Hero or Murderer?
Perhaps both
During family dinners of my youth, our daddy would ask, “What does OJ mean?”
“Obviously Orange Juice,” the four of us would respond in unison.
“No,” daddy would say. “It means Orenthal James, get it? These are the initials for OJ Simpson, ‘O’ for Orenthal and ‘J’ for James. OJ.”
My youngest sister, still a toddler, would say, “Why don’t I ever get OJ?”
Mommy, a proverbial football non-fan would chime in “ For many reasons, one being that you kids polish off a half gallon of Foremost Orange Juice in a split second!”
Daddy responds”Split second, have you ever seen OJ’s brilliant split second moves on the field? That boy is going places in life, I’m just flattered to be a small part of his success.”
The dissonance surrounding the meaning of OJ became a running joke in our home for several years.
In 1967, John McKay, the football coach of the USC Trojans, contacted an avid alumni who also happened to be a mathematical genius. The alum was my father, Peter Albano.
Upon graduating USC, my father taught math in the Los Angeles Unified School District. He was an engaged USC Alum, and remained close with the sports programs at the school. He rarely missed a home football game in person. My father had tutored several athletes over the years, in exchange for select football tickets. However when Coach McKay called that day, the conversation seemed much different.
“You have to keep this kid in school. Assure us he will pass his math classes, it wouldn’t hurt if you could help him with English too. He’s someone special, I’ve never seen a young man handle the ball like him.”
My father proceeded to spend one or two afternoons per week with both OJ and Al Cowlings. He related that each young man “never went anywhere without the other, and they were shy and polite young men.”
I remember those two years in our lives like they were yesterday. The shy and polite OJ became a football phenom overnight, and daddy was a pride- filled father of a son from another father.
“He’s passing math, you know. OJ is no slouch. He’s doing quite well in school,” Dad would say. Math wasn’t the only “passing” going on. OJ’s performance in football became the pride of Los Angeles.
Raised by a single mom, my father had an affinity for young men of the same circumstance. He could sense their needs and often added more to their time together than algebra answers. Daddy had enough room in his heart to share himself with his students including OJ and Al Cowlings.
Being just a small part of OJ’s football prowess was a deep-seeded prideful memory my father carried with him for the rest of his life.
However, my father also harbored a deep sense of disappointment as to what happened after that shy boy became a misguided man. Knowing my father, he may have felt like he should have had more character-building time with OJ. The fact that daddy shared his heart with more than just his family has always made me proud.
One Easter, daddy invited OJ and Al Cowlings over for dinner. Our household was unusually excited in the days before. I’d never seen my mother clean so thoroughly, and daddy peppered us with USC trivia so we would be of interest to our guests. Daddy carefully manicured the lawn and tossed football with all of us for what seems like hours. I’m sure he wanted to toss balls with OJ himself across his beautiful lawn.
Two extra baskets were delivered by the Easter bunny, and we had to delay our egg hunt so it would include our guests when they arrived.
As day turned to dusk, daddy got ahold of a coach, and was told that permission for all football players to leave campus for Easter had been denied. Us kids cried our hearts out; our chance to engage with our mysterious yet famous adopted older brother was quashed.
At a certain point OJ Simpson gained a nickname, “The Juice.” Daddy began to call his student “The Juice,” more than he uttered his real name.
Many evenings daddy would return home excited after a long day. “The Juice did this; The Juice did that.” All he could talk about was OJ Simpson. My confused little sister would say “The juice didn’t make it into my glass, daddy, but the juice glass in your soul looks full. Mommy can we please have some OJ? Daddy obviously has had his fill.”
Mommy would reply, “Orange Juice is too expensive; you kids always drink it in a split second.”
OJ Simpson met his final demise amid contradictions of how his life would be defined. All I know is I have a sweet, special memory which flavored our childhood. For this, I am thankful.
