O.J. Simpson has died of cancer at 76, and all I could think about was legacy, because for O.J Simpson, a Hall of Fame running back, his legacy cut on a dime.
Legacy is determined by the lives you’ve changed, by the goals you’ve achieved, by the impact you’ve had on the world. Over a lifetime, you stack those things like bricks held together with the sweat of your brow and the scope of your dreams.
But in a world where the only thing better than watching someone rise is watching them fall, a legacy that’s taken a lifetime to build can be gone in the twinkle of an eye.
Simpson knew that better than most, because in his Hall of Fame football career, he rushed for over 11,000 yards, scored 76 touchdowns, and played in five Pro Bowls. But those achievements mattered little when Simpson was charged with the murder of his wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend, Ron Goldman in 1994.
Simpson’s legacy was no longer that of a hero. He, and all who were involved, became symbols of a divided America. In her death, Simpson’s wife, Nicole, was no longer viewed as a woman who had married a man of wealth and status. She was a white woman who’d been victimized by the stereotypical Black brute.
Her friend, Ron Goldman, who was also white, was the innocent victim caught in the middle. And Simpson, who’d transitioned from football to acting, representing major brands like Hertz and starring in films like The Naked Gun series, was no longer a “safe Black man.” He was a criminal who needed to be punished — not only for his alleged crime, but also for aspiring to whiteness.
In a case that was billed as the trial of the century, America’s fault lines were laid bare. There was race and class. There was wealth and privilege, and it was all bound up in proceedings that everyone expected to end with Simpson’s conviction.
However, Simpson had the kind of means that Black men generally did not possess. That allowed him to put together a crack team of lawyers led by the inimitable Johnnie Cochran. The team was rounded out by Alan Dershowitz, F. Lee Bailey, and a man whose family would later become the center of a reality show empire —Robert Kardashian.
I can still remember when the trial ended with Simpson’s acquittal. I was in class at Temple University, and when I heard the news, I was pleased. I had seen Black men railroaded by a system designed to snatch our freedom, so for me, and many in my community, Simpson’s win was about much more than his guilt or innocence. It was about justice for our ancestors.
For many in the white community, that wasn’t the case. Suddenly, there were angry calls for revamping the criminal justice system. The use of juries needed to be reexamined. The ability to fund vast legal teams was called unfair.
Simpson showed us the same thing that Donald Trump is now demonstrating: Money can level the playing field in the criminal justice system.
But in the face of white America’s racial hostility, Simpson somehow managed to survive the backlash. While doing so, he showed us the same thing that former President Donald Trump is now demonstrating. Money can level the playing field in the criminal justice system. However, when you’re Black, money can change the beginning, but the system can still bring you down in the end.
Years after Simpson was acquitted for murder, he was jailed for taking back sports memorabilia that he said was stolen from him. When he was finally released from prison, he lived a mostly quiet life, at one point participating in an ill-advised project called If I Did It: Confessions of the Murderer.
But for those who remember O.J. as “The Juice,” his legacy is more than the cloud that followed him in the days after his acquittal in the trial of the century. His legacy is what he built on the field, one yard and one play at a time.
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