A ‘Lucy’ rerun: Touched by OJ’s gloved hand

BY Friday Flyer

Long before humor columnist Pat Van Dyke started her humor column, 
Canyon Lake resident Debbie Miller wrote a column called “Lucy in Paradise.” 
This is a reprint of her column about an incident that took place in March 1996, 20 years ago.

More often than not, my life has been something right out of an “I Love Lucy” episode – with plenty of “ER” and just a touch of “LA Law” mixed in – just to keep life real. Needless to say, I will never run for public office.

Hair-brained sidekicks who enthusiastically play “Ethel Mertz” to my “Lucy” have had leading roles in many screwball escapades. Don’t misunderstand me, things start off innocently enough – it’s just what happens in the process that skews them. As my Grandmother Flo used to say, “The way to Hell is paved with good intentions.” I sincerely hope not!

The day OJ Simpson came to golf in Paradise set the stage for one such zany mishap. Marti Norris, my frequent partner in crime and my number one Ethel, was asked to snap a photo of the infamous celebrity on our Golf Course for The Friday Flyer. Being Lucy, I said those legendary words, “I have a plan” and called it “Operation J.”

It was effortless, but brilliant; we would lay in wait, stalk him, secure the photo as OJ passed by and then retire to my kitchen and have our usual three cups of morning java and a juicy piece of gossip.

Braving the early morning mist, we waited, crouching in one of the most uncomfortable hedges I’ve ever hidden in. I, dressed, in pajamas, backed up too far, slipped and began the abysmal slide down a steep incline onto the Golf Course to what has become one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

I landed in a most unladylike position at the feet of OJ’s golfing foursome, something I will never live down; and, thanks to my completely unhinged accomplice, I have the photos to prove it!

The irony of the preposterous situation was that the egotistical oaf assumed we were giddy at the prospect of meeting him, never suspecting we couldn’t wait to shower and remove all traces of our regrettable OJ encounter. “The gloved hand” actually touched our shoulders!

All the way down that thorn-laden hill, I could hear Marti roaring and hear my dear mother saying, “Never leave the house in your pajamas, dear. You never know who you’ll run into.”

Son of a gun, was she right!