LAS VEGAS — Even in his later years, OJ Simpson was something of a spectacle.
According to the criteria of
In his presence, heads turned and whispers swirled. There was not a single note about him that did not mention the two chilling murders.
When he settled in Las Vegas seven years ago, it seemed fitting that he chose a city of escape and second acts. He became a man of the world, known for arriving at a steakhouse in a Bentley convertible, showing up at lavish parties and posing for selfies. His lifestyle was comfortable — and too nice for those who believed he deserved to spend his remaining days in prison.
But there was one element that made him feel accepted in Las Vegas: a little-known group of golfers called In the Cup.
Its 40 or so members are neither rich nor powerful. They play on public courses, not in fancy clubs. Most are black. And none of them cared about Simpson’s past.
“It’s not something we’ve talked about,” said one member, Leroy Wordlaw, 72, a retired U.S. Marine. “This is a man who came to us as he is.”
Simpson often described his plans with In the Cup as “hanging out with the bros.”
“He said, ‘This is just what I needed, this club,’” recalled his friend Trimain Dunn, 58. “People he could relate to, without being judgmental.”
Simpson died in April at age 76.
When he was acquitted of murder in 1995, most Americans believed the killer had been set free. His trial had illuminated his history of spousal abuse and the way the victims — his ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend, Ronald L. Goldman — had been brutally stabbed.
His talent agency and management quickly distanced themselves from him. Neighbors made it clear that he was not welcome.
He became an even bigger pariah when in 2007 he and a group of men broke into a Las Vegas hotel room looking for what he claimed were his personal mementos. He was convicted of armed robbery and kidnapping and sent to a rural prison in Nevada.
When he was granted parole in 2017, Simpson returned to a city that seemed uninterested in his conviction.
Living on Social Security and pensions from the National Football League and the Screen Actors Guild, he eventually moved into a gated community and shared a house with his oldest daughter, Arnelle, while his son, Justin, lived up the street. He doted on his grandchildren, had girlfriends and moved easily in public. Requests for autographs and selfies were constant.
In the fall of 2018, Simpson came to In the Cup after being invited by a member he’d met at a cigar bar. The members were self-conscious at first. They’d grown up idolizing him as an athlete, and now he was there, laughing and trying to distract them while they played.
“At first it was like everyone in this club was absolutely in love with him, like, ‘I can’t believe OJ is playing golf with us,’” said Dunn, who retired from the U.S. Navy and works part-time in security at Allegiant Stadium in Las Vegas.
For the members of In the Cup, formed by a handful of golfers in 2013, it was not a question of whether Simpson “did it.” He was found not guilty. He also ultimately served time in prison. That was enough.
Simpson last played with In the Cup in January, though he visited just weeks before his death. Prostate cancer had sapped his strength and he walked with a cane, but he was spirited.
Did Simpson deserve to live out his final chapter with such freedom, laughing on the green and having a few drinks with friends? Many would say no.
Brown Simpson’s sisters declined to be interviewed, while Fred Goldman, Goldman’s father, did not respond to requests for comment.
Simpson avoided paying relatives most of the compensation ordered by a civil court whose jury found him liable for the murders.
Many feel that the spotlight Simpson cherished should shine elsewhere. Recently, a television documentary series focused on Brown Simpson. In the first episode, her younger sister, Dominique Brown, says that, perhaps after 30 years, “the time has come to rekindle Nicole’s flame.”
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