As twilight faded into night, carloads of people descended on Oak Canyon Park. Police allowed them to park on one side of the narrow, twisting entrance road, but soon the spillover extended onto Kanan Avenue. Hand in hand, families—many with small children—made their way to a secluded amphitheater in a natural dish sculpted into the surrounding hills. Before long, more than a thousand people had assembled. Everyone carried a candle. We were overwhelmed by the turnout.
Kim was the first to speak:
My name is Kimberly Goldman. My brother, my best friend, was brutally murdered one year ago tonight alongside his friend, Nicole Brown Simpson. My brother was only 25 years old, and just on his way to a happy, healthy, prosperous future when he was literally stopped dead in his tracks. He lost his life at the selfish and savage hands of another, a type of hate and rage that was never a part of Ron’s life. He was a warm and caring soul, who would do anything for anyone, and the reality here is, he did. He died trying to help his friend.
Ron would tell me not to stand here and be angry, but to remember the good and happy memories, and to keep him alive in all of us. I would tell you that Ron had a zest for life that I was envious of. He had a glow about him that was amazing. He held his head high, all his days. He was beautiful, charming, loving, caring, dedicated, and he wanted nothing but the best for everyone he knew. I miss him so much. I need him and I want him back. I am holding Ron closest to my heart, and I know that anyone I will ever meet in my life will know Ron’s life through me. He deserves the best now. I owe him that.
We come together tonight not only to remember Ron and Nicole but others who have lost their lives to violence. Let’s extend that to anyone who knows the pain and sorrow of losing a loved one. Please take tonight to give those people the respect, the honor and the love that they deserve….
We have been overwhelmed with the sense of community we have experienced, from people all over the country, strangers, people that have just extended themselves to us, shared their pain with us, and just wanted us to know they cared. Everybody gets really down on the world, and you think there is so much violence but I have come to learn that for every one violent and horrible person there are twenty thousand who are wonderful. That shows up in all of your faces and all of the tears you have shed. I am very honored to be a part of that and very proud to share it with all of you. My brother would be very happy.
Our friend Loren Lathrop sang Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven.” The poignant words wafted softly through the park. Lauren dissolved into tears. She knew that Clapton had written the song as a tribute to his own lost son.
No one spoke when the sad strains of the song came to an end. Only sniffling sounds could be heard.
Rabbi King’s closing words were:
Let us take the hands of our loved ones’ souls, and together work to make this world a bit more just and a little safer. In this way, their light will fuse together with our own and shine beyond transient headlines to the very gates of eternity itself. Thank God for the lives of Ron and Nicole, and each of our beloved victims of violent crime. …
May their memories be a blessing for us, and for all humanity, and let us all say Amen.
Colleen Campbell, the former mayor of San Juan Capistrano, spoke as a representative of victims and their families everywhere. Her empathy was obvious. Her own son had been murdered when he was about the same age as Ron. The extended justice system took seven years to bring the killer to trial and, during the trial, Ms. Campbell’s brother and sister-in-law were also murdered.
Then Dominick Dunne, who earlier in the day had sat dumbstruck in the quiet courtroom where Ron and Nicole’s photos were on display, addressed the crowd:
I am not here this evening as a journalist, I am here because, I, like Fred Goldman, am the father of a murdered child. I am here because I understand as one who has been through what they are currently going through, the pain, grief, and rage of the Goldman family.
Six months ago, on the eve of this trial, Judge Lance Ito assigned me a seat in his courtroom next to the Goldman family. In the months that have followed, I have come to know Fred and Patti and Kim, whom I think of as the conscience of the trial. My admiration for this family has no bounds. Their devotion to each other is simply a beautiful thing to observe. They are that wonderful, old-fashioned, gone out of style word, they are a family.
Dunne was interrupted by heavy applause. Then he continued:
I have loved watching the love that Fred and Patti feel for each other. I have loved watching the deep affection that exists between Patti and Kim and I have loved watching the loveliest kind of parental love, which is the love of a father and a daughter for each other.
It is difficult to sit there in a courtroom and listen to graphic descriptions of your child’s violent death. Yes, it is. Would it have been easier to skip the trial and go out of town until the whole thing was over? Yes, it would have been. But that is not what the Goldmans would ever have done. They are where the jury can see the devastation that has been caused. They are attending to the last business of Ron Goldman’s life. During this past week, horrifying photographs and equally horrifying descriptions and reenactments of the terrible crimes that happened a year ago tonight, they have remained throughout like the thoroughbreds they are. With Fred in the middle, with Patti on his left, with Kim on his right, clinging to each other, I feel honored that they have allowed me a place in their lives.
It has been thirteen years since my daughter’s death. From the time the telephone call came, at five in the morning, to tell me the terrible news, my life and the lives of my former wife and our two sons were changed forever, as will the lives of the Goldman family be. I had never been to a trial until I attended the trial of the man who killed my daughter. My eyes were opened by the experience. I learned that the rights of victims do not equate with the lives of the defendant on trial. I learned that the victim becomes the forgotten person in the trial. I learned that days, sometimes weeks, go by and the victim’s name is barely or rarely mentioned as attention shifts to the defendant on trial. My life took a new turn after the trial of the man who killed my daughter. I have rarely been out of a courtroom since….
You will go to parties. You will go to the movies, but what has happened is always there. A part of everyday life. But now, when I think of my Dominique, my lovely daughter, I no longer dwell on her dreadful death. I think of her beautiful life and the good times that we had. And that is going to happen to you. The time will come that when you think of Ron, you will hear his laughter.
Several of our friends and friends of Ron spoke, sharing their memories. And then, as the darkness of night enveloped us, it was my turn. Glancing toward Kim, I began:
Kim’s a tough act to follow. I have been truly blessed. I had a great deal to be proud of, and I still do. I had a wonderful son who lived life to its fullest, who cared about other human beings, who cared about his family, who cared about everyone he came in touch with.
I have a daughter who blows me away. I don’t know where she gets it. She is so incredibly special. I know Ron is as proud of her today as he was yesterday, and will be tomorrow.
I have been blessed with this lady in my life [looking at Patti] who, with Michael and Lauren and Kim and Brian, have made this year almost bearable and without them, I can’t imagine doing it. And I have been blessed to have friends who are unbelievably warm and gracious and kind and sensitive, and we owe them an enormous debt.
Colleen mentioned to me the other night that 26,000 or more people are dying every year by violence. Their faces, their names, their voices are never heard. We have a chance to speak because of the person who took my son and Nicole away, because of his notoriety, and it is for all those faceless people that most of us don’t know that we light these candles ultimately tonight, so that perhaps people across this nation will see all of you wonderful people, and kind human beings that are in fact a majority of our world, and hopefully, all of us together will send a message that we will no longer tolerate crime and violence, and we will no longer tolerate this ravage in our society, and this taking away of brothers and sisters and mothers and daughters. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for being here in these enormous numbers. It is amazing to me.
You owe yourselves an enormous amount of thanks. You are who this world is all about—not those vicious and violent human beings who prey on us.
As Loren began to play “Dust in the Wind,” cigarette lighters snapped and matches scratched. Flames flickered. Within minutes the faces of a thousand respectful, thoughtful, wonderful fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters radiated with a brilliance that dispelled the darkness that surrounded us all.