Like the OKC bombing, the OJ Simpson car chase and subsequent trial, the Rodney King beating and the riots that followed were major historical events from my teen years that I'll be unlikely to forget in my lifetime. I remember watching footage of King's beating at the hands of members of the LAPD and being absolutely horrified at the unwarranted violence. I thought things like that only happened in action or horror movies, not in reality, with sworn law-enforcement members nearly beating a man to death in the street.
I know that King was no angel. I don't remember why the LAPD even crossed paths with King. Honestly, I could look it up, but in the end, what difference does it make? What those men did to him was wrong, and I feel certain the circumstances did not warrant the treatment King received. I know he was no saint, but no one deserves what happened to him.
Later, when those officers were acquitted of their crimes, the riots that followed were utterly terrifying, even from so many states away. And yet, there King stood, before the media and anyone who would listen, begging for peace, for calm. He didn't want that to happen, never asked for it, and obviously didn't know how to handle being suddenly thrust into infamy. Truth be told, I don't know how anyone could've handled that.
So his struggles continued--his struggle to come to terms with his role in contemporary American history, his struggle with the national spotlight, his struggle to maintain his health and his sanity. I confess, I'm a fan of "Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew." Mostly because Dr. Drew is sex on toast...but also because I find that humanizing these "celebrities" reminds me that in spite of all our differences, people are people, and the afflictions are the same. So I remember watching him and crying because he just seemed like such a sweet, gentle man, still grappling with all his proverbial demons on top of his addiction. It was just so goddamned sad, so real, so brutally honest, and so heart-wrenching.
I had hope for him, as I do for almost everyone, sometimes to my detriment. I hoped that he had finally moved on with his life, retired to find some sort of peace. I guess those demons just wouldn't let go, and finally dragged him to the bottom of his swimming pool in the wee hours of Sunday morning. I don't believe in an afterlife, so I hope that in death he simply found a release from the turmoil he fought with his entire adult life.
I hope we who are left behind can remember the awful lessons we learned during that time. I hope we can find some way to honor the memory of a man who never seemed able to find his saving grace in life. I hope to never witness another event like that in my lifetime. I hope to never forget.
Peacefully,
Lola
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