Latest / The Last Known: True Crime, Missing Women & Unsolved Mysteries / The Night the Dogs Barked: Nicole Brown Simpson & Ron Goldman | The Last Known
Transcript
- It was just past ten o'clock on a Tuesday in June, and the only sound cutting through the Brentwood quiet was the frantic, blood-stained barking of a dog who knew something terrible had happened. We are going to sit with that silence for a moment, because before we talk about the crime, we have to remember the lives that were stolen from us that night. Let’s remember her name. Nicole Brown Simpson. Before she was a headline, before she was a symbol in a trial that would fracture a nation, she was a woman who loved her children fiercely. She was a mother who danced through life, or tried to. In 1977, when she was just eighteen years old, working as a waitress at a private club in Beverly Hills, she met a thirty-year-old man named O.J. Simpson. It wasn’t love at first sight, not exactly. It was complicated. He was married then. But he filed for divorce shortly after, and by February 2, 1985, they stood together as husband and wife. They built a family. Sydney was born in ’85, Justin in ’88. To the outside world, it looked like a fairy tale ending. A football legend and his beautiful young bride. But behind closed doors, the story was different. A much darker, heavier story. Psychologist Lenore E. Walker later called their marriage a textbook example of domestic abuse. And I say that not to sensationalize, but to honor the truth of what Nicole lived through. In letters and documents, Nicole wrote about being beaten in public, during sex, and even in front of family and friends. There was an incident where Simpson broke her arm during a fight. Do you know what she did? She went to the emergency room, but instead of calling the police, she told the staff she had fallen off her bike. She lied to protect him. Why? Because she was financially dependent on him. The fear was real. The isolation was real. Of sixty-two incidents of abuse recorded, police were notified only eight times. He was arrested once. On February 25, 1992, she finally filed for divorce. But leaving didn’t mean safety. She said he stalked her. That he harassed her. That he spied on her with new partners. She drafted a will. She felt her life was in danger. Just days before the murders, on June 8th, a woman presumed to be Nicole called Sojourn House, a women’s shelter. She was considering staying there, afraid of what her ex-husband might do if she refused his pleas to reconcile. She was looking for a way out. She was trying to survive. June 12, 1994. The air was warm in Los Angeles. That evening, Nicole and O.J. both attended their daughter Sydney’s dance recital at Paul Revere Middle School. It was a normal parent thing. Afterward, Nicole and her children went to eat at Mezzaluna restaurant. One of the waiters there was Ron Goldman. He wasn’t assigned to their table, but he had become close friends with Nicole in recent weeks. There was warmth there. Friendship. When the meal ended, Nicole and the kids went to Ben & Jerry’s. Then they headed home to her condominium at 875 Bundy Drive in Brentwood. Meanwhile, Ron Goldman finished his shift at 9:30 pm. His manager had found a pair of lost eyeglasses belonging to Nicole’s mother and put them in a white envelope. Ron took that envelope. He intended to drop it off at Nicole’s place. He was doing a friend a favor. It was 9:34 pm when Nicole’s mother called the restaurant asking about those glasses. The manager found them. Ron left. He was walking toward Nicole’s home, carrying a small white envelope, thinking nothing of it. He thought he was bringing comfort. He never made it. The silence here is loud. Around 10:15 pm, neighbors began hearing profuse barking coming from outside Nicole’s condominium. It wasn’t just one bark; it was continuous, frantic noise tearing through the neighborhood. Then, around 10:55 pm, a dogwalker living a few blocks away came across Nicole’s Akita dog barking in the street. The dog was covered in blood on its legs. It followed this stranger home. The dogwalker tried to walk it back, but the animal resisted, agitated, terrified. He left the dog with a neighboring couple who offered to keep it overnight. Later, as they walked the agitated dog back to where it had been found, around midnight, the dog stopped outside Nicole’s home. And there, lying outside the house, was Nicole. Police were called. They found Ron Goldman’s body near hers. Two people, gone. One a mother, one a young man who just wanted to return some glasses. The world held its breath. In the days that followed, the investigation turned toward Nicole’s ex-husband. O.J. Simpson. He became a fugitive from justice after failing to turn himself in to the LAPD on June 17. The events surrounding his attempt to avoid arrest captivated the globe. A low-speed chase was broadcast live on television as Simpson fled in a white Ford Bronco, belonging to and driven by his friend Al Cowlings. You can still see it if you look up the footage. The dust, the cameras, the sheer absurdity of it playing out in real-time. He surrendered to authorities at his Brentwood estate. But the surrender was just the beginning. The criminal trial in Los Angeles County Superior Court became the most watched event in history. It was divisive. Racial tensions flared. Systemic failures were exposed. Simpson was tried and acquitted for the murders. But acquittal is not the same as innocence. It is simply a legal outcome. The law has limits. It does not always capture the whole truth. But let’s be clear about what happened next. A later civil trial found Simpson liable for the deaths. The jury awarded the Goldman family $33.5 million in damages. That’s equivalent to $67 million in today’s dollars, though little was actually paid. Justice isn’t just an outcome; it’s a presence. It’s the acknowledgment that these lives mattered. That Nicole and Ron were taken. That the system failed to protect Nicole from the very man who threatened to kill her if she found herself with another man. The investigative controversies included alleged mishandling of evidence and potential racial bias within the LAPD. These facts matter. They remind us that the pursuit of truth is messy, often flawed, and rarely straightforward. But we must stay with the victims. Not the celebrity. Not the athlete. The woman. The friend. The ones who sat at that table, who danced at that recital, who trusted each other enough to share a dessert, who died on a sidewalk in Brentwood. We carry their names with us now. Nicole. Ron. May their families find peace, however long it takes. This story is drawn from public records and widely reported accounts. Our thoughts are with everyone affected. I’m Teresa Howarth. Thank you for listening, and thank you for remembering.