Remember last week when OJ died?
The first time I met OJ Simpson was probably in August of 1974.
See, my grandfather was running for reelection as Governor of New York State (look, if you weren’t already absolutely sure I’m basically American royalty, you had a sense, just because of the way I carry myself, and the way I dress) (just kidding, I don’t dress myself). I and my two next oldest brothers (brother number three, an infant, was unreliable in press situations, and brother number four was not yet extant) were barbered, spiffed, anointed with scented oils, and trundled off on the campaign trail as props for photo ops- look, the Governor has grandkids and everything! Like normal people!
Off to the New York State Fair in Syracuse.
So it turns out also in attendance at the fair is the greatest football player in the history of the game (up til then- now we all know it’s Eli Manning). That season OJ Simpson ran for over 2000 yards (2003, I believe?), the first time in NFL history anybody had done that (there are still only 8 guys who’ve done it, none more than once, and OJ was the only one who did it in 14 games instead of 16). I had his Topps football card (gone now, for years; I just looked it up and it’s worth $375 in mint condition) (even if I still had it, I’m sure it would be in, like, chewed gum condition).
He’s signing autographs that afternoon. I can meet him.
My Mom takes me down to the field where OJ is making his public appearance. Huge crowd of mostly kids. One by one people approach. I approach. We shake hands. It was a long time ago, I don’t really remember, but he probably said something like “You seem like somebody who will grow up to be really cool” (or something like that).
Juice gives me an autographed copy of his headshot.
It was the coolest thing I had owned in my life up until that point, with the possible exception of the Paul Blair baseball glove I had gotten for my First Communion, which was cooler not because of Paul Blair (who was a great outfielder defensively, but didn’t even join the Yankees until a few years later, and by then he was pretty much a defensive sub- in fact, in the famous moment when Billy Martin pulled Reggie Jackson off the field for a lack of hustle, and they almost got into a fistfight in the dugout on national TV, it was Paul Blair who went in for Reggie), but because it was a tangible, physical, beautiful, useful piece of leather that I had to perform all sorts of machinations on with oil and shaving cream and string to make it fit my hand perfectly. Which it eventually did. It stimulated every sense- the beauty of its shape, the smell of the leather, the sound of a ball smacking deep into the pocket, the elegant feel of sliding my hand through the palm and wristpiece into the fingers, I probably even chewed the rawhide strings holding it together a couple of times (I definitely did).
I bet if OJ had tried on my Paul Blair glove it would not have fit.
OJ signed some more autographs, shook some more hands, then got into his beautiful black sports car ( in retrospect presumably rented at a discount rate), and drove off across the field. And we were all left there with that electric feeling of meeting someone who was better at something hard than anybody else in the world.
Then a kid came along and he was soooooo upset that he had missed OJ. He was a huge fan! He loved OJ! His favorite player! Out of allll the players, that was his favorite one! Um, yeah? Me too?
I don’t remember why he was late, there at the State Fair- long line for fried dough, funny car race, pig being judged… It’s possible he maybe started to cry a little? At the very least he became demonstrably downcast. Poor guy.
We’re all sympathetic and a little embarrassed for the kid. I try not to make eye contact, so he doesn’t feel judged.
Then my Mom tells me she has a great idea: this kid wants an autographed headshot so bad, and I have one! Why don’t I give him mine? That would be nice.
Here’s the thing about my Mom telling you she has an idea: it’s the same as Don Corleone’s offer to that film producer, without the horse’s head.
So I give the kid my autographed headshot, and we take off. Fried dough.
Multiple lessons there: sometimes better to help other people than to get what you want; also, sometimes life is slightly unfair and it has nothing to do with you.
It became a family story- not really a legend, not even a tall tale, more of a saga, an epic, about how my Mom sometimes made us do what some of us thought was maybe the wrong thing, ultimately, for us, but the right thing for somebody else, and for the right reason.
So, no autographed OJ photo for me.
20 years later, OJ murdered his ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend, Ron Goldman.
That story of meeting him came up again. Along with the part about giving the other kid the photo, just because we thought it was a funny ending to the saga. But it turned out that wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning. Eh, not really. It was the middle. Or the end of the beginning. Time is a flat circle.
Another 6 or 7 years went by. My grandfather, the Governor, passed away. And a while after that I got a call from my Dad. They were going through my grandfather’s house, he said, getting rid of all his stuff, and “We found something. Chances are good that Santa Claus will bring it to you.”
I was in my 30’s at the time, and hadn’t been excited about a Santa Claus visit in probably over 6 years. But.
So when I went to my Chrsitmas stocking that year, expecting to find all the usual stuff (CVS gift cards, oranges, deodorant, shoelaces- Santa’s the best!), there it was: a photograph of my grandfather and the Juice, loose, in the Bills locker room, with autograph. It had been sitting in my grandfather’s basement for almost 30 years.
I kept it.
A few years later I had a meeting with somebody somewhere who was working in Development, and we started to talk about live shows, and I told her about the photo, and the story behind it, and I said, “ Don’t you think everybody has a weird thing in their house that they keep because it has a weird story behind it? What if that was a show? People telling the stories behind their weird things…”
She thought that was a great idea, so I figured out how to format it as a live show, working with the fantastic Andy Daly, and we performed “The Great American Cabinet of Curiosities.” Andy hosted in character as William George Frederick Schmitt-Hoffman the 28th, Margrave of Upper and Lower Lausitz and the former Baron of Renfrew; I was his valet. And we had guests.
The first time we did it live, at the UCB Theater on Sunset, there was a TV producer there who asked us not to do it again until he sold the show to a network. We pitched it around to a bunch of places- fun pitches because Andy would do his character (which people found hilarious) and I would pull out my photo (which people would find weird).
And eventually one of the places we pitched to said “We wanna make this TV show!” Hooray! And we negotiated, and had “deal points” (maybe?), and talked on the phone a lot. Stuff like that. told everybody at my college reunion I was about to sell my first TV show.
And then, Hollywood being Hollywood, it didn’t happen (which was fine, the reunion was over by then so I wouldn’t see anybody again for five years- no way they’d remember). So Andy and I turned the TV show into a podcast and did a bunch of episodes. You can listen to one here, and probably others in other places if you hunt (we did it for Stitcher, I think, so it was behind a paywall when we first released it- it’s hard to find).
I no longer have my Paul Blair glove. In 7th grade a little league coach moved me over to play first base, because I was tall (first basemen are supposed to be left-handed for obvious reasons, but he was not a good coach). I couldn’t use my Paul Blair glove, I had to get a new first baseman’s glove (first basemen are specialists, like catchers). One half inning that season I made all three outs- grounder to short thrown over to first, grounder to first I beat the runner to the bag, fly ball foul just past first. Three outs.
Also, I still have the photo.
Multiple lessons.
I never met OJ a second time. And now I never will.
What weird old thing do you have at your place? Tell me win the comments!
Also, my friend Andy Secunda (who’s a TV writer and producer, AND very funny) and I have a podcast called CoPilots. We watch and dissect television pilots, often with an interesting guest. This week we did an episode about the 1970’s space drama SPACE:1999, with a very special guest who is smart and funny named John Hodgman. You can listen to the episode here.
Thanks for hearing me out, stay safe and well.
Sean
PS This is my first one, sorry if there is stuff wrong.