line: "I don't recall."

Fuhrman was not as skilled a liar.

There was no evidence Fuhrman had "addressed a member of the African-American race as a n----r." Nine years earlier, he had told screenwriter Laura

McKinney essentially what he had told Bell; he wanted to see blacks rounded up and burned. But technically he had not said it to a black person, which was the way Bailey phrased the question. Instead of using the evasive tactics of Hillary Clinton, citing lack of memory, Fuhrman just denied it, saying it was not possible.

Darden and Clark were frozen by the possibility that another witness was out there, hidden by Cochran, who had heard him say such a thing to a black. Then Bailey changed his phraseology. He asked if "under oath" he had "spoken about black people as n----rs in the past 10 years, Detective Fuhrman?"

"That's what I'm saying, sir."

He had lied, and in so doing committed perjury. History will record that this was the first step towards freeing a murderer. For Mark Fuhrman, his life could never be the same again.

The jury was a bad one, anyway. Clark was positive many had lied on their questionnaires in order to sit on this jury, ostensibly to free a black icon. There was nobody in the city who had not been tainted by coverage of the case. The prosecution's own jury consultant warned there were people seated on this jury who would _never_ convict O.J. The defense team routinely planted lies and false information in the press to throw the prosecutors off. But despite all of that, Clark and Darden knew truth was on their side, and believed it would set them free.

Yet a conversation a police officer had with a woman in a bar in 1985 was now more important than a burly ex-football star slashing two humans in one location, then transporting the blood of all three people from the scene, into his car, and to his house.

The idea of a conspiracy theory, seemingly cock-eyed before, was now given the weight of great possibility by the media, mainstream and otherwise. The prosecution knew the jurors, despite being ordered not to, were hearing these theories. It was impossible to truly sequester them fully. The system requires some honor and trust. That was not part of the fabric of this jury.

There was a white juror named Francine Florio-Bunten. She was well-educated and understood DNA. "The defense hated her," recalled Darden. The defense very possibly had one of their outside allies plant a story that she was planning to write a book called _Standing Alone for Nicole_. Darden investigated and found it to be untrue. Either way, she was dismissed. She might have been Nicole's last best hope on Earth. Now the jury increased from eight blacks to nine, but the one honest juror who might have held out and caused a mistrial, which might have forced another trial in front of a less hostile jury, was now gone. She never wrote a book.

"You'll notice I'm smiling. That's all I'm going to say," Johnnie Cochran told _USA Today_ , sounding like Samuel L. Jackson's Jules when he learns "the Wolf" is coming to dispose of an inconvenient body in _Pulp Fiction_ , a movie that came out that very summer containing an endless, three-hour flow of the N-word.

How had the tapes been discovered? McKinney's husband, a film professor, was trying to cash in on Fuhrman's sudden celebrity, attempting to shop the story to Hollywood. Asked his motive, he adopted the same vapidity of most everybody else involved in this sordid tale. "To sell a screenplay," he deadpanned. Duh. To make money. Even Fuhrman later said he got into all this trouble "to make money," to get a screenwriting, story by, or producing credit for whatever movie that came out of McKinney's work.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.

Fred Goldman, alone against the whirlwinds of injustice, raged about a man who "butchered" two people, yet now Mark Fuhrman was on trial. It was disgusting and "not fair!" Fairness? Really. None of this had anything to do with a bloody glove. It had everything to do with a bloody glove. The blood of three people, two murdered, the third the murderer, transported by the murderer from the scene of the crime in his car to his house, separate entirely from the glove . . . that was _completely forgotten_!

"But he had lied," Darden said of Fuhrman, summing it up in a nutshell. He had given Cochran just enough. Darden "ached," watching poor Mr. Goldman, in agony, wondering how a loving God could allow such a travesty. The answer, which is that the Prince of Darkness controls the world, was too theological for any of the principals to grasp at that crucial time, any more than Ronald Reagan's words from 1964 that we had taken the first step towards "a thousand years of darkness" now rung true upon humanity. As for Reagan, by 1994 he was deep into Alzheimer's, likely unaware of his prophesy coming true in his lifetime. Liberalism, racism, lies; Satan's trinity was at hand.

"But I had known that this day would come," Darden admitted. He too was a prophet, John the Baptist crying in the wilderness. He wondered if somewhere in the after-life Nicole and Ron heard his preachings.

Police – whites and blacks - would approach him and apologize for Fuhrman. The entire white race had been set back, shamed into believing the worst about themselves. An apology was due the black community, and everybody knew the first necessary step was to let a black icon walk free. It was a giant guilt trip and the first step on a path, paved with good intentions, that would someday elect Barack Hussein Obama.

Now, "even Marcia Clark looked beaten," Darden recalled. When Fuhrman returned to court, several black members of the prosecution team were purposely not there. The man was utterly toxic. Lives – and reputations - had been risked, and all was lost because of this fellow. Darden waited in his office until Fuhrman was gone. He apologized to Kim Goldman, 23 and "beset on all sides by evil . . ." Darden despised Fuhrman. It took all his Christian charity to stay in control. When he returned downstairs, he was stunned to see Fuhrman still sitting in the courtroom.

"I turned to face him and – for a split second – our eyes locked," Darden recalled. "Then we both looked away."

Fuhrman was now "drained of his cop arrogance." Then, knowing he had perjured himself, he plead the Fifth, just like Al Cowlings. When he finally left, Fuhrman mouthed the words, "I'm sorry."

At 10:00 A.M. on October 3, 1995, the jury delivered their "not guilty" verdict in the murder trial of Orenthal James Simpson. The television replays always focus on O.J., who seems unable to comprehend that he got away with it. Unseen unless one looks for it is the reaction of Robert Kardashian, who looks like he has seen Satan himself; suddenly aware he has enabled the murderer of his friend Nicole.

It was likely the worst injustice ever delivered in an American courtroom, which takes into account all the injustices against blacks over the previous 200 years; innocent men hung for murders and rapes they did not commit, while white killers and rapists were set free. Yet, this statement encapsulates what the Simpson case wrought upon the world. A very large number of American citizens, most of whom are black, consider this statement utterly racist. To say it, or to write it, is racist.

This is where we are today. So be it.

"If the gloves don't fit, you must acquit," Johnnie Cochran told the jury in singsong Jesse Jackson-speak. He called Fuhrman a "genocidal racist" comparable to Adolf Hitler, and painted Vannatter with the same brush. Pulling quotations from the Malcolm X playbook, he called them the "twin devils of deception," a grave disservice to a good police officer (Vannatter). He called the jury's decision an opportunity to find a long-lost "justice in America" and a "journey to justice."

(Shapiro later accused Cochran of "dealing the race card from the bottom of the deck.")

In his closing summation, Darden quoted from Proverbs 16-17: "These . . . things doth the Lord hate . . . a proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood." Of Cochran, he quoted from verse 19: "A false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren . . ."

The jury again "just sat there . . . stone-faced" They could care less. Cochran and O.J. Simpson found no wisdom, no truth. They were not ashamed that the Word of God painted a picture of their duplicity and evil. Nether was with God if ever they had been.

Instead, "12 people could not make an honest assessment of nine months of testimony in just four hours," Darden write in his memoir.

"Instead, they did just what Johnnie Cochran asked them to do. It was that look in their eyes, the one I recognized from the beginning. It was the juror who gave Simpson a black power salute.

"They sent a message."

****

_In Contempt_ (1996) is an extraordinary book. It is extraordinary because it better answers the question white America now asks better than any other.

People are obviously different. Men, as they say, are from Mars, women are from Venus. Who knows what women want? But today, America is more racially divided than ever before. Whites and blacks struggle to find common ground. Christianity is the best place to find it. Sports create uneasy alliances, teammates and shared goals. On the Left, very uneasy political alliances. Six years into the Obama Presidency, however, his promise of racial harmony is no closer to fruition than peace in the Middle East.

But if a white person desires to know what it is like to be black, Darden's book does a better, more thoughtful job of explaining exactly what the modern black experience is than anything else available. His is, yes, the _modern_ experience of a black man born in 1956; who grew up in a black community on the verge of turning into a ghetto; experienced the 1960s and the militant 1970s; educated himself and used that education to help his fellow man; and saw his race turn against him.

"Perhaps I had to be 'kicked out' of the black community to understand my place in it," wrote Darden. "But sometimes the view is much better from the outside." At the time he wrote his book, Colin Powell, the black general and hero of the 1991 Persian Gulf War, was contemplating not only a Presidential run, but his own place in the country. Prophesying Obama, Darden foresaw a day when "the Man will be black." But Darden's eyes were opened, wide. He now understood racism in all its forms, and it was not just a white sin. It was Mankind's.

There are some heroes in this tale. Darden, Marcia Clark, the Browns, Ronald Goldman, his family, Ron Shipp, a few dedicated cops; a few others. Additional sorrow landed on Darden not long after the Simpson verdict. His beloved brother Michael died of AIDS. The Darden family recited Psalm 23 at his deathbed, "The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want . . ."

Darden is a Christian whose faith girded him through his trial by fire. He concluded his memoir with scripture from Revelation 21: 4-5.

And gold shall wipe away all tears from their eyes;

and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow,

nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain;

for the former things are passed away

And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold,

I make all things new.

Fallen angels

By the time O.J. Simpson entered the University of Southern California in 1967, Los Angeles was already the most important city in the world. Its rise had been inexorable, dramatic and swift. After World War II, the greatest migration in human history made L.A. and the state of California the biggest electoral juggernaut in Presidential politics. Hollywood was the American art form, its effect greater than all previous works of art since the Age of Enlightenment. It was ground zero for the music revolution. With the building of Dodger Stadium, it was being called the "sports capitol of the world." Advertising and cultural trends all seemingly emanated from its environs. The _Los Angeles Times_ was in the process of replacing the _New York Times_ as the greatest, and eventually the most profitable, newspaper in the world. It was a giant of the burgeoning Pacific Rim trade economy, with money being made, a leisure class to spend it, in ways that dwarfed the Roman Empire. It was "the place," as people said, where people "got it right" when it came to race relations.

New York was mired in crime, economic malfunctions, its streets filthy, beset by union strikes and racial strife. Chicago was the "third city," its population surpassed by Los Angeles. San Francisco lost all of its 19th and early 20th Century panache, its provincial citizenry green with envy that everything that was anything now happened not in its town, but in hated Los Angeles. London and Paris? Their glory days were over, shattered by two world wars. Moscow and Beijing? Communist, Totalitarian.

Among the smiling, shiny faces of this success story, O.J. Simpson, bathed in Trojan glory, was one of its brightest lights. Over the next 25 years, there was no change in this dynamic. Athletically, USC football, UCLA basketball, the Los Angeles Dodgers, the L.A. Lakers, and the Raiders, established dynasties like none before or since, winning Heismans, national titles, Fall Classics, world championships, and Super Bowls in "Showtime" style. The city produced the greatest Olympics ever held.

Hollywood had its two all-time best decades. The image most people had of Los Angeles was somewhere between a Beach Boys song and a party at Hugh Hefner's mansion. L.A.'s famed "miracle mile" of advertising agencies produced the cutting edge messages of the modern age. The city produced one President, and when Watergate cut him down to size, they just shrugged it off and produced a better one. Its Military Industrial Complex hummed right along, fueling a gilded age unseen in history, until it bathed Ronald Reagan in the glory of winning the Cold War. When the United States handily defeated Saddam Hussein and Iraq in 1991, political theorist Francis Fukuyama wrote that it was the "end of history," a victory for the combined forces of conservatism and Christianity, winners of 2,000 years of human experience. No nation, no conquering army, no political idea, no empire had ever been as powerful, its reach greater, its influence as tremendous, in every possible way: sociologically, religiously, culturally. Riding this whirlwind: Republican George H.W. Bush at 91 percent approval ratings.

Los Angeles and the state of California were, as they always had been, Republican. They produced Nixon and Reagan, gave them their electoral votes, and supported Bush. It's U.S. Senators were Republican, Pete Wilson, then John Seymour. Their Governors were from the Grand Old Party, too: George Deukmejian, then Wilson.  
Then came March 3, 1991. On that date, five officers of the Los Angeles Police Department beat Rodney King to a bloody pulp. It was all caught on tape, the ultimate in "reality TV." The tape was shown non-stop by CNN and most every other news outlet, night and day, for a year. It drove the African-American population, particularly in south-central Los Angeles and environs (Crenshaw, Watts, Compton) to the boiling point.

The officers were tried not in a downtown or even a Los Angeles courtroom, but in lily-white Simi Valley. When they were, for the most part, acquitted, the country went stark raving mad. Blacks erupted all across America. 53 people were killed in the L.A. riots, 2,000 were injured, and most of the black community was in flames. The National Guard and the Marines had to be called in to restore order. All racial harmony, false or not, was lost. The image of a smiling, race-neutral O.J. Simpson now seemed a mocking visage.

Then came June 12, 1994, and the "trial of the century," ending on October 3, 1995. If the King riots had not totally destroyed all the goodwill, all the greatness of a metropolis, of a Golden State, of what Reagan called a "shining city on a hill," the Simpson verdict did. The city would never recover. Neither would the country. It was beyond Shakespeare, beyond Greek tragedy; it was Biblical.

Greatness was replaced by mediocrity, in seemingly all ways. The sports champions of Southern California were replaced by champions from Northern California: the 49ers and the Oakland A's. USC, UCLA, the Dodgers, and the Lakers fell by the wayside. The Rams and Raiders split town, the Raiders finding gritty Oakland better than the gang-infested L.A. Coliseum.

The Republicans found themselves victims of their own success. Having won the Cold War, largely fighting liberal Democrats as much as the Communist ideology responsible for the murder of 120 million human beings, there were no more dragons to be slayed. The Military Industrial Complex, long SoCal's financial engine, laid off a vast workforce. Over night, the California economy tanked.

After the riots, the 1992 Republican National Convention, which should have been a modern processional worthy of Caesar Augustus, consisted instead of conservative commentator Patrick Buchanan describing mostly-white soldiers patrolling the streets of black Los Angeles, ostensibly protecting white America from violent, rampaging Negroes in what he called a "culture war." The liberal press said it "sounded better in the original German." After that, Bush managed to go from 91 percent approval ratings in 1991 (with the great "help" of Ross Perot) to defeat in 1992.

The 1992 elections were called the "Year of the Woman," and featured a profound shift in California political power. A new term – politically correct – entered the lexicon. Feminist politicians grabbed hold of a seemingly insignificant event and turned it into a major one. For years, jet fighter pilots in the Marines and Navy gathered in a yearly event in Las Vegas named after the device that grabbed the aircraft, keeping it on the decks of aircraft carriers: the Tailhook Convention.

For years, all those fighter pilots had been men, but in the previous decade-plus, women had entered the ranks of fighter jocks. At the convention, some of the pilots imbibed and got rowdy. A few, God forbid, actually desired carnal relations with women. The feminists treated this as on par with the Roman legions sacking and raping Gaul. They forced one high-ranking Naval officer out of his position. So devastated was he that he committed suicide.

A Republican Congressman from Texas named John Tower was nominated by President Bush to be Secretary of Defense. It was revealed that he once smiled and spoke close up with a woman. For this he was deemed unfit by the same feminists who, when confronted with massive evidence that Bill Clinton had sexually assaulted numerous women, and even raped one named Kathleen Willey, reacted by not reacting. A liberal female member of the media "explained" that Clinton was loved because he protected the right to abort children, which by 2014 amounts to an actual genocide in the form of 65 million dead babies since _Roe v. Wade_. The liberal female media member added, for good measure, she would happily provide Clinton with oral sex as an added bonus. Ironically, if she stuck to that form of sexual entertainment, she would not need the protections of _Roe v. Wade_.

As a result of this changing landscape, the state of California, once dominated by Protestant white male Republicans from the Southland, now represented by two Jewish Democrat women from San Francisco, Dianne Feinstein and Barbara Boxer. Orange County, the symbol of rugged individualism in the West, declared bankruptcy.

The nation became weak and feckless enough that Islamo-Fascism, not unlike Adolf Hitler when he saw how unprepared Franklin Roosevelt was in the 1930s, became emboldened enough to start the War on Terror. America was not bold enough to completely win that war.

With the fall of the Military Industrial Complex that so long fueled the L.A. economy, the Bay Area's Silicon Valley replaced it. They gave us the "information superhighway," known as the World Wide Web, beginning in 1993. For all its value, it has spread pornography and child molestation . . . the way Satan would do it. Hollywood has never come close to its glory days of the 1960s and 1970s.

Today, California is mired in debt. Several of its cities are largely defenseless against violent crime, diminished police forces ceding the streets to black and Latino gangs. The state that once built the trans-continental railroad, the Los Angeles Aqueduct, the Rose Bowl, Dodger Stadium, magnificent bridges, space ships and weapons bringing the Soviet Union to its knees; now takes decades to re-build the Oakland-San Francisco Bay Bridge. Once filled with evangelical fervor, it is now the abortion capitol of America (to the point where it has reduced black birth rates). The _Los Angeles Times_ became politically correct when Otis Chandler was forced out, was bought by the Tribune Company, and today is unrecognizable by its once-great standards. Its public schools, which in the 1950s and '60s answered the call for scientists and engineers who won the Cold War, now bow at the altar of global warming, gay marriage, and racial guilt. Decent people move out by the droves, looking to raise children in a moral, Christian manner elsewhere, leaving the state to liberals, criminals and illegal Mexicans by the millions.

Unions, corruption and criminality are the way of California's modern political "leadership." Its influence is no more, ceded to the rehabilitated South, the last bastion of "can do" American spirit.

America, once chosen by God to establish liberty and capitalism, to end slavery and protect Democracy, to defeat maniacal Nazism and atheistic Communism, and knock back Islamo-Fascism, sits today rootless and immoral. God uses nations and empires to do His will, as he did with Israel, Rome, and the British Empire. The great question today is whether America is still favored by Him, or whether the United States, like previous powers, has done His bidding but served its purpose. Perhaps America, having defeated the greatest evils in world history, freed billions, creating a marketplace that ultimately allows, through a multiple of mediums, the largest number of human beings ever, to hear the word of God, can rest easy now.

Loose on Earth

The Gospel According to Matthew reads, "I will give you the kingdom of Heaven, and whatever you bind on Earth shall be bound in Heaven, and whatever you loose on Earth shall be loosed in Heaven." The term "loose" refers to Satan who, after the fall of Man in the Garden of Eden, is now _loosed_ by God to take control of the world. Only Jesus Christ can save sinful man from punishment for letting this happen. Many are called, but few are chosen.

The devil uses many forms to loose himself upon Mankind. First, he used temptation, then knowledge, then hatred of our very brothers. Slavery, racism, intolerance, lies, corruption, war, and immorality have led humans further and further from Him, and from His Truth.

Shortly after the Russian Revolution, V.I. Lenin noted that of all the arts, "cinema is the most important." Propaganda in film was the leading weapon of Communism and Nazism in the 1930s. The Communists understood that an "enemy within" existed in the society of their greatest rival, the U.S. They began a spy apparatus in the 1920s which extended into our government, the entertainment industry, and the media. American journalists John Reed and Walter Duranty spread lies of "Soviet success" for years. This was the beginning of a long tradition.

But by the 1990s, the United States might have fallen into the trap of congratulating itself on its success, on believing Fukuyama's theory that "history" was over. Evil, however, never dies. It changes form, strategy, methods of operation. Slavery, Nazism, Communism; each dragon is slayed, a new one is spawned. Just as the King beating and the O.J. Simpson murder trial showed race relations were far from the rosy scenario previously believed, the Simpson case reinvigorated one of evil's most pervasive tools: the news media.

In the late 1970s, cable television was introduced. By 1994 it was standard in all communities, spread across the glove. At the time of the Simpson case, there were three major networks; ABC, NBC, and CBS. Cable News Network had spun out of Ted Turner's Atlanta-based WTBS and TNT. Millions of people became fans of the Atlanta Braves, dubbed "America's team" because they were the first to air all their games nationally. This was followed by ESPN, which rose from humble beginnings to a powerhouse by 1994, only to grow more beyond that. WGN in Chicago nationalized, popularizing the Cubs and White Sox like the Braves. The New York Mets also aired on many cable networks. Eventually, super networks like SNY and Yes changed the dynamics of sports TV. Fans of Marvin Miller and the unions say free agency brought big money into sports. They are wrong. Cable TV, via the free marketplace, did that.

The Menendez and Simpson cases were a huge boon for Court TV. Greta van Susteren of CNN rose to star status, first with _Burden of_ Proof, today with _On the Record_ at Fox News. Catherine Crier of ABC also leapfrogged on the back of the O.J. case. Geraldo Rivera revived his career with the Simpson coverage.

A year after the verdict, Fox News launched, a tremendous sea change in news coverage. Between Fox News and Court TV, women became major television personalities. Looks and glamour became the dominant theme of female news figures. Fox exploited this dynamic more than any other, featuring an array of sexy, oft-blond, short-skirted conservative women, some of whom, like Ann Coulter and Megyn Kelly, skyrocketed to superstar status.

In addition to CNN and Fox News, there was Headline News, MSNBC, and CNBC. Fox's dominance uncovered what many suspected, which was that the news media had always been liberal. Only when presented with a balanced alternative did the biases of the other cable news outlets and networks become fully exposed. The result is that news is now a kind of warfare, with Fox tacitly standing up for the Right, all the others using their powers of persuasion on behalf of the Left. Fox stars Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity dwarf all other news personalities.

In 1992, Bruce Springsteen released a song called _57 Channels (and nothin' on)._ He did not realize what a prophet he was. Today, Americans have some 700-900 channels to "choose" from, most of which they no not know anything about. High definition has multiplied these choices greatly.

In 1994, Rush Limbaugh was not just the king of conservative talk radio, he _was_ conservative talk radio. His opinions on race and the Simpson case were a profound, honest conservative expression, kept hopelessly under wraps before then. Limbaugh and the Simpson case unleashed a new wave of Right-wing pundits, including the incendiary Michael Savage, who ignored vicious accusations of racism with his scathing assault on the failure of black leadership, the disintegration of the black family, and black crime. These once-taboo topics became touchstones of conservative philosophy, breaking down the Great Society brick by brick. Sean Hannity, G. Gordon Liddy, and Mark Levin are among a host of other conservative talk voices who have dominated this medium.

The Internet was in its infancy in 1994-1995, but the Simpson case propelled it as it propelled all other mediums of communication. From there, social media has practically substituted itself for the news. So-called "smart phones" have created a distracted citizenry, unable to concentrate on much of anything any more. Book reading is down. Newspapers are a joke. The more information available, the more we know, the dumber we have become.

All of this technology has not created an educated class. It has, however, made every form of uncensored, hardcore pornography available to most anyone of any age anywhere in the world. Child molesters and child pornographers feast on this wondrous new entre to predatory behavior. Beautiful young girls grow up today longing not for a professional career, but a "glamorous" life in pornography. In the old Communist bloc, decades of atheism have produced a vapid immorality of breathtaking scope. National heroes are no longer freedom fighters or philosophers, but lingerie-clad Hungarian adult film starlets happily willing to do any sex act with any number of men, all at the same time. The Internet depicts supermodel-hot escorts and prostitutes available with a few clicks of the keyboard.

While all of this was going to be loosed on the world whether O.J. Simpson killed his wife or not, the hunger for scandal, the decreasing shock value created by the lurid case, and the all-encompassing social deviation emanating from this tragedy, helped to exponentially grow a form of medium that seems now to have been taken over by the Prince of Lies.

The Obama Presidency made use of this convergence of liberal media bias, social networks, technology . . . and lies, like none before. While the news has always slanted to the Left, and CNN was even dubbed the "Clinton News Network" by Republicans, when Obama hit the scene all vestige of impartiality went out the window. When George W. Bush ran for President against Albert Gore in 2000, the media made a strong effort to be fair. This was in reaction to Bill Clinton's scandals, when he was having an affair in the Oval Office and even faced a legitimate charge of rape.

But the Iraq War created a firestorm of media criticism. The vitriol heaped upon Bush was beyond any previous Presidents, with the possible exception of Richard Nixon. By contrast, the so-called "mainstream," or as 2008 GOP Vice-Presidential candidate Sarah Palin (who faced monumentally unfair criticism) called it, the "lamestream" media, went from being legitimate news to a tacit wing of the Democratic Party, the Obama campaign, and then the Obama Administration.

When President Bush took about 10 or 20 seconds to rise from his seat, in order not to frighten Florida school children upon hearing of the twin towers' collapsing on 9/11, he was excoriated. When it was learned that President Obama was playing golf and cards most of the day that Osama bin Laden was killed, and later it was learned that he was partying in Las Vegas with rap stars Jay-Z and Beyonce while Navy SEALS were dying in an unsupported defense of the American embassy in Libya, the media expressed the general opinion that whatever Obama needed to do in order to "stay focused" was good for the country.

But the support for Obama by social media took bias to a new level. Throughout the 2012 Presidential campaign, AOL users were greeted every day by the smiling visages of Barack and Michelle Obama, urging them to click links that would wish them "happy birthday," or "happy anniversary," or any number of ways to show support. Steve Jobs was an Obama supporter who offered to run the technology/media wing of his campaign before he passed away. Many conservatives are convinced that search engines like Google, social media sites like Facebook, and technology giants like Apple (all run by liberal Democrats) created algorithms that more likely led to positive Obama sites and applications, negative Mitt Romney sites.

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"

William Shakespeare's words from "As You Like It" ring as true today as they did when he wrote them. Certainly, in the melodrama of the O.J. Simpson murder case, the "characters" all seemed to have a unique role, as if set pieces of a cosmic stage craft. 20 years after the murders, there are "winners" and "losers" of this case nobody possibly would have predicted at the time. In the case of Simpson, the irony surrounding his incarceration over a seemingly mundane attempt to retrieve his sports memorabilia, is worthy of anything the Bard could have conjured.

The Browns

Denise Brown was Nicole's greatest advocate and defender. She started a charitable trust in her sister's name and is an advocate against domestic violence. In 2007 she had a falling out with the Goldmans when they published _If I Did It_ , which she felt was morally wrong. She canceled a joint appearance with Oprah Winfrey. She makes appearances across the country to raise funds for women's shelters nationwide and lobbied on behalf of Arlen Spector's Violence Against Women Act.

"Nicole's legacy will carry on not just through me, but all through the VAWA (Violence Against Women Act)," Brown told Fox411. "After Nicole's murder then Senator  Joe Biden asked me to come to D.C. because the VAWA was stalled in Senate Appropriation, after that it was passed,"

Today Brown is a co-host of the D-Talks Internet Radio show which raises awareness of women's issues and empowerment. She said her father, Lou Brown, was too ill to be interviewed.

"He worked so hard helping domestic violence organizations and lobbying for change, but he hasn't been involved in years," Brown said. "He's 88 years old and still with us."

The Goldmans

Fred Goldman and his family were the most passionate and emotional relatives of the two victims. He never gave up on "getting" O.J. one way or another. Irritated that the ex-football star had effectively hidden his assets, Goldman sued O.J. for his civil role in the deaths of Nicole and his son, Ron. The Goldman's prevailed and won a $33.5 million judgment, a civil jury effectively concluding what the criminal jury did not: O.J. committed double-murder.

As part of the awards, they were given the proceeds, copyright and media rights to O.J. Simpson's 2007 "book," If I Did It. The Goldman's took the book, co-written by O.J. with Pablo Fenjves, and re-wrote it as a confession by O.J. Titled If I Did It: Confessions of the Killer, the word "If" was barely seen, instead hidden under a large "I," making it appear to read I Did It. The book included an afterword by true crime writer Dominick Dunne, who covered the entire trial extensively, and listed as author the Goldman Family.

The Goldman's appeared with Oprah Winfrey to promote it. Oprah expressed displeasure, saying she only scheduled the appearance because Denise Brown had agreed to be a guest, too. When Denise expressed displeasure with the Goldmans for apparently exploiting the case and making money from it, Oprah sided with her on the issue.

The Goldman's explained that they were not motivated by money, rather they wanted to deny O.J. profiting from the book, which had the potential of making him millions of dollars. The book sold very well, but the Goldman's never came close to collecting $33.5 million, because O.J. no longer had that kind of money (due to attorney's fees, lack of income). What assets he did have had been effectively hidden, unavailable to the Goldmans or anybody else.

Goldman on occasionally weighed in on court cases, including the Casey Anthony murder trial, for various news outlets.

The Simpsons

O.J. Simpson's four children (two by Marguerite, two by Nicole) had great lives denied them. Lawyers and the Goldman lawsuit drained his money. What money he did hide he needed to maintain some semblance of his lifestyle. Arnelle (46 in 2014) and Jason (44 in 2014) have maintained near-total anonymity. Internet searches reveal almost nothing.

Nicole's daughter Sydney (29 in 2014) was working in catering in Atlanta in 2012, while Justin (26 in 2014) was living in Florida. It was a far cry from the Hollywood lifestyle her parents enjoyed.

Sydney and Justin lived with the Browns during and immediately after the trial, but there were rumors that they had a falling out with Nicole's family. In 2012 Denise Brown told Fox News, "The kids are doing great. This isn't just a standard remark, they really are doing great."

Al Cowlings

Cowlings was a huge casualty of the Simpson tragedy. Had he done the right thing, told the police what O.J. told him, confirmed what his porn star girlfriend told the district attorney's office, and defended his friend Nicole, he would be viewed sympathetically, maybe even heroically.

Instead, he lost his "meal ticket," his passport to the lifestyles of the rich and famous, and was left to fend for himself. He faded into total obscurity. According to reports, in 2007 he was working as a handbag sales representative in Los Angeles and facing bankruptcy. His last public sighting was by TMZ outside Mr. Chow in Beverly Hills in 2007.

Marcus Allen

Allen managed to steer just clear enough of the Simpson saga to maintain his reputation. He always denied having an affair with Nicole, although many in the know insist he did. Whether O.J. knew or not, or even whether knowledge of involvement with Allen was an instigator in O.J.'s rage, is not known and probably never will be.

Allen retired from pro football in 1997, was elected to the College Football Hall of Fame (2000) and the Pro Football Hall of Fame (2003). He is considered one of the greatest athletes who ever lived, although in the pantheon probably would rate just below O.J. Simpson both as a Trojan and an NFL running back (despite breaking O.J.'s single-season college records).

Kato Kaelin

Kaelin was a villain who somehow managed, unlike Al Cowlings, to profit from his role in the Simpson case. Law enforcement remains fairly sure he covered up and lied for O.J., helping Nicole and Ron's killer to go free. He mainly "played dumb," and it worked.

He regularly appeared with comedian Bill Maher, who crooned over how handsome he was, marveling at his perceived ability to pick up women. The media compared his long blond hair to the model Fabio. He was mocked by comedians for years as dumb, a "freeloader," and a dupe. He tried to re-invent himself but lacked any actual talent, appearing in reality shows, comedy roasts, and other B-list programs, often with Playboy bunnies or hot models. Kaelin filmed a comedy pilot called Don't Get Arrested. He now maintains the belief that O.J. is guilty but "I have no first hand knowledge," only that he has a "gut feeling' and "intuition."

Kaelin adamantly stated, "I'm not the reason O.J. Simpson is innocent from the first trial. I'm not at all, there's prosecutors, there's witnesses. I said I think he's guilty and I said it many, many times. They cannot prove it. [The] jury said he's innocent." Kaelin told Fox411.com, "Thank God there haven't been any more murders." He turns 55 in 2014.

Faye Resnick

Resnick, a heavy cocaine addict, was the center of the defense's attempted theory that the murders were committed by drug lords, apparently brought into Nicole's life by Faye. According to this hypothesis, Nicole was killed as a payback or message to Faye. The theory was panned then and now. O.J.'s vow to get "the real killers" has been used to mock him for years, especially by sports talk host Jim Rome.

Resnick was the first to cash in on the murder, publishing _Nicole Brown Simpson: The Private Diary of a Life Interrupted_ in 1994 before the trial even started. It painted an unflattering portrait of Nicole. In 1996 she followed up with _Shattered: In the Eye of the Storm_ , in which she gave her opinion of the case and the legal teams. She posed for _Playboy_ , and settled into a rote Los Angeles lifestyle of appearances on _Real Housewives of Beverly Hills_. Once exceptionally beautiful, she apparently engaged in so much plastic surgery, botox, collagen injections, lifts, and other enhancements as to effect a somewhat grotesque physical appearance, with huge lips that look to have been stung by a hundred bees. Some photos of her reveal a woman who has spent so much time in a tanning bed or slathered in self-tanning lotion as to look half-black.

Kris Kardashian

It was revealed that Kris Kardashian had numerous affairs while still married to Robert Kardashian. One rumor circulating around the Internet is that her daughter Khloe, born in 1984 when O.J. was still single and partying constantly with the Kardashians, is actually O.J.'s daughter. Photos of her reveal that she is dark and looks significantly different, and bigger, than her sisters Kourtney, Kim, and brother Rob. Unlike her siblings, she has O.J.'s huge head, something he was made fun of by teammates.

Kris married Bruce Jenner before the murders, and had two children with him after them. Eventually, she became famous for her role in the hit TV show _Keeping Up With the Kardashians_ , but the real star is her super-hot daughter Kim, who made a sex tape and has carried on affairs with famous athletes and celebrities.

Robert Kardashian

Like Al Cowlings, Kardashian is viewed as a villain who failed to either pursue the cause of justice, or protect his friend Nicole, before or after the murders. His role in the Simpson case is, combined with the behavior of his daughters (particularly Kim) on _Keeping Up With the Kardashians_ , a slight embarrassment to the alma mater he shares with O.J. and his son Rob: the University of Southern California.

In 1996 he granted an interview with ABC. "I have doubts," he admitted when asked about O.J.'s guilt. "The blood evidence is the biggest thorn in my side; that causes me the greatest problems. So I struggle with the blood evidence."

This was laughable. The blood evidence was, in the view of many law enforcement veterans, the most damning evidence accumulated against a murder suspect many ever saw.

When YouTube.com became all the rage, video of the "not guilty" verdict went viral, with millions focusing on the shocked look on Kardashian's face when he apparently realized he has devoted himself to freeing a murderer. It can be viewed at youtube.com/watch?v=jED_PB5YQgk.

F. Lee Bailey

Bailey was one of the most famous trial lawyers in America, but the Simpson case was his last big one. He had a heavy drinking problem that may have affected his judgment, and later was disbarred. He will be 81 in 2014.

Robert Shapiro

Shapiro is not viewed with the same disdain as Kardashian (aiding a criminal act), Bailey (screaming the N-word like Ben Chapman yelling at Jackie Robinson in 1947), or Cochran (literally stirring up hatred in the world). Already one of the most famed celebrity attorneys in America, his ceding the lead counsel role to Cochran may have won the case for O.J., and relieved the burden of history from falling squarely on Shapiro's shoulders.

Tragedy did not evade Shapiro in his personal life; his son Brent died from an overdose of ecstasy in 2005. He continued to represent and do business, sometimes in an adverse manner, with celebrities after 1994-1995. He is best known today for starting a successful web site called LegalZoom.com, which allows non-attorneys to create documents without hiring expensive lawyers. He turns 72 in 2014.

Johnnie Cochrane

Cochran would be a low figure even if he had not been O.J.'s lead counsel. He made his career on race extortion and race-bating; lying, accusing racism at every turn, stirring turmoil among the people in the manner warned of over and over again both in the Old and New Testaments. Jesse Jackson, the master of this dark art, said a call from Cochran extorting blood money from deep pockets, made "corporations and violators shake."

The flamboyant, extravagantly wealthy Cochran continued the same theme after the O.J. case. He represented Abner Louima, extorting almost $9 million from New York City in one of the foulest racial episodes in American annals. He also managed to free rap star Sean "P. Diddy" Combs from weapons and bribery charges. A caricatured  
"Cochran figure" was a regular on the popular sit-com _Seinfeld_. Cochran died of a brain tumor in 2005 at age 67.

Judge Lance Ito

64 years old in 2014, Judge Ito still presides over cases in the Los Angeles Superior Court system, and teaches law. He never wrote a book or even grants interviews regarding the Simpson case because judicial ethics prohibits a jurist from doing so unless he resigns, which he said would dishonor his traditional Japanese family.

Detectives Tom Lange and Phillip Vannatter

Maligned by the media, tainted by the untrue brush of racism, both Detectives Lange and Vannatter were good cops who will forever be associated with a losing case. Mark Fuhrman and others found fault with some of their evidence-gathering and questioning of O.J. Simpson in the immediate aftermath of the murders, but they did solid police work which was overshadowed by events beyond their control. Both retired from the L.A.P.D. after the case.

They co-wrote _Evidence Dismissed: The Inside Story of the Police Investigation of O.J. Simpson_ , which detailed each step of their investigation, while answering some of their critics.

Lange is working on _Four on the Floor_ , which details another lurid L.A. murder he was involved in back in 1981, the infamous "Wonderland" killings involving adult film star John Holmes. Vannatter died at the age of 70 in 2012.

Marcia Clark

Clark felt "such guilt" over losing the case. The look on her face as the camera zoomed in on her while O.J.'s "not guilty" verdict was read was the look of shock and even more than that, pure sadness.

"I felt like I'd let everyone down," she wrote in her memoir, _Without a Doubt_. "The Browns. The Goldmans. My team. The country." The book deal was worth $4.2 and it was a big seller. She was divorced in 1995, adding to the pain of a very bad year. She hosted a TV show and was a legal affairs correspondent for _Entertainment Tonight_.

Clark moved to the suburbs with her kids, and has been sought out for occasional legal opinions by news outlet. She wrote two novels, _Guilt by Association_ and _Guilt by Degrees_ , and has also contributed to the _Daily Beast_. Clark will turn 62 in 2014.

Christopher Darden

Nobody – not O.J. Simpson, not Johnnie Cochran, not anybody on the defense team; all high-priced lawyers with money – ever sued anybody for slander or libel. Darden's book, _In Contempt_ , was filled with page after page of detailed descriptions of unethical, oft-illegal, malicious and even downright evil acts by many of them. Aside from an attorney named Shawn Holley stating in 2012 that Darden's assertion the glove stunt was "self-serving . . . false, malicious, and slanderous . . ." and his attempt to "exculpate himself from one of the biggest blunders in the history of jurisprudence," nobody ever went after him or the many other people saying the same things about them.

Nobody sued because in order to prevail in a civil trial, as the Goldmans did, they need to prove they are right. None of the Simpson team was right, or in the right, so none sued.

Darden is left to the judgment of history, and like all of us, God, who gave him the strength to bear this great cross of his life. He was not the greatest attorney of all time. Neither was Marcia Clark. The greatest attorney of all time, whoever he is, wins cases and stays on the right side of the moral equation. Cochran's team won, but they won like a college coach who cheats at recruiting, a slugger pumped on illegal steroids. Darden wanted to do it like John Wooden. Alas, he lost. His tactics are subject to much criticism, some severe. He himself would admit as much. Nobody can accuse him of lack of commitment, of not rising before dawn, returning home at midnight, usually seven days a week, foregoing a personal life of any kind, for government pay, all under the most intense possible pressure. Who would sign on to such a thing? Anybody who truly knows what this is like would not, but Darden did and he is a hero.

After the trial, he taught at Southwestern University School of Law in Los Angeles before entering private practice in 1999. In 2007, California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger considered him for a judicial appointment. Occasionally he did interviews, as when he told Oprah Winfrey he still believed O.J. to be guilty. He never regained respect for Cochran, accusing him in 2012 of "manipulating" the jury, the evidence . . . and the country, in particular through his use of the glove. He worked as a legal commentator for CNN, Court TV, NBC and CNBC, has frequently been on Fox News, appeared on _The Tonight Show with Jay Leno_ , and made some appearances in movies.

_In Contempt_ was a best seller, and he wrote several other books after that. In 2013 Darden wrote in TheDailyBeast.com, "The election of Barack Obama pulled us up from the bleak hole created by the Simpson trial and unified many black and white people to believe and hope again - together." He added he would not have brought the case accusing George Zimmerman of murdering Trayvon Martin to trial. Darden turns 59 in 2014.

Mark Fuhrman

Just as none of the defense team ever sued Darden for libel or slander, Fuhrman never did, either, even though Darden still blatantly accuses him of racism. Today, looking at the tremendous success Fuhrman has enjoyed, one really must ponder the notion of justice, whether it is a killer going free, or a racist rehabilitated in the public square. The answer, as always, lies with God, and is not revealed to Man by way of dollars and cents; fame and notoriety; or reputation. Fuhrman, like all men, must repent in his heart and ask forgiveness. He indicates he has done this. Only God knows what is in his heart today.

Even Darden cannot know this, and in truth his accusations are of actions taken in 1994-1995, not in the succeeding years. In 2006, however, Oprah Winfrey asked Darden how he felt seeing Fuhrman becoming wealthy and leading a "very successful life."

"I think in a lot of ways Fuhrman is far more a disgusting a figure than O.J. Simpson," he replied. "And you really can't be a friend of mine if you're a friend of Mark Fuhrman's. And to see Fuhrman with his success. To see some of the relationships and friendships he's developed with people in the media and celebrities and the like, it just makes me want to vomit."

Darden, however, goes back to the "mistakes" he accepts the blame for in 1995, when he allowed Fuhrman on the stand, ostensibly after being set up by Cochran. Cochran told Oprah what he wrote in his book, that Fuhrman had every opportunity to come clean about his use of the N-word. If there is one single man most responsible for O.J. Simpson walking free, beyond Johnnie Cochran, it is Mark Fuhrman. Hindsight is 20/20, and at the time – for several years after the trial – only O.J. was more hated than Mark Fuhrman.

From that perspective, Fuhrman did himself no favors by lying. He may have blown Darden's case, but he also destroyed his own life. There is no possible way for him then to see have seen a bright future in which he worked his way back. He appeared, as Hal Holbrook tells Charlie Sheen just before his arrest in Wall Street, to be the man who "looks in the abyss, there's nothing staring back at him. At that moment, man finds his character. And that is what keeps him out of the abyss."

If indeed Fuhrman is a racist who beat the game, then the blacks are left only to gnash and grind their teeth. If he is not the monster he was made out to be, if he changed – who is the same today as he was in the 1970s and 1980s – then good for him.

"We made some mistakes," Darden admitted. "But the things he did, the thing he did on the witness stand was intentional. He had every opportunity to tell me, to tell Marcia Clark, to tell someone about these epithets. And about . . ."

Using the N-word. Darden could never get himself to say it himself.

Fuhrman's most toxic statements, made to Kathleen Bell, remain the most disturbing to this day. What, exactly, was his intent, his meaning, when he indicated that "all" the blacks – not black criminals, not just blacks in L.A., but by all presumably every black man, woman and child in America, in Africa, or wherever blacks were sold – should be gathered together and actually burned . . . alive?

It is as horrible a thought, an image, as a human being can have. It is Satanic, in fact an image of hell. It makes Adolf Hitler's methods – gassing Jews, then burning them only after they were dead – look halfway humane in comparison. But these racist sentiments were never backed up by action. They remained a fantasy. There are no real-life examples of Mark Fuhrman murdering blacks, using the color of authority.

Then there were his comments to the North Carolina screenwriter, Laura Hart McKinney. The prosecution was playing a dangerous game, because they needed Fuhrman's expert testimony from the crime scene. They thought they had a decade-long window to play with, which excluded the genocidal fantasies expressed to Kathleen Bell. Fuhrman had used the N-word, but insisted not within the last 10 years.

Then the tapes and McKinney's testimony revealed he had. Except, had he? Vincent Bugliosi, a fair man and no racist, backed Fuhrman on the assertion that he had not, using the theory that his use of the word had been in channeling a character for the McKinney screenplay, which might be based on him, but was not him. McKinney and her husband let the cat out of the bag, trying to shop the script around while Fuhrman was still in the news, the trial still going on. McKinney played the shocked liberal, telling the court Fuhrman was a verbatim racist, even though the tapes show her laughing and giggling at the diatribe, apparently thinking it would play well when Bob DeNiro or Marty Scorsese put it on the screen.

Where the prosecution blew it was in not realizing that the "channeling a character" excuse was a flimsy veneer, especially in the eyes of the mostly-black jury. Once McKinney revealed use of the word, then the Bell evidence was allowed. O.J. Simpson effectively won after that.

Fuhrman was then and remains today an enigma. His own intelligence has always been discomfiting to his detractors. Darden himself was taken aback by the notion that he was dealing with a "smart racist," which changes the whole dynamic of racism in the first place. The general assumption about racism and bigotry of course is based on ignorance; the ignorant man "pre-judges" that with which he does not yet know about. The white man who does not know much about blacks hates them.

But what about the man who does know about blacks. Did Fuhrman "know" blacks? He grew up in rural Washington state, likely with few black acquaintances or neighbors. He unquestionably knew many in the Marine Corps. Regardless of how low the standards might have been after the Vietnam War, blacks in the corps are among the most impressive among them. They are not "ghetto Negroes." They are patriots and comrades-in-arms. Marines like to say that there is no black-and-white, just green.

By the time of the Simpson trial, Fuhrman seemed to get along with black colleagues. There were fellow cops, some of whom he played basketball with, and a female associate he regularly lunched with, even babysitting her children. Fuhrman did not like black gangbangers, drug dealers, pimps, hos, and street perps. Did he separate them from "normal blacks?" It appears he did. The accusations of racism in modern society are far more complicated than the blanket image of a KKK rally and the lynching of innocent Negroes. Again, his intelligence is a discomfiting inconvenience. A man who sees things, forms opinions, based on experience, events, anecdotes; using his brains to analyze and arrive at a conclusion, much like he approaches a case; such a thinking man, if he harbors negative thoughts about blacks, cannot so easily be dismissed.

But racial rules are different. Political correctness trumps all, and in this world the Jesse Jacksons, Al Sharptons and Johnnie Cochrans are given free reign to run roughshod over common sense, while Fuhrman, practically by virtue of being white, a Nordic, a cop, a Republicans; is guilty and never really allowed to be proven innocent.

But the sharp, media-savvy Fuhrman knew that if he were to rehabilitate himself, it would have to be by returning to the spotlight. He did so using the skills he attained as a cop; his intelligence (in the form of a natural gift for writing), and dogged persistence, hard work.

He started by writing a book called Murder In Brentwood (1997). It was published by Regnery, one of the most conservative publishers of books and magazines in the United States. The conservative base, led by Rush Limbaugh, had been the most outraged over the racial politics that allowed a murderer to walk free, ostensibly because of the color of his skin. White liberals were far more willing to buy into the theory that, while O.J. surely did it, it was somehow symbolic that a "revolutionary" jury overturn centuries of oppression, just as V.I. Lenin once said of reports of a million-plus casualties of Communism, "You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs."

It was the age of the Clintons, their messy second term when Bill faced allegations of oral sex in the Oval Office, sexual assault, rape, and corruption on a massive scale. The Right was inflamed and informed, by a new network, Fox News; by conservative talk radio built in large measure on the strength of the Simpson case; a plethora of conservative magazines (Human Events, The American Spectator, The Weekly Standard, Newsmax); and a new medium called the Internet, particularly an underground muckraker named Matt Drudge. It was a ready-made forum for Fuhrman, far easier for him to navigate than the old phalanx of network Lefties Richard Nixon had to wade through in making his comeback of the 1980s.

He got Bugliosi to write an effusive foreword to his book. Bugliosi (the man who convicted the Manson family), is as dogged an investigator as ever graced the American justice scene. His later book dissecting how John Kennedy was killed by Lee Harvey Oswald, rejected conspiracy theories and their related cottage industry, by using cold, hard facts and analysis. He used the same skills in breaking down Fuhrman's role. First, he established to his own satisfaction that while Fuhrman was not without racial fault, the portrait painted of him by Cochran and the media was false and unfair. Then he analyzed the case, arriving at O.J.'s guilt – and Fuhrman's theory of it – using the same dogged police work.

Then Fuhrman apologized. Whether it was a PR stunt or not, the words he used were the best he could use. "The world does not know me; it knows of me," he starts out. Then he admitted inflicting pain on himself, the citizens of the United States, and those he loved. That pain would "forever haunt me. This is not a book of justification or excuse, but one of truth," adding that he faced judgment by his neighbors for his private thoughts, which in his case were exposed like an open sore to the world.

"My immature, irresponsible ramblings with a screenwriter were never intended to be heard by anyone but the two of us," he wrote, but his vaunted intelligence seems to have been drowned out by ego or something, because a police officer saying what he said to McKinney, and then expecting it to never come back to bite him; that was the height of stupidity, even if it was only an internal affairs investigation, not the "trial of the century." Besides, the words were by their very nature meant to be heard by someone other than the two them; that was the purpose of any screenplay!

Fuhrman admitted showing "disrespect" to "millions of people" through the use of "cruel words. These words echo in my mind daily, and I am ashamed."

Fuhrman addressed the fact that he was caught; only then did he admit he was wrong. To that he responded, "In my heart, I always knew it was wrong, even if I said them only to create a fictional story." He was lured by "greed," hoping to make a million bucks in the movie business, and on top of that was a "lack of compassion." He failed himself and all around him "when I grabbed the chance to make money."

Fuhrman did not use his career as an excuse, even though it did expose him to the "dark side of humanity." He made bad choices. "I take full responsibility for my life and career." In the end he said simply, "I am sorry."

Then he wrote two of the best true crime books ever written. There were many books written about the Simpson case, his relationship with Nicole, and its aftermath, but the best was Fuhrman's Murder in Brentwood. Whereby detectives Vannatter and Lange wrote a dry re-telling of the case - a 305-page police report – Fuhrman's read like a Joseph Wambaugh novel. His own personal idiosyncrasies and failures were fleshed out, and his minute-by-minute theory on what exactly happened that evening remains the best yet expressed. He was originally assigned a ghostwriter, but it was quickly discovered he did not need one. He wrote fluidly and intelligently, and on deadline apparently without writer's block. In fact, writing was a balm, therapy for him as he dealt with his sordid past.

Then he re-entered the public arena, promoting the book and appearing as a guest talking about other cases that came along. He was oft paired with adversaries, as when one of O.J.'s legal advisors, Alan Dershowtitz tried to rattle him on the radio, calling him a "racist cop." Fuhrman remained calm and steadfast while others sometimes were emotional, even hateful. Act or not, truly sorry or not, his demeanor was his best ally. The book was a hit. Many wanted inside Fuhrman's head. The books written about the Simpson case helped dispel the myth, even held by many who were "quite sure" he did it, but could not be convinced he was guilty "beyond a shadow of a doubt." Nobody made the case better, on paper and in the electronic media, than Fuhrman. As O.J.'s guilt solidified in the public's mind, the dastardly deeds of Johnnie Cochrane, F. Lee Bailey, and their minions, became more obvious. As their reputations got worse and worse over time, Fuhrman's rehabilitation continued, step by calculated step.

Then came Murder in Greenwich: Who Killed Martha Moxley? (1998). This time, Fuhrman was given a big contract with an advance by HarperCollins. The respected Dominic Dunne wrote the foreword. But it was the subject of the book that cemented Fuhrman as a legitimate criminal scientist and true crime author: the Kennedys.

As a Republican, it was a prime target for Fuhrman, and delighted conservatives convinced that Joseph P. Kennedy was the most evil "legitimate" citizen of the 20th century; the Kennedy family stole the 1960 Presidential election from Richard Nixon; that JFK was a womanizer whose reckless behavior could have led us to disaster; that Teddy Kennedy was a coward who let a girl drown to save his fat skin; that the family is immoral and criminal, but get away with everything using money, a compliant media, and the Democratic Party.

Fuhrman went back to Greenwich, Connecticut, one of the most moneyed, elite, cloistered communities in the world, to investigate the long-unsolved killing of a girl named Martha Moxley. She lived next to the Skakel family, related to the Kennedys by the marriage of Ethel Skakel to slain 1968 Democratic Presidential candidate Robert Kennedy.

One of the Skakel sons was long suspected of the killing. He was known to be violent and erratic, but the family used their money, connections and prominence to shut down the investigation. The case never went to trial.

Fuhrman showed up in Greenwich, where he was treated like a skunk at a lawn party. Here was this racist, rogue cowboy from California, trying to tear down one of the most prominent families in Greenwich. All doors were shut, and Fuhrman was excoriated as "that racist cop." When hateful faces shouted, "You're him, aren't you?" he would just give a half-smile and reply, "I just look like him." His self-deprecating, even humorous way of handling the situation, first on the scene in Greenwich, then as described in the book, humanized him.

Then he solved the case. Using dogged police work, with the help of one of the police officers on the original case (who like Fuhrman wanted to right a past wrong), Fuhrman was able to prove that Michael Skakel had murdered Martha. The case went to trial, Skakel was convicted, and he sits in prison to this day.

In 2002, the book was produced as a movie, starring Christopher Meloni as Fuhrman. Meloni's performance was understated and captured Fuhrman's personality to perfection. He was not particularly likable; in fact he was rude and irritating, but he was a good police officer and valued the truth. The way he handled accusations of racism were fleshed out nicely. In one scene, he told his colleague he did not blame people for hating him. He was considered not just a racist, but a "genocidal racist." He took on the worst things he had said, and the worst things people thought about him, head on. It worked and the film was a hit.

From there, Fuhrman has been a regular contributor to Fox News as well as other media outlets, opining as an expert who knows the legal system from soup to nuts on all the big cases that have come across the scene over the years. He turns 62 in 2014.

Orenthal James Simpson

What is there to say about Orenthal James "O.J." Simpson: Trojan legend, NFL record-breaker, Hollywood celebrity, infamous "criminal"; that has not already been said!?

O.J. is one of those people in American society who is instantly recognizable by his first name - as in Michael Jordan - or by his initials, as in his case. That is the way it was when he was a mere college junior. The familiarity reflected nothing but a positive glow on this American icon for decades; until June 12-13, 1994.

Outside of wars, the Great Society, and other terrible acts of massive upheaval, the Simpson murder case did as much damage to America as any event. It can certainly be compared to McCarthyism and Watergate in its affect. It divided a nation that, more than 100 year after the Civil War, felt they had finally healed old wounds. O.J. Simpson, Johnnie Cochran and the players who make up this awful Shakespearean tragedy, ripped those wounds open. We are left with gaping, bloody gashes, never healed in the years since. These wounds metastasized and are now a cancer on society.

There are many casualties beyond the obvious: Nicole and Ron; the Goldmans and Browns; the Simpson family; American jurisprudence. One of the biggest was the University of Southern California.

O.J. is at once a source of some, if not the greatest, pride in the history of USC sports. For that very reason, his fall from grace caused great anguish, embarrassment and public humiliation for the school that made him and then suffered because of him. O.J.'s murder accusation and subsequent trial came on the heels of the L.A. riots (1992) and a major earthquake in Northridge (1994). USC's football team had fallen into mediocrity. A stray bullet from a drive-by shooting that struck a player (injuring him but not seriously) in practice just added to the feeling that the paint was peeling on the school and the city.

Opposing schools taunted USC with card tricks, chants, slogans, "mug shot" posters and marching band routines all spun around the theme of Troy's greatest hero being a man capable of double homicide. His tragedy is an American Shakespeare tale, that of a poor black kid who gets everything, then has to settle into a long twi-light zone of public humiliation and hatred.

Simpson is, outside of John Wayne, probably USC's most famous athlete. He held that "title" before and after his wife's murder. One can argue who is most famous among USC alumni: filmmaker George Lucas, astronaut Neil Armstrong, General Norman Schwarzkopf, director Ron Howard, former Secretary of State Warren Christopher, newsman Sam Donaldson, or athletes of great fame like Simpson, Frank Gifford, Tom Seaver, and Marcus Allen. For USC, O.J. Simpson represents, to quote Charles Dickens, "the best of times and the worst of times." He was a marvel to brag about. On the field, O.J. was unparalleled. Off the field, here was the greatest living public relations symbol they could hope for. He symbolized what being a Trojan was all about.

Many claimed O.J. The city of San Francisco, Galileo High School, City College of San Francisco, the Buffalo Bills, the 49ers; but none had so jealous and loyal a claim as USC.

After the murder, the school found itself in a sticky thicket. What to do with all that memorabilia? The photos, the Heismans, the plaques that adorned Heritage Hall? The late 1990s were not kind to L.A. or USC football. The memory of O.J.'s heroics could have come in handy. Now detractors just pointed to their "ancient history" and their problem children: Todd Marinovich (derided as "Marijuanavich") and O.J. Simpson. O.J.'s mug shot, which had made the cover of Newsweek, became a popular poster in the rooting sections of Notre Dame, UCLA, Cal, Stanford and all other points.

Trojan players walking the gauntlet of fans from buses, dressing rooms and other public locations in "enemy" territory were taunted by the posters and the shouts. Rumors of an affair between Nicole and another Trojan legend, Marcus Allen, were circulated. Who knows?
"It broke my heart when the O.J. Simpson case hit the news," his old coach, John McKay said in one of the last interviews he granted, to StreetZebra.com in 2000. "I still don't know what happened with O.J. I do know this, the guy I knew and the other players knew, never would have done anything like that. It was just terrible; he was one of the most admired guys in America."

"Regarding this whole Shakespearean tragedy that O.J.'s life became, I always thought that as he got really big time, in the NFL but more so as a Hollywood celebrity because that world is not real, that he had no real friend to tell him what was up," his old teammate, USC All-American linebacker Adrian Young, said in What It Means to Be a Trojan: Southern Cal's Greatest Players Talk About Trojans Football (2009). "On a sports team there's usually somebody to keep you in line, but not in that show biz world. I was not really sociable with O.J., and it's hard to make comments about what happened much beyond what I've said."

The Simpson murder case occurred at a particularly vulnerable time for the university. Dr. Steven Sample took over as the school's president in 1994. His goal was to turn USC into one of the great academic institutions in the world. USC had always been a fine school. Its film, dental, medical, law, MBA and business schools were world class. It produced the elite of Southern California society: judges, politicians, business leaders. It was the preferred school for the high society children of Beverly Hills, San Marino and Newport Beach. However, it did not compare academically to Stanford or the Ivy League. Rivals Notre Dame, California and UCLA were superior.

Dr. Sample set out to change all that. The Simpson scandal was a huge obstacle to overcome in terms of publicity and fundraising. Football success always correlated with alumni donations. The years after the murders, USC floundered on the field. It got so bad that by 2000, the school's alumni base had in large measure accepted a new reality: a trade-off had been made. A university could either be a great academic institution, or a great football school. It could not be both. College football powers like Miami seemed indicative of this. Football stars were semi-thugs, mostly black, and the price of victory was a criminal element. USC had always had a double standard. Athletes were brought in and coddled through school, often leaving for professional careers without a degree or much education. Now, USC turned from that in favor of academic excellence.

Of all coach Pete Carroll's accomplishments in the 2000s – two national championships, four Rose Bowl wins, 5-1 in BCS bowls, three Heismans – perhaps his best was creating one of the great dynasties in history while the school's academic standing went up and up and up! With this success, eventually the shadow of O.J. Simpson lifted. Like a political leader whose accomplishments just drown out his critics, USC was able to replace the taunts with, as Jim Rome calls it, "scoreboard." There is no substitute for it.

USC has recovered from O.J. Too many great memories and gigantic accomplishments have since been performed on the fields of strife in front of too many people for the Stanford's, the Cal's or any other comparable unimpressives to bring up O.J. in the halftime P.R. wars.

But the racial climate, one that O.J. was so much a part of - the smiling kid from San Francisco's Potrero Hill, arm in arm with black and white teammates at USC and in Buffalo - which forged the path towards the 1970 USC-Alabama game that changed a nation; that climate was found to be a façade of sorts. Just as the 1970 USC Trojans who went in to Birmingham to foil the segregated Tide was not racially harmonious after all, neither was Los Angeles, California and points east.

The school, however, cannot honor him. He cannot come around for banquets, awards ceremonies, halftime presentations. He would be booed unmercifully at his beloved Coliseum. In late December of 2002, Pete Carroll and Carson Palmer led USC into Miami for the 2003 Orange Bowl game against Iowa. While the team was practicing a few days before the game, an unannounced O.J., now living in semi-seclusion in south Florida, emerged and sauntered onto the field. It was an awkward moment, but the Trojan connection, especially (but not only) with the black players was made. For a few brief minutes, O.J. enjoyed some camaraderie. Carroll just let it happen, preferring not to make more of it than it needed to be. Then O.J. left.

When USC returned to the 2005 Orange Bowl, rumors were rampant that O.J. was there and would make a splash. It never happened. Buffalo Bills games? College end Pro Football Hall of Fame inductions? He is persona non grata.

****

O.J.'s effect on America is far worse than his effect on his alma mater. His trial revealed schisms in American racial relations that pulled the veneer of California moderation, in concert with the horrendous Rodney King beating and subsequent black reaction to its aftermath.

O.J.'s "brothers" found him "not guilty." Millions of white Americans, good people without racist tendencies, uttered the N-word, some for the only time in their lives, when this happened. Blacks cheered. The Age of Aquarius was dead.

O.J. was free but forced to live with himself. The case against him was solid and public opinion has never really changed. Virtually everybody thinks he is guilty, even blacks who liked the verdict not because justice was served in the killing of two people, but because it represented a bizarre "payback" for white repression; the kind O.J. had no intimate knowledge of. He had skated through life on ego, talent, football dedication and charm, coming of age at a time when white America was ready to love the kind of black man that he was.

For all of the people convinced of Simpson's guilt, a portion are not so sure of his guilt that they would recommend the death penalty. His case left just a tiny window of "reasonable doubt." If by some slim chance the jury got it right, then O.J. is a man who has been badly wronged, for the things that made him "Juice" were indeed taken from him. He is to this day a vilified character, for not only was the crime exposed, but every peccadillo, large or small, was made tabloid fodder.

But this "reasonable doubt" is not reasonable among those who took the time to study the case: to read books by Vannatter and Lange; Clark and Darden; by Mark Fuhrman, Vincent Bugliosi and Gerry Spence. There are no books by any of the defense attorneys spelling out how O.J. was innocent. Some, like Bailey and Dershowitz, did write about the case, but mainly they just laid out the successful strategies they employed. This is entirely different from "proving" their client was innocent, which is also different from being "not guilty."

It seems that all that O.J. Simpson touched turned to feces. To be associated with him, to do business with him, to be tarred by association with him, for the most part ruined the lives of those involved. It certainly was the worst thing that could have happened to Nicole Brown, the Brown family, and the Goldman family.

Robert Kardashian's reputation was besmirched, and then he died young. Johnnie Cochran may have been a big hero in the black community, but he is generally viewed as being something in between an evil man and a tool of evil itself. F. Lee Bailey, after a long, successful legal career, is viewed not for his great triumphs, but for bellowing the N-word like Ben Chapman trying to get Jackie Robinson's goat. O.J.'s attorney in the years since the trial, Yale Galantner, has seen his reputation take a big hit, too. Kris Kardashian may be fabulously wealthy, but what she and her family did in prostituting themselves on Keeping Up With the Kardashians leaves most decent people feeling like they need a shower after watching a few minutes of it. Faye Resnick is a caricature of cosmeticized, plastic Los Angeles. Al Cowlings cannot show his face in public. Kato Kaelin is a laughing stock. O.J.'s old girlfriends, like Paula Barbieri, were viewed as fallen women

Marcia Clark and Chris Darden are like survivors of an exorcism; they have seen evil up close and it haunts them to this day. Robert Shapiro seems to have rehabilitated himself a bit, succeeding with LegalZoom.com. The best move he ever made was in ceding lead counsel status to Cochran, making him a less visible face of the greatest legal fiasco of the century.

Phil Vannatter and Tom Lange disappeared into the woodwork. The smartest thing Lance Ito ever did was making no attempt to remind anybody he presided over the "trial of century." Mark Fuhrman has achieved a certain amount of vindication, but he will never truly overcome his racist past.

There are no winners in The People of the State of California v. Orenthal James Simpson. Only casualties or, at best, survivors.

Freed from his jail cell in downtown Los Angeles, O.J. somehow seemed to believe he could use his charm to get back in the good graces of the American public. Whoever was advising him did him no favors. The first thing he did was "write" an ill-advised "book" called I Want to Tell You: My Response to Your Letters, Your Messages, Your Questions (Little Brown, 1995). This was a series of his answers to a selection from among the many, many letters he received while in jail.

Many of the letters were racist, either written by white racists or black racists, each with their own axes to grind. They represented how far the country had fallen, what a sham it was to think whites and blacks had much in common. Much of them were selected in self-serving manner in order to give O.J. a platform. He answered the letters from the perspective of a wrongfully accused black man brought low in the white man's world. The book's proceeds did not go to battered women's shelters, but to O.J. 's legal defense fund. To buy I Want to Tell You was to pay Johnnie Cochran's salary. It was disgusting.

Then there was Judith Regan. A highly successful publisher in New York City, her company, Regan Books (an imprint of HarperCollins) specialized in controversial content, often with a slightly conservative bent. What she was thinking is anybody's guess, but she contracted O.J. Simpson and a ghostwriter named Pablo Fenjves to write a book called O.J. Simpson: If I Did It: Here's How It Happened. O.J. put forth a hypothetical analysis of the murders, lacing it with conspiracy theories and shady alibis meant to dissuade readers from believing in his guilt.

O.J. invented a fictitious character named "Charlie" who, apparently had he chosen to kill his ex-wife, would have been his partner in crime. Laced with foul language, it was a poorly constructed attempt at crime novelization, reminding nobody of Raymond Chandler or Elroy Leonard.

The book was officially announced in The National Enquirer (of course) in October 2006, with a planned release date of November 30, just in time for the post-Thanksgiving Christmas buying season. Regan created a deal with Fox News to promote it along with interviews and a special program. Reaction was immediately negative from all sides. Denise Brown excoriated Regan. There was great concern for the Simpson children being exposed to the case again 12 years after the murders. The public was urged to boycott the book by the Goldman family.

The idea that O.J. would profit from the book infuriated people no end. It was speculated that his profits would be hidden in offshore accounts. There is no doubt it would have sold well, with tremendous interest and curiosity attached to it, but public reaction was so bad that the book had to be canceled. Denise Brown said the Browns and Goldmans were offered "millions" to stay silent about the Fox special and the book's publication.

The interview was actually taped, but never aired. It was speculated that it was only a matter of time before it would appear on the Internet. Some 400,000 physical copies were actually printed, and while they were supposedly destroyed or hidden away, some do exist. A PDF file of the book was also leaked at Rapidshare.com, and it can also be downloaded at onemansblog.com/2007/06/21/ojs-confession-book-if-i-did-it-leaked-heres-how-to-get-it/.

It was the end for Regan, who was already awash in bad publicity from an affair with Bernard Kerik, the married Commissioner of the New York Police Department. Once a regular on Fox News, she is nary a blip on the screen today; another casualty of association with O.J. Simpson.

But in 1997, the Goldmans had successfully sued O.J. in civil court, establishing his responsibility in the deaths of their son and Nicole. O.J. was ordered to pay $33.5 million. For 12 years they failed to get to any of his assets.

He had successfully managed to hide most of his money and income, which consisted in part, of his NFL pension. He made money through memorabilia and autograph sales. He sold his 1968 Heisman Trophy for $50,000. He owed money to the IRS but managed to skate by without paying it. The money from If I Did It was not likely to approach $33.5 million, but he might have made a substantial amount. The Goldmans denied O.J. this money. Then, in a strange twist, they were granted rights to the book, re-publishing it. Written as a "first person" account "by" O.J. of how he actually killed Nicole and Ron, it was re-titled If I Did It: Confessions of the Killer. The word "If" was almost invisible inside a huge "I" making it appear to read, I Did It in blood-red letters. Fenjves cooperated and Dominick Dunne wrote the afterword.

The Goldmans had a falling out with the Browns over the book. Denise Brown was very vocal in her objections, but there is no evidence they were motivated by greed. They wanted to make O.J. pay in some way, which in their mind he had not done.

O.J. occasionally made the news. In the early 2000s he was involved in a "road rage" case, and in 2004 granted an interview with Greta Van Susteren on Fox News, marking the one-decade anniversary of the tragedy. It was grotesque. Van Susteren had to agree not to ask any questions pertinent to his guilt. But O.J., who seemed to be on speed, went into overdrive, talking through questions in a rapid-fire manner, babbling about his kids, mundane activities, golf, and other non-entities.

By and large, he played golf and partied. He still had a coterie of loyalists and enough money to live an easy life. He left the spotlight of Los Angeles for the relative anonymity of south Florida. Women continued to make themselves available top him. It was a travesty of justice and salt in the wound to the victims' families.

But in 2007, one of the strangest twists of fate ever occurred. What happened made many believe in karmic justice, that "what goes around comes around." For O.J., whether he believes it or not, it was a blessing, a chance to pay, at least in part, for his sins in this world, because if he must pay for in the next, there will be no mercy.

In September of 2007 O.J. learned that a group of men were in possession of his memorabilia, which was still very valuable. These men had the memorabilia in their room at the Palace Station hotel-casino in Las Vegas. O.J. led a group of men up to the room to "get my s—t." One of the men had a gun, which apparently he brandished. Whether O.J. knew ahead of time that a gun would be involved has never been satisfactorily answered. The men did not break and enter into the room, so his physical recovery of items, if proven to actually be his property, was not a crime. But the existence of a drawn gun changed everything.

Law enforcement came down hard on O.J. The other men pleaded out. The prosecution used them to turn against O.J. The motivation was obvious: make Simpson pay now for what he had not paid for after 1995. In 2008 he was convicted and sentenced to 33 years in prison. Of course the harshness of the sentence was due to the perception that O.J. got away with murder. In 2012, O.J. was back in court, asking his sentence be overturned on the grounds that Galantner – just the latest to have his reputation sullied by association with O.J. Simpson – had not provided an adequate defense. The court granted O.J. some parole, and it remains possible that he could be set free by 2017. If so, counting the year he spent in jail after the murders until his October 1995 acquittal, he will have spent 10 years incarcerated. This is less than most murderers, but it remains some semblance of justice at last. He turns 67 in 2014.

If O.J. did it and has a conscience, if he believes in God, then he must deal with what he did spiritually. His confessions and "repentance" must be genuine. Judgment will be His will, nobody elses. If he is a socio-path not "burdened" by a guilty mind, then he simply avoided another tackler and was running for daylight, at least until 2007. Where his "eternal end zone" will be is God's business.

Social justice

In August of 1985, a young black high school football player from West Covina, California named Al Martin arrived at USC's pre-season training camp. After a week or so being put through the paces in the oppressive, smoggy heat of late summer, he decided he was not up to being a Trojan. Martin dropped out of the program and never actually entered school as a student.

He signed a professional baseball contract and in 1992 made it to the Major Leagues as a member of the Pittsburgh Pirates. For several years he was a promising young outfielder. Conducting an interview one day, he told the media that he had played football for USC in a game against Michigan in 1986. The story was not challenged until years later, when somebody noticed that USC did not play Michigan in 1986. They played them in the 1989 and 1990 Rose Bowls, but their media guide contained no mention of Al Martin playing in those games, or any games ever, at USC.

In 2000, Martin brought a woman to Las Vegas, Nevada, where after a drunken night they were "married." Martin was already married, so that made it an act of bigamy. When the woman insisted that they were in fact married, Martin became enraged. He produced a gun and allegedly stuck it in her mouth, shouting, "I'll O.J. you."

****

Since the beginning of America, there have always been African-Americans who have advocated the cause of African-Americans. Frederick Douglass, George Washington Carver, and Booker T. Washington were eloquent statesman. W.E.B. Du Bois, who founded the NAACP, believed in a more radical approach, emphasizing separation and elitism instead of the traditional Christian view that whites and blacks could find common bonds, largely because God created all men equal.

After World War II, the Civil Rights Movement gained steam, but splintered into factions as well. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is hailed as a hero today because he largely emphasized the Christianity of Douglass, Carver, and Washington, but he was not without controversy.

The Nation of Islam created a fissure in the Civil Rights Movement. The Black Panthers radicalized it into militancy. The assassination of Dr. King fractured it forever. In the wake of King's murder, many moral African-American voices have ascended, giving valuable leadership to America. Many, many charlatans have emerged at the same time.

Three of the worst have been Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton and Louis Farrakhan. Jackson, who was part of Dr. King's inner circle and by his side when he was slain in Memphis, at some point learned that within the Civil Rights Movement there exists a cottage industry of race extortion. Essentially, this niche involves bussing in blacks with signs and bullhorns to some business with deep pockets, where with maximum press exposure they organize a boycott, picket or protest, until "deep pockets" pays them a substantial fee to make them go away without a lawsuit.

Al Sharpton honed this style to a fine edge when he claimed a young black girl had been raped by white men. When it was discovered to be a total lie, it did not stop a large portion of the black community from supporting each subsequent charge and protest against all perceived "racist" entities in the years since.

Farrakhan has made a career out of pure hate and lies, distorting the Muslim religion and placing forth the untruth that white people are spawns of the devil, and that Judaism is a "gutter religion."

Barack Hussein Obama learned these lessons well. He became a "community organizer," representing a group called ACORN (Associations of Community for Reform Now). Using the methods of Jackson and Sharpton with a slightly more subtle tone, he carried on their "tradition."

This was the tradition Johnnie Cochran understood well. It would be incorrect to say that if the O.J. Simpson case had never gone to trial; if Cochran had never played the "race card"; that all would be well in America today. The Simpson case indeed wreaked havoc on the United States. Nobody can truly say with certainty, but without the Simpson trial Barack Obama might not have won the Presidency in 2008. He might not have defeated Hillary Rodham Clinton in the Democratic primaries.

As terrible as the Simpson case was, seemingly loosing upon the world a virulent strain of hatred and anger of Biblical proportions, it along with Obama's Presidency fits into a larger mosaic, and that mosaic has a name: social justice.

When President George W. Bush, adorned in a flak jacket, announced triumph in Iraq in 2003, the Republicans felt, as the Democrats may have felt in 1964, 1976 and 1992, that they were the "winners of history." An unknown Asian-American Washington state legislator named Gary Locke was offered as the Democrats' sacrificial lamb to "rebut" Bush's State of the Union speech. When Bush and his party swept aside all opposition, winning with a record number of votes in 2004, hubris marked their victory.

How did they blow it? In short, instead of annihilating the terrorists of Iraq in a major display of force in 2005, they fought, almost Vietnam-style, with their "hands tied behind their backs." A war that could have been handled by 2005 dragged on and on. Even though the Surge effectively "won" it in 2007, it was not a satisfying victory. Violence continued. Nobody was happy with the outcome. Nation building failed, and it cost the country so much money that one of the great economies ever achieved, reaching a crest in 2007, was lost after the Democrats took over Congress.

Illegal immigration was not handled properly. Bush also spent tremendously, falling into the age-old corruptions of D.C. budget temptations. When the sub-prime crisis caught him by surprise, he opened the door wide open for Barack Obama and the Left when he signed the first stimulus package. He was practically telling them to bring Socialism to America, and in so doing signed a death sentence for the John McCain-Sarah Palin ticket.

Barack Obama emerged out of nowhere. The first time most Americans ever heard of him was when he spoke at the 2004 Democratic National Convention. Even Rush Limbaugh announced after his speech that "he's got it," the charisma a winning candidate must have. The old, tired Hillary Clinton was shocked first to see Obama had a chance, then actually losing to him in the 2008 primaries. No man had ever been elected President whose name was unknown to 99 percent of the public a mere four years before their election. Teddy Roosevelt had risen in similar fast manner, but he had been a crusading New York politician, cleaning up Tammany Hall in the 1880s. He disappeared to "find himself" on a Montana cowboy ranch after his first wife died, but returned to the scene.

Barack Hussein Obama arrived with the mother of all agendas. At the heart of his goal was the concept of social justice, which on the surface sounds . . . cool, but is not the same as military justice, criminal justice, or just plain justice. It is based on the notion that world white males dominate history. At one point, Asians and Arabs were the world dynasties, while white Europeans were still living in caves, wearing animal skins. Warm weather played a major role in historical development. The peoples of the Middle East, once the Persian Empire, lived in warmth, allowing them to freely move about, invent things, and engage in commerce.

The warm weather Europeans, Greeks and Romans, were the first to emerge as empires of intellect, philosophy and military conquest. After the birth of Christ, the religion spread to Europe but was largely rejected by dark-skinned peoples in Asia Minor. The Renaissance ensued, with Europeans at the head of the new world order. But the Catholic Church, according to the accusations of social justice, imposed racist, violent doctrines on indigenous peoples, namely through the Spanish Inquisition. Colonization ensued. America was born with the "original sin" of slavery. Even after fighting a war to free blacks, they were subjected to another 100 years of prejudice before the country won two world wars and finally, as Dr. King said, "lived up to its creed" and embraced civil rights for all throughout the land.

But for many blacks, Latinos and others, it was not enough. Victimology spread. Race extortion, reparation, a desire to repair past wrongs by extracting from the modern day white man, whose ancestors had committed these crimes, became the driving force of a new ideology called social justice. At the heart of this philosophy is the belief that whites, particularly males and those who espouse pride in past accomplishments, whether it be Western Civilization, the Constitution, even winning World War II, were racist, corrupt, immoral, illegitimate, and needed to be replaced by history.

Many have argued who Barack Hussein Obama is. Where he comes from, what he has read and believes, what drives him. Many argue that he is not one of those "victims" who holds this grudge against Caucasians, that he himself is half-white, and that he is not an advocate of this particularly virulent brand of social justice; indeed, that social justice is not a pejorative in the first place, as the term liberalism has become. After a review of five years of his Presidency, there are a large number of citizens who have come to believe that he does believe in this philosophy. This leads to the great question, to be answered in subsequent culture battles for the soul of America: what side will win?

It does not start with Barack Obama. He is a product of something that was around long before he was even born, yet he is, despite the mocking of Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity and his numerous detractors, "the one" the Left has long been waiting for, a messianic figure of liberalism who is to them what Jesus Christ was to the Jewish prophets. He is their hopes and dreams, imagined in their minds for over 100 years, this vision manifest in flesh and blood to fulfill their goal of rebellion.

The 1960s wrought a social, cultural and political revolution that, some 50 years later, can now be viewed as a cancer that has grown and grown and grown ever since. The Reagan Revolution put it in remission, but it is an unstoppable tumor. The drugs, the long hair, the sexual immorality, the unpatriotic protests, the rejection of capitalism and traditional moral values; this was the fuel the Left needed to feed the engine of social justice.

The Jonas's, the Samuels, the Ezekiels, the John the Baptists of the Left were Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Voltaire, Immanuel Kant, Henry David Thoreau, Emma Goldman, Jean-Paul Sarte, Albert Camus, Che Guevara, and Noam Chomsky. They looked for their North Star not in Heaven, but in the seeds of revolution in Russia, China, Cambodia . . . Kenya.

His father was a Kenyan. Obama wrote two biographies, both before he accomplished much of anything. There was a sense that because he was half-black, and came also from a mixture of racial identities including Islam, Indonesia, American hippy culture and the plains of Kansas, this made him unusual and interesting enough to publish books about himself. Apparently, for somebody with this background to be smart enough to write a book, to be educated and advance in the world, led back to the affirmative action notion that such a person should be given a publishing deal while so many others faced rejection.

He is not always a truth teller. He invents scenarios and stories to further his view of himself. The first evidence of this comes in his books. He writes of a grandfather who was tortured by the British for fighting on the side of the Mau Mau rebellion, but evidence uncovered by his biographer, David Maraniss, disputes this. He writes of official discrimination and prejudice faced by his father, who ran out on his mother. This premise has many holes in it, including evidence that it was his mother who wanted out as much as his father abandoning the family to return to Africa, seeking a political career.

There is an odd psychosis in inventing stories to enhance prejudice against his father, since he was an African-born black man married to a white American woman in the early 1960s. Unquestionably, there was plenty of prejudice against such a pairing, even in a place like Hawaii, but Obama felt the need to go beyond the ordinary run of the mill taunts and looks, enhancing it to a more political level of discrimination, possibly to "justify" his father's decision to leave.

His mother, who had some education and was a capable woman, was left to fend for herself. A single mother with a half-black child, there was scorn directed at her. It is in reading Obama's views of his mother and her parents that we begin to see the formation of his character. His mom was a hippy girl, a flower child of the '60s. Her decision to marry and bare the son of a black was not merely physical lust or love, but a political act of white guilt, a form of reparations against age-old injustice. It was difficult for her. His grandparents, white folks from the Midwestern plains raised Obama in large measure, and all that entails. He was "colored," but he was their flesh and blood and they loved him. He loved them back.

Yet, in his biographies, he finds complaint with them. First, he belies a lack of real respect for his mother, the guilty hippy child. There is anger in Obama, and not the kind of anger that identifies with guilt, his mother's or his. He cannot identify with the plainspoken Americanism of his grandparents, who he apologizes for because they lacked, in his view, true enlightenment. The prospect of black criminals in his grandmother's proximity frightened her. His mother's approach likely would have been to reason with them, make them love her, and if they robbed, even raped her, to consider it small reparation for her "guilt." The grandmother understandably wanted to avoid them. Neither approach was satisfactory to Obama. He oddly found himself identifying not with his guilty mother or accusatory grandmother, but with the black criminals, the real "victims" in his emerging world. In his writings he declares allegiance to blackness, and a definite rejection of whiteness. He finds and enters in these and subsequent years membership in a victim class of the oppressed, the plundered and the exploited. All he has, all people like him ever had, has been stolen by the white man, and in his world the white man, "the Man" is America. He does not find the lack of logic in this any more than Oliver Stone does in his "zero sum game" argument, given to Michael Douglas's Gordon Gekko, who makes the faulty analogy that for one man to get rich, he must steal from a poor man even though the poor man has nothing than can be stolen. This is the nebulous notion of the rich man making the poor fella get a credit card and max it out so he has something that can be stolen. Or, the Indian thieves who always left enough in the Mexican village's they plundered so the Mexicans could survive to grow harvests the Indians could steal from again the following year.

Obama was born in Hawaii. Neither of his parents could know that his middle name (Hussein) and last name would be the same or nearly the same as the two greatest American post-Cold War enemies (Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden). Many have said he was not born there, and the evidence is somewhat sketchy. He never produced real birth certificates, which is apparently the way Hawaii does it, but it was confusing. An announcement appeared in the paper, but his mother could have placed that there by sending in a note. Despite Right-wing arguments to the contrary, however, it appears he was born in Honolulu in 1961, shortly after statehood, and therefore he is an American.

But there was also Indonesia. His mother re-married an Indonesian Muslim man who moved the family to Indonesia, where he apparently set out to raise his step-son under the auspices of Islam. He attended a madrassa. Muslim madrassas are filled with political hatred against the United States. To the extent that they were in the 1960s, and that the one Obama attended was one of those; this can only be speculated on. But then a telling event occurred, which speaks to Obama's character. His stepfather was an Indonesian man named Otero. His mother giving himself to a man like this was further evidence of her white guilt, using sex and marriage as a political act of . . . social justice.

But Otero was hired by, and became a successful executive with, an American corporation located in Indonesia. Obama's mother immediately left him and took her son back to the U.S. Apparently, the act of making a good living for an American corporation was the ultimate sell-out, "treason" against social justice.

Maraniss's research indicates that while he learned much about Islam, came to admire its beauty and even grandeur, he remained an American, returning to his home country while still young, not a fully formed religious person.

His mother died of cancer. Obama was left with his grandparents. He attended Punahou School in Honolulu, one of the most prestigious private academies in America. It was expensive and academically arduous. How he got in and who paid for it are unanswered questions. Perhaps he had the grades and his grandparents forked over the tuition money. The conspiracy theorists offer the scenario that he was "sponsored" by some nefarious political organization, not unlike the "Yuri" character who turns out to be Kevin Costner in No Way Out. These are the people who look at Bill Clinton in like manner. Clinton was the son of a woman who was likely a "gangster's moll" in the mob town of Hot Springs, Arkansas. She paid her gambling debts via "favors," and had children by different men. The thread on Clinton is that these criminal elements recognized his academic and political potential early, then decided to pay his way up the ladder of an elite education, supposedly so he would be their guy in power down the road.

In Obama's case, an actual person emerges who fosters this theory. His name was Frank Marshall Davis. He was black and a card-carrying member of the Communist Party. When Obama was a child, he was placed under the tutelage of Davis. It is likely that over the next years, Davis taught young Barack not only how to be a Communist, but how to hide his Communism while rising in capitalist America. The veneer would be social justice. Communism had attempted to infiltrate the Civil Rights Movement at least since the 1940s. A black Communist named Paul Robeson indoctrinated two young black entertainers, Harry Belafonte and Sidney Poitier. Poitier realized such affiliation would destroy his career and became apolitical. Belafonte was radicalized and remains so to this day.

Baseball star Jackie Robinson warned the House Un-American Activities Committee that the Communists had infiltrated civil rights. By the 1960s, light was shed on their blatant attempts to Communize black America. While just a theory, it is not out of the realm of possibility – this being the height of the Cold War after Nikita Khrushchev told the U.S. "we will bury you" – that hundreds of Frank Marshall Davis's were sent out to indoctrinate hundreds of Barack Obamas, hoping one of them would take, would be sharp enough and savvy enough, to play the system well enough, to rise all the way to . . . ?

Just as likely, Obama benefited from relatively new affirmative action policies kicking in to full extent by the late 1970s. Being black and probably unable to pay, he was what affirmative action was all about. His own biography describes not a good student, as Bill Clinton was, but a lazy slacker and drifter who smoked reefer, sniffed blow, drank copious amounts of beer, hung out with ne'r-do-wells, druggies, dealers, low lifes and criminals, was part of the notoriously skanky Waikiki beach scene, and whose only "healthy" interest was basketball. Since he did not have money to pay for the expensive cocaine he formed a years-long habit for, one can only speculate what he did to pay for it.

This does not describe the kind of academic over-achiever who against all odds makes it to Occidental College or Columbia University. From all indications, affirmative action was his ticket from Punahou to Occidental to Columbia to Harvard Law School. Others see Muslim handlers or Communists behind his rise. There is no evidence beyond Davis. His influence and activities have never been fleshed out beyond all proof.

Others argue that even though these scenarios may not be true, his political formation was as if it was. Each school was ludicrously expensive and incredibly hard to get into. Each was in a big city that cost a lot of money to live in. Each featured a social scene in which wealth and prestige were keys to advancement. There is no evidence he worked his way through college, but he always had money to wear the right clothes, attend the right parties, and ingratiate himself with the right people, just as Clinton came from nothing, but freely traveled, even to Moscow during the height of the Vietnam War, without a care in the world.

Nobody knows his grades, how he was accepted, or who paid the bills. Some speculated that he applied as a foreign student and declared his religion to be Muslim. Possibly there were affirmative action slots for students of this background and this was how he entered, via a lie. Without actually producing the records, the speculation continues.

Acceptance to and even graduation from Columbia is one thing, but acceptance to Harvard Law School is quite another. No matter how much preference he received, he surely was a student of promise and accomplishment. Still, he was elected editor of the Harvard Law Review, a very political position very likely awarded him so the powers that be could feel good about themselves for givin' it to the black fella. Most editors of the Review have a long paper trail of theses, papers and opinions. Obama does not. His was a reward of social justice.

His wife, Michelle apparently received the same kind of preferential treatment in the Ivy League. Her response to every possible benefit and benevolent gift bestowed on her by America was to write a thesis claiming the world made it extra tough for her because she was black. The main argument backing up her claim was that being surrounded by intelligent whites put her at a disadvantage (?).

Obama graduated from Harvard Law School, but the mystery continued. He spent a short amount of time working at a private company, which he described as being "behind enemy lines." At a young age, he undoubtedly sees only Big Government as worthy. Private enterprise is the "white man's world," and this is the world of the colonizers and immoralists of an illegitimate history. He was an adjunct professor at Harvard. Nobody remembers much about this. There are no students who step forth and recall him. He may have been a glorified teacher's aide. He wrote nothing; no books, theses, opinions. An adjunct is a nebulous hanger-on from semester to semester at any college. This period has been described as one that makes him a "Constitutional law professor." He came under the auspices of a professor named Derek Bell, a radical black liberation theologist, typical of ethnic studies programs by this time. He also associated with Professor Henry Louis Gates, whose Left-wing view of black victimhood influenced him. Professors like Bell and Gates were singularly responsible for the huge liberal turn that had long marked Harvard, which by this time was in full swing.

In the early 1990s, Obama attempted to embark on a career path that says as much about him as any other factor. He wanted to be a writer. Nobody really knows who his influences were. They likely were not Ernest Hemingway or Jack Kerouac, but rather James Baldwin and Noam Chomsky. This was a particularly conspiratorial period in African-American history. The CIA was said to have invented AIDS so as to wipe out blacks. They were said to have planted drugs in the ghettos (according to The Godfather, the mob did that). The existence of liquor stores on every street corner was the white man's doing, to keep the brother's down, or so said Laurence Fishburne in The Boyz in the Hood. So many Africans were thrown overboard in 400 years of the slave trade that it changed the migration habits of sharks. A great "university," the "University of Luxor," was supposed to have been the center of world knowledge before the white man came along and filled the world with lies. The devil was a blue-eyed white man called Magog, or something like that; an invention of Louis Farrakhan, who came up with some kind of "Creationist" story along these lines. Jews and Koreans would not hire the blacks pimping and prostituting their women in front of their stores, thus giving "cause" for riots in New York, L.A. . . . and setting the murderer O.J. Simpson free!

Blacks were looking for self-identity. They had joined cause with the radical forces of the Anti-War Movement, but that was over, the white hippies now in corporations, academia and suburbia, but many blacks were still in the ghettos. The Black Panthers were all but over with. Many blacks deserted that way of thinking for traditional Christianity. But what of those left behind? Like Germans willing to believe Hitler's lies, to believe that somebody else was to be skapegoated for their failings, they needed to invent scenarios and paradigms favoring their point of view.

Barack Hussein Obama looked around and decided on his paradigm. In 1991 he landed a literary agent, who created a pamphlet including a short Obama biography. It stated that Obama was born in Kenya. Why did it state that? He was apparently not born in Kenya, which of course, if he had been, would have made him ineligible for the Presidency. But it was in lying about his birthplace in the early 1990s that Obama reveals his true nature, and not just the fact he is a liar. In trying to establish his identity as a writer, he decided – no doubt felt his best chance at getting published – was not to identify himself as a patriotic American citizen, but as a native, an African, a Muslim, an "other," a victim, one of the colonized, the oppressed; somebody who had a story to tell of hatred, of white racism, of a struggle against a landscape of exploitation not just against him (non-existent), but against all he represented (the world). Thus did Obama begin to see even then that he was this messianic figure, "the one we've all been waiting for," the child in a ghetto manger (or at least a beach manger near Waikiki), Rousseau and John Reed and Upton Sinclair and Camus and Chomsky the proverbial "wise men" gathered to pay homage to the arrival of a new age long prophesied.

The writing career initially did not work out, but Obama came to Chicago, where he became a "community organizer." Apparently this "job" paid well enough for him to buy an expensive home, which reminds one of the Copa scene in Goodfellas when young Ray Liotta explains his display of wealth and power with the breezy declaration, "I'm a union delegate."

As for his wife, Michelle, she road Obama's coattails all the way to a job paying around a half-million dollars a year as a "hospital coordinator." So vital was this job that when her husband was elected President and they went to Washington, nobody replaced her. She had ascended to a new status within America, beyond affirmative action, to the high-priced professional black woman. This is a high-paying job large corporations pay to some educated minority not to work or actually accomplish tasks, but to fill out a new quota system, long established by the likes of Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton. It was a job created in large measure by the work of her husband. Something to trot out and display to the world as "proof" they are not racists.

Obama never met Saul Alinsky, who died in 1972. Alinsky dedicated his books to Sirhan Sirhan, assassin of Robert F. Kennedy, and to Lucifer. He seems to be a real-life figure straight out of The Rolling Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil." Obama dedicated the book he eventually did write to Alinsky.

Alinsky was a community organizer. He was, in fact, a street protestor, an extortionist, a rabble-rouser, an anarchist, and a Communist. Street protest had been around before America and, of course, manifested itself as "the Terrors" during the French Revolution. There were draft riots in New York in response to the Civil War. Emma Goldman and the anarchists organized riots during World War I. Communists and union organizers routinely stirred up riots during the Great Depression. Ronald Reagan faced these same people, now tools of Moscow, during his time as SAG president in the 1940s and 1950s.

After relative peace during the Dwight Eisenhower '50s, a confluence of events turned the 1960s into a boiling hot cauldron. The Civil Rights Movement, the Anti-War Movement, and the free speech movement gave rise to the feminist movement, the environmentalist movement, and the gay rights movement. Reactionary Republicans like Ronald Reagan and Duke Wayne, and anti-Communist Southerners like George Wallace, argued that this nexus of protest, riot and rebellion was funded, or connected in some way, to international Communism. The liberals laughed and mocked this assertion. What, exactly, was international Communism? The Communist world was just that, internationalist, with varying headquarters, directions, money and orders coming from Moscow and Peking, to Vietnam, to Cuba, to Latin America, Asia and Africa; the Third World. The liberals said this was too disparate an "enemy" to be identified. They wanted to own the protests, to take credit for it, to believe it was the new America. They had taken it to the streets, they had "taken it all down, man." The sentiment of these protestors was the sentiment of the youth, or so they believed.

David Horowitz, who was one of those protestors, indeed was one of the protest organizers, was also one who later turned on them and divulged their secrets. A series of carefully hidden front organizations, many from Moscow, funneled through fellow traveler middlemen organizations, were indeed funding the 1960s street protests. Red-faced from revelations of the Blacklist, when the Hollywood Ten were exposed, and John Howard Lawson was identified as taking direct orders from his Communist handlers, the enemies of America became adept at banking, money laundering, and the tricks of financing revolution. Aside from Horowitz, others left the movement, as Whittaker Chambers had done, and in the 1990s the Venona Project confirmed it. Despite the fall of the Berlin Wall, however, dogged pursuers like conservative talk host Michael Savage identified some of these same fronts, using new names and new personnel, as the backers of anti-war protest during the Iraq War.

Alinsky was at the heart of this disguised Communist movement. His official cover, still naively repeated by apologists like Bill Maher, was that he was out to "help black people." He was an anti-American enemy of the U.S. out to hurt the country during the Vietnam War. He was a traitor, and he was a hero to Barack Obama.

Alinsky tapped into something that lay dormant for a long time. Left-wing sentiment found nothing in traditional American values to cheer. Christianity, capitalism, entrepreneurial freedom, even athletic success, was considered bourgeois. Even President Obama, when asked during the 2009 All-Star Game to list some good memories of Chicago baseball, spoke of Cominsky Park. Even while discussing Our National Pastime, the man could not help a Freudian slip that Communized and Alinskyized the name of the venerable Comiskey Park, old home of the White Sox.

Alinsky discovered that corporations could be shaken down for money to avoid accusations of racism; that business people would pay criminals not to break things and commit crimes. It was not a coincidence that Alinsky operated out of the Windy City, and that the 1969 Chicago riots – largely funded by third party Communist fronts – were the worst protests in American history. This was the world Obama admired and aspired to emulate, to be a part of, and to lead. He accomplished his task.

It was also no coincidence that Obama's race extortion work was in Chicago, first the home of Saul Alinsky, later of Jesse Jackson. With the Vietnam War over, the Persian Gulf War over almost before it was started, the only place to protest any more was in corporate America. Jackson and Obama found a lucrative race-baiting business, essentially promising not to march crowds of angry unionists and blacks in front of corporate headquarters buildings. They mixed this with environmental protest, aimed mainly at so-called Big Oil, shaking down large companies they accused of polluting the green environs. They railed against a steel company for perceived injustices.

Bill Ayers and Bernardine Dohrn, former Weather Underground criminals and American Communists, discovered Obama's work. Somehow, despite attempts to blow up the Pentagon, police stations, cops, and other symbols of America, they were allowed not only to freely walk about the Earth, but also to teach at the college level. Unable to be truly public figures, they needed a man to do their dirty work. That man was Barack Obama. They recruited him and launched his political indoctrination into the infamous Chicago Way, the single most corrupt Democrat organization in America.

Obama needed to prove his bone fides with the black revolutionaries, so he joined the largest black liberation theology "church" in the nation, the Reverend Jeremiah Wright's Trinity United. It was there that Reverend Wright declared after 9/11 "no, no, no, not God bless America . . . Godd—n America." Obama sat in his pews and soaked it all in for years. He claimed that under Reverend Wright he found Jesus Christ. Nobody can truly know what is in a man's heart. God works in mysterious ways. The Bible also tells us the anti-Christ will come as "an angel of light," professing belief in the Lord.

Obama was elected to the Illinois state Senate. He rarely attended, usually voting present. He had no accomplishments. He spent most of his time writing his two biographies. With the backing of Ayers and his connections with the Annenberg School of Communications, Wright and the Chicago Way, he had enough name recognition to justify publication of two biographies despite not having done much of anything. He was the "angry black man with something to say," the great voice of the Left.

In 2004 Obama decided to run for the Senate. His opponent was eliminated using tried-and-true Alinsky techniques: illegal, criminal, immoral. Having ruined Jack Ryan's family by opening his sealed divorce records, which was against the law, he cruised unopposed to victory, a major staple of the Alinsky playbook. The Left saw in him a rising star. At the 2004 DNC he proffered the fiction that Arab-American families cowered in the night because of President Bush. Only the election of John Kerry would free them from cowering. No Arab-Americans were cowering, and when Bush was re-elected, they continued not to cower.

For four years he was "bored" in the Senate, as described by colleagues. He offered no legislation, accomplished nothing, and opposed all GOP initiatives that resembled what he later did as President. In 2008, he entered the primaries. U.S. Senator Hillary Clinton (D.-New York) was the odds-on favorite to capture the Democratic nomination. Sean Hannity was running what he termed the "stop Hillary express."

But Obama captured the hearts and minds of fanciful liberals. Then Rush Limbaugh stepped in. One of if not the most influential man in media history, what he did in 2008 may have been his most influential moment. It also might have backfired, and in so doing, the great irony is that Limbaugh may be the reason Barack Obama was elected President.

When Obama won a few primaries, Limbaugh instituted what he called "operation chaos." Many of the states opened their primaries to all parties. Limbaugh urged Republicans to vote for either Hillary or Obama, depending on who was winning or losing during the course of a topsy-turvy primary season. It truly did create chaos within the Democratic Party, with Limbaugh laughing at them from on high. Then the Reverend Wright tapes hit. They had been hidden, but his 2001 assertion, "no, no, no . . . not God Bless America, Godd—n America," surfaced. Limbaugh and the conservative media played it over and over.

Senator Clinton tried to take advantage of it. Rumors that Obama was not born in America surfaced. Senator Clinton tried to take advantage of that, too, but she was walking a thin line. Criticism of a black man's black preacher and assertions that a black man, who had a Muslim name and might be a Muslim, might not be an American . . . she was quickly charged with racism. Her husband fumed, telling former Vice President Al Gore that a few years ago Obama "would have been serving them coffee."

Then a funny thing happened. The Democrats analyzed Reverend Wright's "Godd—n America" remarks, and the accusation that Obama had anti-American attitudes and . . . decided they kind of agreed with that way of thinking. He pulled ahead and was nominated at Denver amid statuary meant to depict him as like a Greek god.

Throughout the summer, surprise Republican nominee John McCain, a Vietnam War hero once held by the Vietnamese Communists, trailed in the polls. He decided on a "game changer," Alaska Governor Sarah Palin. At first unknown, her movie star good looks and common sense conservatism quickly buoyed the campaign. After the Republican convention, one poll favored McCain-Palin by 11 points. The general lead was actually five, but in mid-September they looked like winners.

Then the sub-prime housing crisis completely destroyed the economy. President Bush told the country he was going against all his capitalist principles in signing a stimulus bill, which conservatives said was the first step towards Socialism. It was McCain's death knell. He lost badly, his party falling with him.

The anointed one had arrived.

Obama worked closely for ACORN, a race extortion organization that was exposed by intrepid journalists to be illegal. They specialized in talking women into having abortions, or getting pimp-prostitution teams government benefits. They stirred up protest over "disenfranchisement," placing forth the notion that the black vote was suppressed because conservatives tried to suppress the ability of illegals to vote, or for minorities to vote multiple times. In the mean time, the ability to vote remained as easy as getting an absentee ballot, voting, affixing a stamp, and placing it in a mailbox. They worked with the New Black Panther Party, who on Election Day in 2008 suppressed the white vote, deemed not a crime by Obama's Attorney General, Eric Holder. After working hand-in-hand with ACORN for years, making numerous speeches on their behalf, praising their vital work in the rise of his career, and using them to help win, after their crimes were exposed by Fox News he no longer mentioned them.

It is hard to really say who the most evil man in history was. Pontius Pilate gets some "votes," but he was forced by the Sadducees into ordering the death of Christ. This was really pre-ordained by God as vital to man's salvation, so in a strange way he was doing . . . God's work? This borders on blasphemy so the subject is best dropped. Besides, we all killed Jesus. His death is our collective responsibility. In the 20th Century, there is of course Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin and Mao Tse-tung; take your pick. But among "non-criminals," so called "respectable" men of politics and business, at least in the U.S. Joseph P. Kennedy is as good a candidate as any. His life and fate is cosmic. He orchestrated and pulled the strings in the rise to power of the Kennedy clan, who came this close to achieving monarchical status for generations, but in the end were felled by assassin's bullets, scandal and immorality. In this Shakespearean drama, Kennedy's sons were each felled by the stars that once favored them, but most ironic of all, the old man himself was felled by a stroke that forced him to sit, mute, and watch all of it unable to say a word. The unlikely Bush's of Connecticut and Texas achieved far greater lasting power and impact than the Kennedys.

In the 21st Century, we have George Soros. He is at least as evil as "Old Man Joe" Kennedy. He is the modern backer of the Democratic Party and of Barack Obama. He does it in the shadows, but his money and his manipulations are the strings this puppet master uses to plot the course of the Left. He is the final culmination of centuries of hatred, of social justice, of all the combined terrors wrought upon the Earth by what the narrator in the Ronald Reagan documentary In the Face of Evil calls "the Beast."

When Obama was elected President, some Christian fundamentalists asked whether he was the anti-Christ. This question has dogged Christianity for many years. Some felt Napoleon was for forcing the Pope out of the Vatican. Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin looked to be candidates, but Hitler committed suicide in the wake of defeat, Stalin's nation was dismantled. World War II certainly made many think of Armageddon. The creation of national Israel has stirred the greatest "end of the world" talk. It clearly states in Revelation that this event is a necessary pre-cursor to Christ's return. While the Bible is not clear on the existence of an anti-Christ, the history of man has definitely stirred within the spiritual the notion that a malevolent force exists, changing form, stirring up bad things, always rebelling against God.

Movies like The Omen, its sequels, and the Left Behind novels further propelled the popular idea of an anti-Christ, a final battle between good and evil. The New Millennium had many on the lookout for "signs and wonders." The Mayan calendar ended in 2012. A radio preacher named Harold Camping convinced many that the world would end on May 21, 2011. Many felt Obama's election and ascendance just before that date meant that he was the man who would emerge from the "world of politics" to lead Satan's armies. His looks discomfited some. Here was a multi-racial "man of the world," which is the province of the devil since the Garden of Eden. He possessed a strange, almost trans-gender quality to him, equal parts feminine and masculine. Patriots felt no, an American would not be the anti-Christ. He would be a Communist, a Muslim, even a Jew. America was the new Promised Land. How could this righteous country be the place where such spawn rose, yet only the power of America, home of Wall Street, Hollywood, Washington and the United Nations, would give this man the forum to take over the world. Nobody can know. The believers must remain vigilant, on the watchtowers, watching, but the true nature of Obama, despite what he has done, is still mysterious. Talk that he is the devil is mocked by his legion of supporters.

Many said America was no longer righteous. How could a country that aborts as many babies as people died in World War II, and elects Barack Obama President, still call itself righteous? Most of Europe and the rest of the world seemed far gone, no longer good, decent, and Christian, if ever they really were. America stood alone, it seemed, and within America a shrinking, marginalized Christian faithful fights to stem a tide that seems overwhelming and unstoppable. Only God can save us from ourselves.

The many faults of the Left are exposed, but the Left cannot be shamed. Once these revelations resulted in people changing their minds, not voting for the immorally exposed, but the age of Obama revealed the terrible dilemma that perhaps the Left is in the majority. Polls say 18 percent of the people call themselves liberal, 40 percent conservative, but this does not reflect itself in elections. America is totally divided, and the question is who will get 50 percent plus one? After five years of Obama, he still stands strong. This never would have happened in past generations, but it now appears that all the bad things exposed by the Right, by Rush Limbaugh, by Fox News, are things the Left likes and supports! Most frustrating to conservatives is the fact that once, people who did what Obama and most powerful Democrats in fact do, did so as paid spies of the Soviet Union, or fellow travelers of Communism. Today, this is simply policy, a political ideology the Left puts into place not for the purposes not of espionage or treason, but because they simply believe in it, and choose to implement it.

When this happens, a tipping point is reached. The question in the 21st Century is whether this tide can be stemmed and turned back. Once upon a time a Reagan turned it back, but will a Reagan emerge? It seems only God can see us through. Or, will Soros be the dominant force of this century? Will the forces he unleashes, the power he hopes to attain, drive the world?

Soros was a non-practicing Jew who helped the Nazis round up other Jews. His excuse was that if he did not do it, somebody else would. An atheist, after the war, he rose to great heights and power in the media and the financial world. In the 1990s he personally brought down the British pound, and orchestrated the Asian financial meltdown, not unlike the way Joseph P. Kennedy helped unleash the market forces of the Great Depression. Like Kennedy, Soros bet the other way and became wealthy beyond comprehension. He engaged in philanthropy, funding billions of dollars worth of money to "public causes" (read: social justice) meant to make him look charitable. These were Left-wing organizations meant to empower his causes and therefore Soros himself. Always he remained shadowy and nefarious.

He opposed Republicans and George W. Bush. His organization MoveOn.org was originally created in response to President Clinton's Impeachment, when the mantra of the Left was to forget about it and just "move on." When the Internet became the new tool of politics and innuendo, he formed MediaMatters.org, among other organizations designed to "fact check" Republicans and, like, Hustler publisher Larry Flynt, expose embarrassing things about conservatives and Christians.

When the McCain-Palin ticket surged to a five-point lead in mid-September of 2008, magically, seemingly out of nowhere and at precisely the worst possible time to hurt the Republicans the most, the sub-prime housing crisis hit. Subsequent blame has been fixed on President Clinton, who started the policies that caused it, and Congressman Barney Frank (D.-Massachusetts), the politician who advocated and led its implementation, most notably to make it possible for minorities to own homes even if they could not afford them. After years of papering it over, when and only when Senator McCain appeared to be winning, did it fail. Those who somehow saw the black hand of George Soros – the man who bragged he broke the bank of England and sent Asia into financial crisis in 1997 - behind this were laughed off as conspiracy theorists.

He remains behind the scenes. He avoids scandal or criminal prosecution. His money, power and international tentacles make it impossible to get to him. Efforts to expose him for what he is leave the accuser shouting in the wilderness, looking like a nut. Presidents and prime ministers come and go, but Soros remains, pulling the strings in a world so complicated and global no ordinary man can comprehend it. Whether he is a tool of a malevolent spirit, or just another bad guy; no man can pin such a thing on him, only suspect it, probably until it is too late. Such malevolence can be battled not with guns, as with Hitler, but with prayer.

All of these forces of nature, more than 200 years of Left-wing efforts at establishing the "social contract" of Rousseau, were embodied in a single event. President Bush committed the worst act in the history of the Republican Party when he signed the first stimulus package, in response to the 2008 sub-prime crisis. In so doing, he destroyed McCain, handed the election to Obama, but worse yet, told the Democrats – elected en masse on Obama's coattails – that America was now a Socialist country, so have at it.

But Bush's mistake was nothing compared to the second stimulus, signed by Obama a few weeks after his Inauguration, in February of 2009. Suddenly, over night, $5 trillion of new debt – Republicans claimed more money than all governments spent since the birth of Christ – were laden upon the United States of America. This will go down in history as the single worst thing any political figure ever did to the U.S. No amount of sunny, Reaganesque optimism, can truly belie the notion that nothing will overcome this event in our lifetimes.

So monstrous, so terrible has been the stimulus and the resulting debt since then, that if Republicans were elected to all high offices for 20 years it, their policies would fall flat against social justice, which has been built upon the backs of President Roosevelt's New Deal, then President Johnson's Great Society, institutionalizing Big Government, entrenching it so thoroughly that it cannot be turned back. Besides, the media would excoriate the attempt to turn it back so that no human can be expected to have the stomach to see such a thing through. This set of circumstances is . . . just the way the devil would do it.

These events lead one to ponder further. If a man were a spy, a traitor, an undercover agent working on behalf of America's sworn enemies, whether those enemies were international Communism and its post-Berlin Wall progeny; Islamo-Fascism; George Soros; or a combination of all these evil forces combined into one package; and if that man ascended by the strings of this nefarious power all the way to the White House; and if once there desired to hurt the United States to the maximum effect; what then would he do?

Would he use his power to explode nuclear weapons on our soil, killings millions? If the President so ordered such a thing, his orders would not be obeyed. The military powers that be would refuse, but if somehow he did manage to explode such weapons, it would fire up the patriotic elements of this country to such an extent that there would exist the political will to simply turn into fire all foreign enemies. This was the power we alone possessed after World War II, but chose not to use, until the Soviets exploded their first atomic weapon. Thus would the Arab world and anybody else we deemed our enemy be bombed "back into the stone age." No enemy-President would want to unleash such forces. The last time this nation came together in such common purpose, Adolf Hitler's armies were destroyed and the U.S. ascended to heights of power eclipsing Rome, Alexander's Greece, or the British Empire. Furthermore, a destroyed America, its landscape an Apocalypse of devastation lacking infrastructure, would be of no value to those who would desire to use American power and institutions against her.

To create the fullest impact of damage to the U.S., one would need to discourage her, reduce her power and place in the world, to weaken her from within. Osama bin Laden tried to do that by destroying the Twin Towers, but President Bush led a rally to all-time stock market highs in 2007. A TV program about the CIA some years ago posed the theory that the 1987 stock market crash was a last-ditch KGB plot that failed when the Reagan economy could not be stopped, leading to the final death throes of the U.S.S.R.

The stock market can rebound. People will need to work jobs. But debt, the all-strangling debt that ended the British Empire, ultimately creating the failed Common Market, European Union, and other vestiges of a beaten-down Europe; debt is the way to destroy a country. The high essence of what a dedicated enemy of America would do to destroy her is precisely what Barack Obama actually did in February 2009. The destruction wrought on America by the stimulus package will not be overcome in our lifetimes, and maybe not in our grandchildren's.

It started right after the stimulus bill was signed. A CNBC economic reporter on the floor of the stock exchange had an on-air rant calling for a "tea party" revolution against it. At the 2009 All-Star Game in St. Louis, half the fans booed President Obama.

The conservative media ramped up a daily exposition of criminality on the part of the ACLU and ACORN. Fox News ate up the ratings like a hungry lion. They featured conservatives like Ann Coulter, Bill O'Reilly and Glenn Beck, day-by-day dismantling the Obama myth. The "lame stream" media that made up the New York Times, the Washington Post, Time, Newsweek, and news programs on CBS, NBC, ABC, CNN, and MSNBC, all watched and read by nobody, not to mention the zero-ratings Air America; all these were failing in one way or another. Their excuse was the Obama economy, which saw the Dow Jones fall to a 12-year low of 6,547 in response to the stimulus, or the Internet, but these business factors did not have an effect on successful operations like the Wall Street Journal, the Washington Times, Human Events, the Weekly Standard and Newsmax. Keith Olbermann was eventually fired. Rachel Maddow and a host of lesser lights simply got no ratings.

Obama's supporters, including Jimmy Carter, began to state that his detractors were racist. In October 2009 Obama "won" the Nobel Peace Prize. His nomination for the Nobel came within weeks of his January inauguration and he had accomplished zero in the months since. It served to mock him further when he traveled to Copenhagen to lobby for the Olympics in Chicago and was turned down.

Obama made a speech at West Point. The soldiers were falling asleep, and liberal commentator Chris Mathews called the U.S. Military Academy "enemy territory" for Obama. Millions of patriotic American citizens . . . made note of this.

While Democrats consider great young people in the military to be the "enemy," Obama bonded with anti-American Venezuelan dictator Hugo Chavez. Communist genocidalist Fidel Castro expressed great admiration for Obama.

Obama failed to attend ceremonies for D-Day, the fall of the Berlin Wall or Pearl Harbor, preferring instead trips to places like Copenhagen to honor himself. Instead of watching the returns when Democrats got killed in the November elections, he was glued to a documentary about his "greatness." A global warming summit failed despite Obama's plea to achieve "something."

The Democrats attempted to ramrod socialized medicine on an American public that opposed it, 70-30. They attempted to bribe and buy votes, breaking numerous ethical laws. They tried to sneak everything past the public in the dark of night. Obama's campaign promise of transparency, of televised hearings on C-SPAN, was revealed instead to be a lie.

Obama's approval ratings headed towards 40 percent, the fastest drop in the quickest amount of time in the history of polling. In November 2009 Republican Chris Christie roundly won the Governorship of New Jersey and Republican Bob McDonnell wiped the floor with the Democrats in Virginia; both after Obama made personal appearances on behalf of his chosen candidates.

Senator Kennedy's death opened the door for the election in early 2010 of Republican Scott Brown for "Kennedy's seat" in the "Boston Massacre," winning by six points. It was an astounding event. These were the first shots fired in a conservative reaction to President Obama, the first indication maybe America would repudiate him, and possibly all the Democrats long stood for in the form of the Kennedys, the Clintons, Nancy Pelosi, Barbara Boxer, Harry Reid, Barney Frank, ACORN, MoveOn.org, Michael Moore, Code Pink, Bill Maher, Jeremiah Wright, William Ayers, "black liberation theology," the legacy of the 1960s counter-culture, Hollywood, the "lame stream" media, the "blame America first" crowd indoctrinating our young from grade school to graduate school, man-made global warming, socialized health care ramrodders, displaced Communists, Socialism in America, and the "black hand" of George Soros.

Meanwhile, former Alaska Governor Sarah Palin spoke of a "fallen world," of man's true relationship with God, and why the Founding Fathers favored limited government because they recognized the inherent corruption of men's souls. She was elevated to "rock star" status, her book selling in such extraordinary numbers as to be beyond mere phenomenon. Karl Rove exacted revenge on his detractors every day with words of wisdom in the Wall Street Journal and on Fox News.

The growing Tea Party Movement was besmirched as "tea baggers" by CNN's Anderson Cooper, who two years later revealed he was homosexual and, most likely therefore, an actual tea bagger, a term applied to gay male sex. Congresswoman Pelosi said the Tea Partiers were not a "grass roots" campaign, saying instead it was "Astro turf," just like Hillary Clinton's "vast Right-wing conspiracy" consisted of millions of patriotic American citizens who had the temerity to register and vote!

Senator Brown's victory in Massachusetts denied the Democrats the vaunted 60th vote, the filibuster-proof number needed to pass nationalized health care. Hillarycare had failed in 1993, and Obamacare was no more popular, but Brown's win secured its failure . . . except that Obama and Pelosi pushed it through using Congressional technicalities, not an actual Democratic vote. In 2012, the Supreme Court surprisingly upheld it as Constitutional. Health care reform mirrors, as Ann Coulter wrote in Demonic, "why the history of liberalism consists of replacing things that work with things that sounded good on paper." Or, as Pol Pot once said, "It seemed that the only thing needed was sufficient willpower, and heaven would be found on Earth."

But the Right was suddenly energized in 2010. Could it be that the unbeatable Obama was human after all? Could the Congress be taken back, and after that, was it possible that Obama himself could be defeated, a prospect that seemed unthinkable on Election Day, not to mention Inauguration Day?

In the 2010 midterms, the Republicans won sweeping victories. Obama himself described it as a "shellacking." Obama's old Illinois Senate seat, sold by Democrat Governor Rod Blagojevich, and never actually "won" by Obama (he used an illegal court ruling to steal it from Jack Ryan in 2004), was captured by Republican Mark Kirk, a huge repudiation in the President's home state.

With the Middle East in flames while Obama "led from behind," somehow managing to "snatch defeat from the jaws of victory," the economy in the tank, Obama tried many tricks. He granted amnesty to illegal aliens and declared his support for gay marriage, acts meant not to bring the nation together, but to divide her. While nuclear weapons were no longer the huge issue they had been during the Cold War, Obama cut the American arsenal by alarming numbers, to the point of literally leaving the country unable to defend against a full-scale attack. Some went so far as to describe this act as "treasonous."

Former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney won a spirited Republican primary campaign. Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker's big win repudiated public unions, setting the stage for a 2012 Presidential election that probably had more riding on it that any since Abraham Lincoln was elected in 1860. Every electoral indicator favored the Republicans. Newsweek, one of the most reliably liberal media outlets, told Obama to "hit the road, Barack" in their cover just a couple months before the election. A University of Colorado economic model that had been tried and true in each election since 1980 predicted a big Romney Electoral College victory. Political theorist Dick Morris said the Republicans would win in a landslide; not just the White House but also the Congress would swing back to the GOP. Every poll determined Republican enthusiasm, and therefore turnout, to be far greater. Romney surpassed Obama in fundraising. But the hidden influence of Soros, the prospect of another "September surprise," kept the GOP on its toes.

For reasons that have no logical answer, the Right – with the exception of a few web sites and scant mention by Dr. Michael Savage on his radio show – never raised any fuss over the fact that Obama ordered new vote-counting machines. In 2004 the Diebold machines had the audacity to inform the world that George W. Bush received more votes than any President in American history. This could not be repeated, so Obama ditched the Diebold machines and replaced them with machines made by a Spanish firm owned by George Soros!

In mid-October, having destroyed Obama in debate, Romney surged to a seven-point lead in the Gallup poll, traditionally the most accurate of all the polling firms. Rasmussen, the most accurate pollster of the previous Presidential elections, had Romney up by four nationally, with small leads in key states Florida and Ohio, the weekend before the election. One large firm literally stopped polling in Florida, so sure was Romney's win there. Several Republican Senators had "safe" leads right to the end.

Someway, we are supposed to believe that in a little over two weeks, Obama erased a seven-point deficit to win by four, an 11-point swing in a race that until Election Day was called "too close to call," fairly and squarely; that Ohio and Florida did not just go to Obama, but did so going away. That those "safe" Republican Senators actually "lost." That Republican turnout, after months of polling indicating great enthusiasm, was actually below the depressed McCain turnout, when his loss was a fait accompli more than a month before Election Day. That the Spanish firm owned by Soros did not create algorithms that conveniently did not count say, every third or fourth GOP vote in key precincts and states. That the devil is not the prince of the world.

Inaugurated in January of 2013, despite an adoring press Obama's approval ratings quickly sank back to their 2010 levels. The Right just threw their hands up in frustration. The damage was done. America was destroyed, no longer favored by God. It was too late. All was lost.

Obama and his supporters learned a big lesson from the likes of Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, and Johnnie Cochran. Blame all criticism and opposition on racism. The truth was of no value to them, and would not make them free.

Blacks, who were told Obama's victory would create a post-racial society; would lead to educational opportunities and employment; to less crime and more opportunity; saw none of this. The general attitude among "black leadership" was to blame white conservatives. The media played along.

The Simpson case turned the courts into a farce. In 2006, a group of wealthy, white Duke University lacrosse players held a party. A black stripper created a complete lie, just as Tawana Brawley and Al Sharpton lied in 1989, saying she had been raped and molested. It was quickly determined that the players were innocent. It did not matter. The liberal media excoriated them for being white, wealthy, attending a privileged school like Duke, in the racist South, and playing an elite sport like lacrosse. It was a real-life Alice in Wonderland, with puffed-up black victimologists practically screaming, "Off with their heads!" Forced to prosecute because of the professional race lobby, the case went to courts, where eventually the Duke athletes were exonerated.

A Hispanic man named George Zimmerman saw a black teenager named Trayvon Martin walking around his neighborhood in Florida. Zimmerman, the Neighborhood Watch commander, was suspicious and approached Martin, who told him, "Tonight's the night you're gonna die, motherf----r."

Martin then attacked him. Zimmerman had a gun and in the ensuing struggle it went off, killing Martin. When the media heard Zimmerman's name, they assumed he was white, and therefore, according to the dictates of social justice, guilty. Guilty if not of this particular crime, but of history, and so he must be deemed guilty in the media, which is the court of social justice. Then they found out he was half-Hispanic. At that point they invented a term previously unheard of: "white Hispanic."

The local police believed Zimmerman and chose not to prosecute. The race extortion industry then swung into action, forcing them to. The jury heard the evidence and agreed Zimmerman was not guilty. Actual justice had been served.

But Obama did not like this form of actual justice. He declared that if he had a son, he would look just like him. Then a mini-series aired on the History Channel called The Bible. In what is either coincidence or God revealing truth to those with eyes to see, the actor portraying Satan was a dead ringer for Obama. In the history of television, nobody ever resembled a real-life person more than Satan resembled Obama. Atheists just laughed at the nutty Christians for noticing this.

The Zimmerman case was portrayed in the media as an example of a racist white America in which blacks are the victims of hatred, crime and discrimination; all the things Obama promised to get rid of but, in 2014, he had not come close to achieving. Then a "funny" thing happened. An epidemic of crime spread across the Fruited Plain. In case after case, it consisted of marauding gangs of violent, rampaging blacks seeking out, and murdering, innocent whites. Associated Press reports of these murders used words like "allegedly," while not mentioning that the murderers were black. That was how conservatives knew they were black, which in the age of social media was quickly revealed to be fact.

Obama and the race extortionists of this new, dark age responded in a way best described by the name of a Robert Downey movie from 1987: Less Than Zero.

"Johnnie L. Cochran Jr. had transformed this case from a murder trial into a backhanded hearing about centuries of oppression and racism . . . in Birmingham, Montgomery, and Selma; in Watts, Detroit, and Washington, D.C.; in Kenya, Zimbabwe and the Sudan," Chris Darden wrote in his memoir, _In Contempt_. "O.J. belittles those struggles.

"The revolution is over when the revolutionaries have nothing better to do than decry the treatment of a millionaire who was given every deference by the system. The movement will be a farce when young blacks are forced to storm the streets, yelling 'Remember Brentwood.' "

Indeed, the farce Darden described has become national policy. African-Americans have long engaged in oral history, passing down stories from one generation to the next, using forums like barbershops, churches, and family dining tables. The Great Society largely removed the traditional black father from this equation, to be replaced by community organizers and race–baiters. Paul Robeson passed on the Big Lie to Harry Belafonte, who passed it on to Jesse Jackson, who passed it on to Al Sharpton, who passed it on to Louis Farrakhan, who passed it along to Barack Hussein Obama. There were a million other baton-passers along the way. These are the people who created a world in which black America cheered and danced like football fans whose team just won the Super Bowl, when O.J. Simpson was declared not guilty in 1995.

At that moment, millions of white Americans, long sympathetic to the plight of black America, hardened their hearts. They now knew something about black America they wished they had not. Like Original Sin, this knowledge could not be undone.

If in 50 years, or 100 years, a second American Civil war, a race war like the one Charles Manson hoped to enflame, or a war between the forces of the Right and the Left, ever breaks out, students of such a conflict will point to Johnnie Cochran and Barack Obama as among its first instigators, just as students of the French Revolution find the writings of Jean-Jacques Rousseau its inspiration, the Communist Revolution started by Karl Marx.

The Big Lie, which has always been with us and always will, is the tool of evil, of unrighteousness, playing to man's fears, hatred and prejudices in a world where the great victims of one generations are the victimizers of the next. It is a vicious circle, and it is Satan's way.

As usual, God's words say it best, as in Psalm 94: 1-5:

O Lord God, to whom vengeance belongeth; O god, to whom vengeance shew

thyself.

Lift up thyself, thou judge of the earth; render a reward to the proud.

Lord, how long shall the wicked, how long shall the wicked triumph?

How long shall they utter and speak hard things? and all the workers of

iniquity boast themselves?

They break in pieces thy people, O Lord, and afflict thine heritage.

Author's final word

I have a "problem" with black people. Naturally, this means I am prejudiced. That must be why I criticize Barack Obama. No other reasonable explanation exists. Of course, since the fact I am not prejudiced places itself before me as knowledge possessed by me, I therefore must look for more logical explanations.

Besides, I am a highly educated, reasonable, thoughtful, well-read, compassionate and informed Christian who above all other commandments believes in Christ's admonition, "Love your neighbor as yourself." Prejudice, to "pre-judge," is to be biased by ignorance, by lack knowledge of what one criticizes. Disagree with me if you insist on being wrong, but to call me lacking in knowledge is of no good value to you.

But to explain why I have a "problem' with blacks, I need to start with my father, Donald E. Travers. Yes, the same Donald E. Travers who once taught a class at City College of San Francisco attended by O.J. Simpson. My father came from a prominent California family that had been in San Francisco since the Gold Rush, but the Great Depression wiped them out. A "welcome wagon" came around to provide charity to the family, which my father rejected out of pride. He determined never to owe anything to anybody, and out of this was formed his lifelong conservative political philosophy.

After serving as a Naval officer in the combat theatres of the South Pacific, Dad returned to California determined to get his teaching credential, and coach both high school track as well as cross-country. This he did, so successfully in fact that he was named to the hall of fame. After establishing himself at Lowell, an all-white, upper-middle class school, he decided to switch to Balboa High, in a gritty, blue-collar part of town. The reason was that the blacks who came to San Francisco to work in the San Francisco shipyards now had children entering the high schools, in particular Balboa. My father knew they were fast, and if he had the sprinters, he could win the city championship every year. He was right. They were fast, and he won, every year. His actions were also the opposite of "white flight."

I was too young to have seen any of this with my own eyes, but I have known some of the black athletes he coached, many whose company I enjoyed at hall of fame functions, banquets, re-unions, and two special events honoring my dad. I can state for a fact my father loved these kids, and they loved him right back, just like a father. It was pure, and it was beautiful.

This was the way my father taught me. Innocent love for your fellow human being. To help when you can. To appreciate your good luck and pass it on to the less fortunate.

In 1968, my father was a commander in the Naval Reserves. His duty at the time was to recruit young officer-candidates to the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland. For this purpose, he would spend two weeks every summer in Annapolis and nearby Washington, D.C. That was where he was in the late spring of 1968. Dad attended a Baltimore Orioles game and a Washington Senators game. He took in the sights.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. had been assassinated recently, and there was racial unrest. He was told to be careful, especially when in uniform. One night he went to dinner at a restaurant, oddly enough named Blackie's. Blackie's was _the_ place to go in D.C. Located near Capitol Hill, it was where all the deals were really done. Where Congressmen from different parties met for drinks to hammer out their differences. Where lobbyists lobbied, staffers networked, where powerful men carried on affairs. It was a place of political intrigue, a modern Acropolis.

After a hearty meal of filet mignon, red wine, and a Bourbon nightcap, my father departed and got into his rental car. Then the side door opened, and a black criminal slipped in, immediately producing a knife, which my dad described as a "shiv." He stuck it up against Dad's neck, the edge just causing a small cut and a tiny droplet of blood.

"Gimme yer wallet, yer watch, everything you got, you white motherf----r," the criminal said to my dad. Slowly, without making any fast moves, my frightened father did as the criminal commanded. The criminal pocketed his score, and stared with hatred at my father. For a second, Daddy thought he was dead, but the criminal looked around. Blackie's was still open and if he murdered this white man, a Naval officer, he might very well be caught and face life in prison. Probably strung out on drugs, he may not have thought so reasonably, but for whatever reason he pulled the knife away from my dear father and departed into the night. My dad was left shaking and vulnerable.

When he returned home, he told my mother and I about this terrible event. I could tell, my father had changed. This being 1968, it was a year of great upheaval in which the King assassination, then Robert Kennedy's assassination, played out against the socio-political ramifications of a Presidential campaign and the Vietnam War. Every night, my father returned from a long day of work – mornings teaching at CCSF, afternoons running a private law practice – to drink an increasing amount of Bourbon, watch the news, and lament over the rapid changes in America throughout the 1960s. After dinner, there was wine, then moroseness before heading to bed. My father was now an alcoholic.

Every night, probably for some three or four years before 1968, and increasingly in the years after, an odd psychosis took over my father. The knife episode in D.C. seemed to crystallize events in his mind, but really it was the nightly droning of network news commentators that slowly drove him to distraction.

The fact my father was not a racist was a beautiful truth that shone brightly in his life. It was a fact that made him proud, which he happily shared with his friends and family, and loved to hear affirmed by the black kids, now young men, he had successfully coached in the previous decade. Yet, despite this, every night he sat in front of the television and listened to learned men tell him that, no, Don Travers, you are _wrong_. You are _mistaken_. Yes, Don Travers, the fact is, you _are a racist_! Night after night, social ills were placed on the screen in front of him, commentary made, innuendos proffered, all meant to persuade dear old Dad that he, and other white men like him – the Greatest Generation that won World War II – were not the "great" men, the moral men who built a nation and saved the world; no, they were all that was wrong with it.

Liberalism turned my father into an alcoholic.

At some point, after several years of this, when I was now old enough to have mature conversations with my father, good old Dad just told me, "Steve, I've never been a prejudiced man. I taught you not to be. I thought I'd done a good job. But son of a bitch if these people are not _making_ me prejudiced."

Dad's use of the word "prejudice" was incorrect, of course. It was the opposite of that. He had not "pre-judged" anything. Instead, he was _learning_ things, having his eyes opened, and with the use of a bottle of Jim Beam, losing his innocence. He was smart enough to tell me he was not _really_ prejudiced, that he loved people, he felt compassion for blacks who faced real hardships, but when a Jesse Jackson, an Al Sharpton, a Louis Farrakhan would spew hatred on the television, my father _was not happy_ about it!

Eventually, Dad quit drinking, and because of it was able to live to see his granddaughter, my daughter Elizabeth, flower into young adulthood. In 2008, when Barack Obama was elected President, my dad, a lifelong Republican, voted for John McCain, but told my mother, "I like Obama. I'm proud we elected a black President. I wish him well."

I never really understood how Dad felt. I had certainly been taught to be fair and race-neutral. I was a good athlete and had a lot of African-American, Latino and Dominican teammates, who I got along with. I enjoyed diversity, hearing other people's languages, of their culture and background. It was fun.

Like most high school kids, I was immature, and that immaturity resulted in occasional bouts of racial stupidity, but it was never hatred. In my heart, I loved my fellow man. When I saw genuine goodwill, between others and myself or just among people, my heart would cry out and a little tear would well up in my eye.

I even kind of liked Jesse Jackson. During the 1984 Democratic primaries between Walter Mondale and Gary Hart, I enjoyed Jackson speaking out about the responsibility of blacks to keep their families together and serve their communities. But as he radicalized, I lost my respect for Jackson, and I never liked Al Sharpton. But I thought these fellows to be buffoons, clowns, not to be taken seriously or fretted over. America would just roll along, creating excellence, leading the way like a "shining city on a hill," as my hero Ronald Reagan called her.

Then came the O.J. Simpson verdict. It was October 1995, and when he was pronounced not guilty, I uttered the N-word. I do not know when I used that word before, and have not used it since, in company or by myself. I am ashamed I used it then, but I used it. That case changed me, as it changed America, and for the first time I understood what my father meant back in the 1970s. The circumstances were different, but the general anger and frustration, at the media, the race industry, and liberals, who propelled so many lies, was now intense. I always staved off hate. My father once told me nobody should hate. I understand hate to be a victory for the devil, but over the next years, I _despised_ the Clintons, and my feeling were visceral.

I listened while the Democratic Party propelled the lie, just as they had when my dad watched Walter Cronkite, that I and those like me were racists. I despised the Democrats for practically rooting against America in Iraq, as they had rooted for the Communists in Vietnam.

So yes, I have a problem with the lies of Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, Louis Farrakhan, Johnnie Cochran and Barack Obama. Yes, I have a problem with the racial politics they play, or played, all based on those lies. I have a problem being called a racist when I am not one, just as my father did not like it when he was not one. Yes, I have a problem with black people blindly giving 90 percent of their vote every election to the Democrats, and I have a problem with their twice electing Barack Obama. I have a problem with ignoramuses who cannot enunciate English words, who vote for Obama because he gives them something called "Obamaphone," deciding the future of my country. I have a problem with the fact that he never delivered on his promises to African-Americans, yet blacks seem mesmerized by him, unable to see what he really is. I see this and I think about how evil works, how it controls a fallen world.

After 9/11, I became profoundly spiritual. I have always been a Christian, but in the 2000s I began reading the Bible every morning. I began to truly understand man's relationship with God. I began to see the true evil of the world, in which thousands of innocent babies are aborted every day, some 60 million in America alone since _Roe v. Wade_. I began to think that an anti-Christ might be walking this Earth today. How else to explain such an increase in immorality and injustice, such hatred and propitiation of lies? Such massive unrighteousness.

I do not know who or what Barack Obama is. I do know he is the worst President in American history. I do know the stimulus debt incurred with the single sweep of his pen in 2009 destroyed my country, and neither I nor my grandchildren will ever see it recover to where it was in my golden youth. Beyond that, I can only hope Obama is merely a politician I disagree with, and leave it there.

I fear he is more sinister than that. As Thomas Paine once wrote, man cannot "unknow his knowledge, or unthink his thoughts." My father's innocence was stolen from him when a black criminal stuck a shiv against his throat in Washington, D.C. in 1968. Mine was stolen by Johnnie Cochran in Los Angeles, 1995, when he let a man I idolized and loved as a Trojan above all others, now proven to be a murderer, walk free, ostensibly because I, nor white people like me, including the Brown and Goldman families, did not deserve justice because of the Big Lie. That Big Lie was racism.

"Ye shall known the truth, and the truth shall make ye free."

e wa

Index

Bibliography

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Barbieri, Paula. The Other Woman: My Years with O.J. Simpson. New York: Little

Brown & Company, 1997.

Bisheff, Steve and Loel Schrader. Fight On! The Colorful Story of USC Football. Nashville, TN: Cumberland House, 2006.

Boyles, Bob, and Paul Guido. Fifty Years of College Football. Wilmington, DE: Sideline

Communications, Inc., 2005.

Bugliosi, Vincent. Outrage: The Five Reasons Why O.J. Simpson Got Away With

Murder. New York: W.W. Norton & Comp[any, 1996.

Clark, Marcia with Teresa Carpenter. Without a Doubt. New York: Viking Penguin,

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Clary, Jack. College Football's Great Dynasties: USC. Popular Culture Ink, 1991.

Darden Chris with Jess Walter. In Contempt. New York: Regan Books, 1996.

Dershowitz, Alan M. Reasonable Doubts. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996.

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Game Day: Southern California Football. Foreword by Manfred Moore. Chicago: Triumph Books, 2006.

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System Works . . . and Sometimes Doesn't. New York: Gotham Books, 2013.

Gigliotti, Jim. Stadium Stories: USC Trojans. Guilford, CT: The Globe Pequot Press, 2005.

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Goldman Family, The. I Did It.: Confessions of the Killer. New York: Beaufort Books,

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Fuhrman, Mark. Murder in Brentwood. Washington, D.C.: Regnery Publishing, Inc.,

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Lange, Det Tom and Det. Philip Vannatter. Evidence Dismissed: The Inside Story of the

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Resnick, Faye D. with Mike Walker. Nicole Brown Simpson: The Private Diary of a Life

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Toobin, Jeffrey. The Run of His Life: The People v. O.J. Simpson. New York: Random

House, 1996.

Travers, Steven. "The tradition of Troy." Unpublished book proposal, 1995.

______. "When legends played." StreetZebra, September, 1999.

______. "Legend: A conversation with John McKay." Www.streetzebra.com, March, 2000.

______. "Rich McKay." Www.streetzebra.com, April, 2000.

______. "Villa Park wins rivalry game." Los Angeles Times, September 25, 2000.

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______. "It wasn't a football game, it was a sighting." StreetZebra, November, 2000.

______. "He was a legend of the old school variety." Unpublished essay, 2001.

______. Barry Bonds: Baseball's Superman. Champaign, IL: Sports Publishing, 2002.

______. God's Country: A Conservative, Christian Worldview of How History Formed the United States Empire and America's Manifest Destiny For the Twenty-first Century. Unblished manuscript, 2003.

______. "Dynasty: The new centurions of Troy." Excerpted from The USC Trojans: College Football's All-Time Greatest Dynasty. Lanham, MD: Taylor Trade Publishing, 2006 (based on "2005 USC Trojans: Greatest college football dynasty ever?" available at www.American-Reporter.com, July 4, 2005).

______. "Orange Countification: The true story of how the GOP helped the South rise again." Unpublished essay, 2005.

______. "The four horsemen of Southern California." Excerpted from The USC Trojans: College Football's All-Time Greatest Dynasty. Lanham, MD: Taylor Trade Publishing, 2006.

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______. Trojans Essential: Everything You Need to Know to Be a Real Fan! Chicago: Triumph Books, 2008.

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______. Dodgers Past & Present. Minneapolis: MVP Books, 2009.

______. Pigskin Warriors: 140 Years of College Football's Greatest Traditions, Games, and Stars. Lanham, MD: Taylor Trade Publishing, 2009.

______. A Tale of Three Cities: The 1962 Baseball Season in New York, Los Angeles and San Francisco. Washington, D.C.: Potomac Books, Inc., 2009.

______. What It Means to Be a Trojan: Southern Cal's Greatest Players Talk About Trojans Football. Chicago: Triumph Books, 2009.

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Publishing, 2014.

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2014.

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Nicole Brown Simpson. New York: Pocket Books, 1995.

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sandpointonline.com/sandpointmag/sms97/interview.html

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yet-for-trayvon.html

 theroot.com/views/100-amazing-facts-about-negro-0

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bin/article.cgi?f=/n/a/2007/09/13/state/n092017D86.DTL

ius plans tiu retiure tio Idaho, th home of the Aryan nation, was just a coincidence, accoding to Phillips. "look" he said. "Mark is a hot dog and has always been one. hde's noit a raciust."Dardsebn called all the bklacks cops whoi worked with Fuhrman. Non had a problem with him. Darden tol himself that malcvolm DVD/Documentaries

Breaking the Huddle. New York: Home Box Office, 2008.

Coach Paul "Bear" Bryant. New York: College Sports Television, 2005.

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CA: Warner Home Video, 2005.

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_Tackling Segregation_. New York: College Sports Television, 2006.

Additional video

History of Notre Dame Football.

Trojan Video Gold. Narrated by Tom Kelly. Los Angeles: University of Southern

California, 1988.

Index

Author bio

Steven Travers, a former professional baseball player with the St. Louis Cardinals and the Oakland A's organizations, is the author of over 20 books, including the best-selling Barry Bonds: Baseball's Superman, nominated for a Casey Award as Best Baseball Book of 2002; and One Night, Two Teams: Alabama vs. USC and the Game that Changed a Nation (a 2007 PNBA nominee, subject of the CBS/CSTV documentary Tackling Segregation, and soon to be a major motion picture). He pitched for the Redwood High School baseball team in California that won the national championship in his senior year, before attending college on an athletic scholarship and earning all-conference honors. A graduate of the University of Southern California, Steven coached at USC, Cal-Berkeley and in Europe; served in the Army; attended law school; and was a sports agent. He has written for the Los Angeles Times and was a columnist for StreetZebra magazine in L.A., and the San Francisco Examiner. His screenplays include The Lost Battalion, 21 and Wicked. He has a daughter, Elizabeth Travers Lee, and lives in California.

Books written by Steven Travers

One Night, Two Teams: Alabama vs. USC and the Game That Changed A Nation (also a documentary, Tackling Segregation, and soon to be a major motion picture)

A's Essential: Everything You Need to Know to Be A Real Fan!

Trojans Essential: Everything You Need to Know to Be A Real Fan!

Dodgers Essential: Everything You Need to Know to Be A Real Fan!

Angels Essential: Everything You Need to Know to Be A Real Fan!

D'Backs Essential: Everything You Need to Know to Be A Real

The USC Trojans: College Football's All-Time Greatest Dynasty

The Good, the Bad & the Ugly Los Angeles Lakers

The Good, the Bad & the Ugly Oakland Raiders

The Good, the Bad & the Ugly San Francisco 49ers

Barry Bonds: Baseball's Superman

Pigskin Warriors: 140 Years of College Football's Greatest Games, Players and Traditions

The 1969 Miracle Mets

Dodgers Baseball Yesterday & Today

A Tale of Three Cities: New York, L.A. and San Francisco During the 1962 Baseball Season

What It Means To Be a Trojan: Southern Cal's Greatest Players Talk About Trojans Football

The Poet: The Life and Los Angeles Times of Jim Murray

The Last Icon: Tom Seaver's Town, His Team, and His Times

God's Country: A Conservative, Christian Worldview of How History Formed the United States Empire and America's Manifest Destiny for the 21st Century

Angry White Male

The Writer's Life

The USC Mafia: From the Frat House to the White House to the Big House

Ambition: My Struggles to Fail and Succeed in Baseball, Politics, Hollywood, Writing . . . and the Rocky Path I've Walked With Christ

What Is Truth? Powers That Were, Powers That Are

The Duke, the Longhorns, and Chairman Mao: John Wayne's Political Odyssey

The Reaping: What the O.J. Simpson Murder Case Did to America

Praise for Steve Travers

Steve Travers is the next great USC historian, in the tradition of Jim Murray, John Hall, and Mal Florence! . . . the Trojan Family needs your work. Fight On!

\- USC Head Football Coach Pete Carroll

. . . Steve Travers tells us all about the exciting and remarkable football . . . . that not only changed the way the game is played; it . . . changed the world.

\- Winston Groom, author of Forrest Gump

Steve Travers combines wit, humor, social pathos and historical knowledge with the kind of sports expertise that only an ex-jock is privy to; it is reminiscent of the work of Jim Bouton, Pat Jordan and Dan Jenkins, combined with Jim Murray' turn of phrase, Hunter Thompson's hard-scrabble Truths, and David Halberstam's unique take on our nation's place in history. His writing is great storytelling, and the result is pure genius every time.

\- Westwood One radio personality Michael McDowd

Steve Travers is a great writer, an educated athlete who knows how to get inside the player's heads, and when that happens, greatness occurs. He's gonna be a superstar.

- San Francisco Examiner

Steve Travers is a phenomenal writer, an artist who labors over every word to get it just right, and he has an encyclopedic knowledge of sports and history.

- StreetZebra

Steve Travers is a "Renaissance man."

\- Jim Rome Show

He is very qualified to continue to write books such as this one. Good job.

\- Marty Lurie/Right Off the Bat Oakland A's Pregame Host

Steve's a literate ex-athlete, an ex-Trojan, and a veteran of Hollywood, too.

\- Lee "Hacksaw" Hamilton/XTRA Radio, San Diego

You've done some good writin', dude.

\- KFOG Radio, San Francisco

[Travers is] one of the great sportswriters on the current American scene.

\- Joe Shea/Radio Talk Host and Editor

Travers appears to have the right credentials for the task.

\- USA Today Baseball Weekly

A very interesting read which is not your average . . . book. . . . Steve has achieved his bona fides when it comes to having the credentials to write a book like this.

\- Geoff Metcalfe/KSFO Radio, San Francisco

This is a fascinating book written by a man who knows his subject matter inside and out.

— Irv Kaze/KRLA Radio, Los Angeles

Travers . . . established himself as a writer of many dimensions . . . a natural.

— John Jackson/Ross Valley Reporter

Steve Travers is a true USC historian and a loyal Trojan!

— Former USC football player John Papadakis

Pete Carroll calls you "the next great USC historian," high praise indeed.

\- Rob Fukuzaki/ABC7, Los Angeles

You're a great writer and I always enjoy your musings, particularly on SC football – huge fan!

\- Oakland A's general manager Billy Beane

Steven Travers is one of the most accomplished sports journalists in our nation today and One Night, Two Teams is his defining work to this point.

\- Strandbooks.com

Travers, a USC grad, portrays the game and USC's victory as a tipping point in the integration of college football and the South, a triumph for the forces of equality . . . his larger view of the game hits home in most respects, and he provides a compelling account- drawing from dozens of interviews with participants, coaches, drawing from dozens of others - of a clash between two schools with decidedly different approaches to the composition of their football rosters . . . All in all, an intriguing premise and a well-told story.

\- Wes Lukowsky, Booklist

The book is not just about sports but how sports and that September 1970 game in particular relate to the intertwining of sports, race, politics, history, religion and philosophy.

\- Harold Abend, In Scope

One Night . . . is a tour de force.

- Marin I.J.

Travers combines wit, humor and historical knowledge in his writings.

\- University of Southern California

Wow what a great job!!!! . . . I love the book . . . It's one of those you look forward to reading at special times . . . I can't say enough!

\- Lonnie White, Los Angeles Times

This is a book about American society. It sheds incredible light on little-known events that every American must know to understand this country . . . In 20 years, people will say of this book what they said about Roger Kahn's The Boys of Summer.

\- Fred Wallin, Business Talk radio

Steve is the USC historian whose meticulous attention to detail is a revelation. He is the best chronicler of USC ever.

\- Chuck Hayes, CRN Sports Corner

This is fabulous, just a terrific look at our history. Travers is one of the best writers around.

\- Rod Brooks, Fitz & Brooks Show, KNBR/San Francisco

You have created a work of art here, an absolutely great book. We love your work.

  * Bob Fitzgerald, "Fitz & Brooks Show," KNBR/San Francisco

When it comes to sports history, this is the man right here.

\- Gary Radnich, KRON/5, San Francisco

Author Steven Travers discusses his new book . . .

- Orange County Register

. . . Join Steve Travers . . . at the Autograph Stage . . .

\- ESPN Radio

. . . Steve Travers, author of One Night, Two Teams: Alabama vs. USC and the Game That Changed a Nation . . .

\- Los Angeles Daily News

Steve Travers, a sports historian . . .

- Los Alamitos News-Enterprise

Hear this dynamic speaker tell how this famous game changed history.

\- Friends of the Los Alamitos-Rossmoor Library

This is a fabulous book.

\- Michaela Pereira/ KTLA 5, Los Angeles

Travers presents this particular game in 1970 as a metaphor for the profound changes in social history during the emancipation of the South.

- Publishers Weekly

. . . Explored in rich, painstaking detail by Steve Travers.

\- Jeff Prugh, L.A. Times beat writer who covered the 1970 USC-Alabama game

You're a prolific talent.

\- Curtis Kim, KSRO Radio, Santa Rosa

Is there anything you've not written?

- Vernon Glenn, KRON/4, San Francisco

You are the Poet Laureate of the USC Program! Please keep writing.

\- Tony Pattiz, USC class of 1980

A's Essential: Everything You Need To Be a Real Fan offers a breezy history . . .

\- Bruce Dancis/Sacramento Bee

What A's Essential does give us in heaps is the history specific players and other A's personnel . . . Travers manages to dig up plenty of interesting quotes and his knowledge of other writings about the A's is voluminous. He finds enough fascinating material . . . interesting and add(s) to the reader's experience with the book . . . A's Essential can be a useful source to those who are students of A's history

\- Brian James Oak/www.atthehomeplate.com

As an Oakland fan, I was therefore interested to find A's Essential when browsing on Amazon recently

\- Matt Smith, MLB.com

(The chapter in One Night, Two Teams) on Martin Luther King - the description of the civil rights movement - your insights, the research - what an education I received from reading it. It should be required reading by every student in America! Every citizen. No wonder there were so many African Americans on the Mall a week ago! . . . I am sure there are many blacks who would say it is impossible for a white man to really understand the struggle. And, in one sense they are definitely right because you are not black. But, wow - I think you did an excellent job in bringing it together - telling the story and making me think!

\- Dwight Chapin, former Nixon White House appointments secretary

Front and back dustcovers

Everybody knows what happened 20 years ago. Many books were written from most every point of view. But what has happened since then? What did the O.J. Simpson murder case of 1994-1995 do to America?

O.J. was already symbolic in many ways. He was the post-Jackie Robinson, post-Jim Brown, post-New Breed African-American, the beneficiary in living flesh of 400 years of struggle against tyranny, the first blossoms of freedom bestowed upon the American Black Man. He was their hopes and dreams embodied.

Many said O.J. was "whiter" than many of the corporate executives who feted him, who played golf with him, who enabled him to get a free lunch and his pick of Caucasian women from one coast to another. He was the picture of what a charismatic, handsome black man can get if he plays his cards right, is non-threatening, and smiles the smile of the contented.

He was a hero to white America, one of the first black celebrities to be fully embraced and given a free ride with no reservations. His predilection for sex with blond women never came back to hurt him. The world, apparently, had moved beyond that. In this respect, he was on the cutting edge of societal evolution.

The city of Los Angeles and the state of California also thought of itself as being ahead of societal trends. While the South was embroiled in an intense civil rights struggle in the 1960s, black athletes in California appeared to gracefully mix with white teammates, from high schools to colleges to the professional ranks. But just as the 1965 Watts riots demonstrated that below this idyllic façade lay a simmering rage, so to did the O.J. murder trial some three decades later demonstrate that not all was well in the land of milk and honey.

Today, much of our culture, our politics, and the continuing, polarizing divide between Left and Right owes itself to the O.J. case. The American black man today has not seamlessly fit into society as many felt he would. He often appears to walk about wearing a chip on his shoulder embodying centuries of slavery, colonization, and bigotry. After World War II, African-Americans made steady progress in civil rights, education and economic advancement. Then the Great Society was initiated, thus enslaving blacks to a welfare state that largely left them bereft of father figures.

This created a simmering historical resentment, with blacks increasingly self-segregating; choosing only to hear, listen to, and believe their version of history, their cultural entertainment, and their political messages. This simmered just below the surface until June 12, 1994.

What emerged from the murder trial of O.J. Simpson for the killing of his wife, the blond bombshell Nicole Brown Simpson, was a strange miasma of reality in which blacks increasingly felt justified in not holding themselves to the same standards as society. A crime committed by a black man, an indiscretion by a black cultural figure, an ethical violation by a black politician; these and many other incidents would become papered over, excused as somehow okay, because to give the black man a pass was some sort of strange "payback" for historical injustice. The very word "justice" became a lie, a code word for anti-colonial reparations that can never be paid back.

Black-on-black murders and black-on-non-black crime, in South Africa, in Zimbabwe, in the U.S., and everyplace else, became the elephant in the room, not allowed to be spoken of, while the rare occasion of a non-black accused of a crime against a black, as in the George Zimmerman-Trayvon Martin murder trial, becomes big news.

The O.J. case spawned the modern saturation of courtroom news, which has resulted in the enormous expansion of cable television. Wall-to-wall all-day news coverage practically was invented by the O.J. case. It changed the perception of sports personalities, which today has reached the point where average athletes are considered, ipso facto, quasi-criminals, steroid abusers in a scandal–ridden society. The self-image of the victim became a political tool, propelling numerous African-American elected officials, and driving the anti-colonial agenda of Barack Hussein Obama, whose election is viewed as payback for centuries of racism and intolerance.

This book looks at the life, athletic career and movies of O.J. Simpson; the shattering news that destroyed what was, until the 1990s, the greatest of all American cities; and the shocking, Shakespearean ironies that have occurred in a continued twist of cosmic fate.

Author/historian Steven Travers has written a book of narrative non-fiction in the Tom Wolfe style; a true crime and courtroom thriller that reads like a novel. Here are all the players of this most Shakespearean of dramas:

  * Christopher Darden, "God's lonely man," the black prosecutor accused of treachery against his race.

  * Johnnie Cochran, the evil race-baiter who used lies and untruths to perpetuate unjustice.

  * F. Lee Bailey, the fallen legal eagle stooping to the worst of man's fears.

  * Robert Kardashian and Al Cowlings, the two loyalists who abandon all principle.

  * Marcia Clark, the fighting woman looking for justice for a murdered white woman seemingly forgotten by justice.

  * Faye Resnick, the beautiful, sensual temptress.

  * Kato Kaelin, the court jester.

  * The families (Browns, Goldmans, Simpsons), reduced to tears and ruined lies.

  * Nicole Brown Simpson and Robert Goldman, reduced to pawns of racial politics.

  * Mark Fuhrman, the "genocidal racist."

  * O.J., the man who walks through rain drops.

