Yesterday, O.J. Simpson died, and it was covered widely across the news. As I've mentioned here, I worked on the Naked Gun movies, in which he appeared, so I figured I should write something . Though I wasn't terribly anxious to. That's because they were among the most joyous work experiences I've ever had, and some of my fondest memories. (As I've noted previously, they even stuck me in couple of the films as butts of jokes.) And the trial and whole situation just sucked the joy out of that. It became so difficult to watch those movies for me, and even think about the work. Enough time has passed, so that the situation isn't as bad as all that any more -- but it's still achingly sad. And I'm not even remotely involved in what actually is sad about it, just tangentially from afar.
However, I did write about the subject a least somewhat here a decade ago when the mini-series The People vs. O.J. Simpson was on TV. I didn't have any interest in watching it, though did decide to add some thoughts. And I figured I could just repost much of what I wrote back then, with a few tweaks and minor additions, rather than go through it all again. As I wrote -- when the real court trial was on, and so many people in the country were mesmerized by it all, the public glued in front of the TV, and it was the Conversation Topic of the Day for months, I just didn't watch any of it either. Maybe a couple minutes total, but that's all. I didn't watch the "Dancing Ito" sketches on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. There was absolutely nothing "fun" about it for me. It was just so profoundly sad on every conceivable level. In no way is my reaction meant as "O woe is me." Not even remotely. I'm a far-distant bystander. My point is merely how deep the tragedy went. And how much it impacted, beyond the attention-grabbing value, beyond what is so obvious and so gut-wrenching to those who it actually, literally pummeled . During the whole period, people would ask me, "You worked with O.J., do you think he did it?" I could only stare at them and say that I had no earthly idea. I got along fine with him, he wasn't someone I'd want to become friends with because he was involved in so many projects, always busy flying around, and somewhat distant, but, no, he didn't strike me as a mass mass murder. Did he do it? How on earth would I know? Beyond that, I really didn't talk about things connected to the trial. I, of course, crossed paths with O.J. a bit. It was part of the job, notably have to get information for the press kit I was writing. But I'm not sure he even knew my name. I think it was something like, "Hey, man." Not because it was me, I don't think he bothered to learn pretty much anyone's name, other than those at the top. We only had two extended conversations: one in his trailer, dealing with the press kit, and one sitting on the set, which oddly dealt with his family. At one point, he brought up how his wife seemed to want to get together, but that wasn't anything he was interested in. Whether his story was true, I have no idea. But that was the conversation. It hasn't aged well with time. The only thing I ever really commented about the trial was my observation whenever I'd hear people debating O.J. Simpson's innocence or guilt, and there would be people almost gleefully proclaiming his innocence, based purely on the reputation of the Los Angeles police department and its poor history with racial matters. To be clear, my reaction wasn't about these people's opinion -- I completely understood it, and the gross unfairness of the judicial system and well-publicized transgressions of the L.A. police -- but it was their near-mirth and utter certainty defending him and hope that O.J. got off. My thought at such moments was always a simple question: "Would you feel the same if the person killed was your sister?" One day, I mentioned this to a friend of mine. A few weeks later, he called to tell me he had been with a crowd of people, all of who were "rooting" for O.J., certain he had been railroaded and hoped he was acquitted. He said that he brought up my question -- and it stopped the conversation cold. Absolute, total silence. The mirthful certainty, the aggressive desire for acquittal completely disappeared. Again, to reiterate, I have no idea if he was innocent or guilty, though I have my opinion. It's just that one's thought on the subject should be based on the facts, whether believing him innocent or guilty. Having said all this, there was one personal thing that did ever so lightly touch me and was such a shame. It's that I'd become friendly over the two movies with O.J.'s assistant, an absolutely lovely, wonderful lady. She'd been with him for many years, and was totally devoted to him and her job. I only heard her name mentioned a few times in the news, but I'm sure if I paid closer attention I'd have heard it more. Though she of course wasn't directly involved in the tragedy, I knew that her life was devastated, and what she'd seen as a lifetime career was over, and it was heart-breaking to me. I did try to reach out to her at one point, letting a little time pass into the case. But I never reached her -- I left a phone message of support, but I'm sure she stopped answering her phone, and I wouldn't be surprised if she even stopped listening to her messages. I miss being in touch with her. Really nice lady. There was also one big laugh that did come from it all. I was working on another movie with much of the same team that make the Naked Gun films when the verdict came down. As you might imagine, the production stopped as the announcement neared. And when "innocent" was announced...well, I'll just say that when you're sitting around comedy writers who know the people involved really well, the phrase "gallows humor" was never more apt. Also, I have kept the one "keepsake" I have of the time. During those days, O.J. was involved in many businesses, one of which is that he was on the board of directors for the company that made Swiss Army watches. He had one, and I commented how great I thought it was. He reached into his gym bag (and no, I doubt it's that one, I'm certain he had many), and he grabbed a box with a new watch, which he gave me. For all the connections the case holds in my mind, I've held on to the Swiss Army watch. I like it too much. And still use it on occasion. And as that watch ticks away, time passes. (Thus endeth the poetic portion of this article...) And I watch the movies, and enjoy them. And I enjoy thinking about the work and talking about it. But the films, while wonderfully funny, still aren't as innocently funny to me as once, and the memories still can't help have a shading. But happily, so many of those memories are great. So, while I did go on length here about the experience, I leave more detailed analysis of the crime and trial to others. Me, I'll stick with the movies.
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This is my annual tale about what was sort of a national holiday in our house. Especially for one member. For the rest of us, we were pretty much on our own and had to duck and cover. My mother, Betty Lou, loved April Fools jokes. This may not seem like a big deal, except that she didn't really have a sense of humor. I don't mean that she wasn't funny or didn't want to like jokes. Just that she didn't have a "sense" of them. Like some people don't have a sense of taste or a sense of smell. She just didn't seem to get humor all that well. I can only remember her telling two jokes, although they were really more off-handed quips. Watching a comedy with her was an experience, regularly interrupted with, "What did he say?" and "Why is that funny?" and "What are they laughing about?" She liked comedy. She liked humor. She just didn't particularly get it. But she loved April Fools Day. Just absolutely freaking loved it. Lived for it. She loved getting people, mostly her family, but even friends weren't immune. Often elaborate jokes that she set up. And the thing is, we all knew it was coming. How could we not? She did it every year. But she was so good at it that she still got you. And my poor dad got the brunt of it, because in later years, when we not only were expecting it, but were heavily on our guard, my mom decided that she'd better get my dad before he had a chance to realize it was April Fools Day. So, by the time they hit their late 70s, she'd pummel the guy with an April Fools Day joke usually before he'd even gotten out of bed. But she was prepared that early. She had her April Fools Day joke ready to go, first thing in the morning. Hey, the early bird catches the poor sap, that sort of thing. It was an art form to her. There were rules to an April Fools joke, for her. It couldn't be hurtful, that rule was at its core. But the main rule was - "An April Fools joke must be something that's bad, so that when the person discovers it's just a joke, they will be relieved and happy and laugh." If you do it the other way - set up something great, and then pull the rug out - nope, that's no good. Because then the person will be disappointed that something they were looking forward to didn't happy. Besides the fact that she had only told two quips in her life and didn't have a "sense" of humor, what made my mother's love of April Fools joke so profoundly unlikely was that she was the most unassuming person to pull pranks. She was a tiny, Midwestern woman. About 5'2" and maybe 90 pounds. Soft-spoken and sweet as the day is long. (A cousin once told me that my mother was one of the two nicest people she ever knew. The other was my grandmother - who was my mother's mother, so clearly she came from good "nice" stock. And to be clear, this grandmother - Grandma Rose - was on the other side of the family from my cousin, and not a relative. Just a pure, nice person. So, my mother learned well.) Also, she hated anything risqué. It didn't have to be crude, just something mild would do. "Oh, why did he have to say that?" was a typical question when watching a movie, or hearing a comedian say something as simple as "damn." On top of all that, she was frail - seriously frail. She had polio, a stroke, macular degeneration, and then the polio returned later in her life as "post-polio." And she never complained. Ever. It was just a part of life, and you went on.
This then was the woman who lived for April Fools Day. If you saw her on the street, you would never expect it of her. And yet she always got you. Even when you did expect it. Okay, so she played April Fool's jokes. People do that, they play April Fools jokes. They say something, get you, and shout "April Fools!" Nope, that's not what I'm talking about. Like I said, to my mother April Fools Day was an art form. Here's what I mean. A few weeks back, I was trading emails with my brother's first wife, Karen Lupa, who is a nurse. Somehow, the subject of all this came up, and she told me a story I'd never heard before. It was from over 30 years ago, mind you, but it had stuck with her all these years. Now, remember - you know this is an April Fools joke. Imagine not knowing what's coming and living it. Here's what Karen wrote - "I wanted to add my favorite Betty Lou April Fool's joke. (As she pointed out, it needs to be something TERRIBLE but believable so that the "April Fool" comes as a great relief.) "When John and I were starting out in life and living in Milwaukee, she wanted us to get to know another couple who were physicians (and also, like John, children of physicians.) You might remember that we were anti-upper class culture at the time, that sort of counter-culture thing, but we dutifully met with this couple at one of the city's fancier restaurant and chatted politely, ending the evening with the clear knowledge on all our parts that we would not be socializing regularly with them (or ever!). "About a month later, Betty Lou called me to say that a 'formal' party was being organized at a very nice club for up-and-coming physicians and their wives. She started to help me decide what we could wear (I don't mean pull out of our closet, since of course we had no evening clothes, that just wasn't us, but rather what we had to BUY to wear). And beyond buying clothes, she helped me, too, figure out what to talk about and who to be sure to talk to, and also how really important this would be for all the parents, as they launched their respective kids into the world of medicine. As you can imagine, this was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. The conversation went on for a good 10 minutes - before those most delicious words....April fool!" That, ladies and gents, is the work of a master. And you must understand: this wasn't the exception. This is what my mother did on April Fools Day. To everyone in the family. And to good friends who got caught in the crosshairs. Everyone. Every year. For decade after decade. And you knew it was coming. And she got you every time. Because she was a master. Maybe they all weren't this elaborate. But often they were. And usually there was a lengthy set-up of some sort. Only rarely, and only later in her life when people were really on their guard did she occasionally toss in something quick, down and dirty. But most of the time, I got to witness the Shakespeare of April Fools Day at work. Watching any master craftsman at work is a rare joy to behold. And only the few are lucky enough to be witnesses. I was one of the lucky ones once a year, every year, on April 1. I thought we'd end our Opening Day celebration with a graphic that might give at least a small sense of why the day was All Baseball / All Day. I subscribe to MLB.TV, which allows members to watch every baseball game live, but also offers archives of the games if you miss them, and "shortened" versions of the games that edit out all the down-time and only show the pitches. It will not shock anyone here to know that I pretty much just watch the Cubs games (on the service, I'll watch other games on TV), though occasionally I'll put on different teams. As it turns out, MLB.TV keeps a record of who watches what and for how long. And a few weeks back, as Spring Training began, I got an email from MLB.TV with information they hadn't ever sent in the past. I have to admit, it surprised even me. A lot. Wait, seriously? I was in the "Top 1%" of Cubs fans???! And the "Top 9%" of ALL viewers in the United States???! I don't know which of those two is weirder. Still, in semi-defense of myself, I have a theory for this: I work at home, and spend most of my time at my desk in front of my computer, typing away. And while most baseball teams play their games at night, the Cubs play the majority of their games during the day -- when most people (including Cubs fans) are, y'know, at work. Or school. So, they can't put MLB.TV on to watch even an inning of a Cubs game, let alone the full game. But I can. And...well, I do. (Okay, not every game, and not every inning. I do have a life, within speaking. And it's generally on in the background as I work. Generally. And we're talking home games only for day games, because most of the Cubs away games are at night.) And since most baseball games for every other team are at night, most people have a great many choices of things they want or need to do at night when games are on. Watch TV. Stream movies. Study. Read. Have dinner. Get together with friends. Actually deal with your family. And yes, of course, watching a baseball game falls in there, as well, but probably not every night for 162 games. For three hours each game. But for half the season, 81 games, there I am working at my desk at home, and putting the Cubs games on. Not all of them (many are at night), and not the full games, but for at least part of all of them. And even when the Cubs are playing at night, I might put the game on for a while, or check the best innings of an archived game. And the end result of that is -- So be it. What can I say? That's what the statistics show. I can only accept the reality, explain it the best I can, understand that's it's a bit weird even with a reasonable explanation, and have a fine old time watching baseball and following the Cubs. While working!!! (Yes, I'm really, actually working when the games are on. Most of the time.) Play ball! As readers of these pages know, I've been a big political supporter of Nick Melvoin, since he was first-elected to the Los Angeles School Board, and then won re-election two years ago. He's the son of my friends Jeff and Martha Melvoin (who I believe were the only parents of any candidate in the race who walked through the district knocking on doors...), and has a wonderful background in law, politics (having worked in the Obama Administration) and teaching, as well as community activity. And he recently ran for Congress in the CA-30 district, hoping to win the seat vacated by Adam Schiff in his run for the U.S. Senate. Though Nick got some good endorsements, including the Los Angeles Daily News and Collin Allred (who just won the Democratic nomination for a U.S. Senate race in Texas against Ted Cruz), unfortunately he didn't finish in the top two of the "jungle primary" for the House nomination. Among other things, the 30th District didn't overlap the district that Nick represents on the School Board, so it was a tough battle against several well-known representatives in the state. Happily, he didn't have to give up his seat on the School Board, and I think he still has a great future. What also stood out for me was the "concession" email he sent out to all supporters. It was pure Nick -- gracious and thoughtful, upbeat and forward-looking, not a slam at anyone in sight, and I think it could stand out as a template for all candidates who don't win their race. It was so good that I thought I would post it here. Hey Robert -- Today, I'm reaching out to share some thoughts following Tuesday's election. Although there are still tens of thousands of votes to count, things did not go our way and we won't be advancing to the November election. I'm incredibly humbled by the support I've received throughout this campaign. I want to thank everyone — family, friends, volunteers, campaign staff, and community leaders — who joined our campaign and shared our message of solutions-oriented leadership. Building this movement would not have been possible without you, Robert. While these aren't the results we wanted, I am happy to congratulate my friend Assemblymember Laura Friedman on her successful, hard-fought campaign; it looks like she will be taking on a Republican in November. Getting to know the other candidates eager to uplift our community has been such a gift in this experience. I look forward to working with all of them to deliver for the communities of California's 30th congressional district. I am so proud of this campaign, but, more than that, so humbled by the experience. My overwhelming sentiment over the last 24 hours has truly been one of gratitude: I'm grateful for my community, for my family, and for all of you in my corner. You make the successes all the more satisfying and the losses all the easier to bear. It has been said that victory has a thousand fathers, but defeat is an orphan; I have not found that at all true with you. I believe in politics because I believe in people–in our ability to do amazing things when we come together. That belief is undeterred. At a time when our politics seems so cynical and our world so bleak, I remember that we are here because of the choices people make. We can make better choices. Not just the big important ones in elections every few years, but the little ones every day. How we treat one another. How we show up for each other. It struck me as I was talking to voters at their doorsteps over the last few weeks that the world is not often changed by grand gestures, but by almost invisible ones: acts of kindness and inclusion and tolerance that start to change the way we treat one another. At its best, that is what public service can be: a manifestation of our belief in one another. I remain deeply committed to that work, on the School Board and as a citizen, and I thank you for the opportunity to serve. Onward, Nick Sometimes, you just need a break from the morass that is Trump World to recharge, and this seems a good palate cleanser. Many decades back, during what I call my “dark days,” I worked in movie publicity. At one point, I was the head publicity writer at Universal Pictures. It actually had some high points to it – like working on certain movies like E.T. and On Golden Pond and Sophie’s Choice. But one particularly leaps out among the rest. That’s when I attended the knighting ceremony for Alfred Hitchcock. Really. Well, sort of. But really. It was in January, 1980. Hitchcock had been knighted, but it was too difficult for him to get back to England for the official affair. Instead, they held an event at a screening room at the Universal studios, where he had his office. (After he passed away a few months later, his long-time secretary Sue Gauthier came to work in our department. I got to know her a bit, and it was a treat talking with her. She never gave interviews -- but I convinced her to do one with my childhood friend Patrick Goldstein who wrote for the L.A. Times, which she agreed to as long as I sat in on it. As far as I know, it was the only interview she ever did.) I don’t know if they had a full ceremony at Universal, or just held a press conference. My recollection is that they did have something official first, handled by either the British Ambassador or British Counsel, I forget, though I think the latter. However, it was held during working hours, and I couldn’t get away from the office. But as soon as my lunch break started, I raced over. (I’d asked others on staff if they wanted to join me, and was flabbergasted that no one wanted to. My God, this was the “knighting ceremony” of Alfred Hitchock! A four-minute walk away! How on earth could someone working at a movie studio not want to be there??) Whatever happened earlier, I got there for the Q&A. I was discussing this the other day with Greg VanBuskirk, and said that though I vividly remember the occasion, I only remember one specific thing from the event. Some reporter asked a bizarrely pathetic question -- "Sir Alfred, now that you've been knighted, do you think this will affect your relationship with your wife?" Yes, really. You could feel the entire room tense and some almost inaudible mumbles of "Yeeeesh" filled the air around me in the make. And most people were probably filled with the same thought: How in the world would he respond?? And then, after a moment, he said -- and please read this with the voice of Alfred Hitchcock in your mind -- "I certainly hope so." The room exploded with laughter. A short while later, Greg wrote back to me. He’s done some searching on YouTube and actually found a CBS news story of the knighting event – and it included footage of it. But better…no, make it “more amazing” than that – they actually had footage of that question and answer!! The one thing I’ve remembered and told as a fond memory for over 40 years. And next best of all is that it confirms my memory from four decades ago. I got it right. The only difference is that he doesn’t say “certainly.” Proof that I wasn’t lying. Vindication. They really, truly did hold the knighting event for Alfred Hitchcock on the Universal lot, and he really, honestly had that great response. (He also has another great response with a tremendous, quick-witted pun that most of the people in the room miss. It comes when he's asked what does a maker of mystery do when he's been made a "Sir"?) And with thanks to Dr. Buzz, here is the video. We take this moment for a point of personal privilege. (I was going to say that it was “political”, as well, but that would have been far too much alliteration on a Sunday morning.) As I’ve mentioned in the past, I’m friends with a good fellow named Nick Melvoin who sits on Los Angeles School Board, and was the only school board member re-elected in 2022 with over 50% of the vote in the primary so that he didn’t have to be in a run-off. I bring this up again today for s specific reason. But first it's important to note that Nick has had an impressive career, even for such a young one -- He’s a graduate of Harvard and got his MBA in Urban Education from Loyola Marymount, from which he went to teach at an inner-city middle school in Watts, coaching the soccer and baseball teams, and helping start the school newspaper. He also has a law degree from NYU -- and worked in the Obama White House with the Domestic Policy Council...as well as the US Attorney’s office as a legal clerk, getting involved in civil rights investigations. Oh, and he runs Camp Harmony, a camp for kids who are experiencing poverty, which he started working at as a counselor 21 years ago. So, while I can be accused of bias for supporting the son of friends, I think it’s fair to say that my bias is highly justified. I’ve brought up previously that Nick is running to replace Adam Schiff in California’s 30th district. It’s a challenging race with many candidates, including several with reasonably-known elective credentials. But that’s why I was exceedingly pleased to see that the Los Angeles Daily News just endorsed Nick in the race. Among the lengthy things the paper wrote, they explained, "If voters want sensible, scandal-free and balanced representation, Nick Melvoin is an excellent choice. He has our endorsement." And all the better, he also just picked up an endorsement from Henry Waxman, a popular, long-time Congressman in Los Angeles who represented various districts in the city ("various" because of redistricting) for 40 years. And previously, Nick was endorsed by Rep. Colin Allred, the congressman from Texas who is challenging Ted Cruz for the Senate. It remains a difficult race because replacing Adam Schiff is so high-profile, making the district an important one. But getting such endorsements for such a young candidate is seriously impressive. But then, that's because Nick is, as well. I close in full disclosure that I will be heading over soon to watch the Super Bowl with his parents. I do this in part because of the football, in part because of the company, and in important part because they serve Chicago deep-dish pizza. I have my priorities. |
AuthorRobert J. Elisberg is a political commentator, screenwriter, novelist, tech writer and also some other things that I just tend to keep forgetting. Feedspot Badge of Honor
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