The son of a textile mill worker, John Edwards rose from modest roots to become a fabulously successful trial lawyer in North Carolina. Charismatic, articulate and photogenic, he was elected to the United States Senate in 1998 at age 45. He was his party’s vice presidential nominee in 2004, and with his political star on the rise, decided to seek the top spot on the Democratic ticket in 2008.

Toward that end, he hired an actress/film producer he had met in 2006 to perform various and sundry duties for his campaign. A clandestine ”“ and apparently torrid ”“ affair developed; he clumsily, and ineffectually, attempted to conceal it after it was uncovered by reporters from the National Enquirer.

Impregnating a mistress is unwise for any aspiring chief executive, but particularly when the backpedaling Lothario’s spouse is an accomplished woman bravely and publicly fighting a terminal illness. When Elizabeth Edwards succumbed on Dec. 10, 2010, whatever infinitesimal chance her husband had of reforming his lower-than-a-snake’s-belly public image died with her.

But things may get worse for Edwards; he’s currently facing six federal felony and misdemeanor charges, accused of misusing campaign funds in an effort to hide his indiscretion. However, his trial has been delayed due to a recently discovered heart condition.

Most people would have sympathy for a seemingly healthy 58-year-old whose cardiologist suddenly tells him he needs immediate surgery in order to save his life.

But there are exceptions.

Until the extent of Edwards’ perfidy was revealed, the classic tale of going from nothing to exalted to toxic was O.J. Simpson’s. Born in 1947, he developed rickets and had to wear braces on his legs until he was 5. A product of a broken home in the San Francisco projects, Simpson was at best a lackluster student. But his athletic abilities got him into a junior college, where his gridiron prowess earned him a scholarship to the University of Southern California. In his second and final season there, he won the Heisman Trophy, emblematic of being the nation’s top college football player. From there, he earned glory and riches as a pro-football star, an actor, a corporate spokesperson and a sportscaster. By his early 40s, the charismatic, outwardly amiable Simpson was a father of four children (a fifth had died tragically as a toddler), married to a stunningly attractive woman, wealthy, well-connected and universally admired. He had gone from poverty to fame and fortune in just a quarter of a century.

But his precipitous fall from grace took far less time. There were murmurings of spousal abuse, and his marriage dissolved in 1992. Two years later, he was charged with brutally murdering his ex-wife and her friend Ronald Goldman. After a sensational trial that transfixed the nation, Simpson was acquitted of the slayings, though in a later civil proceeding he was found liable for the battery of his former spouse and for Goldman’s wrongful death. Ordered to pay over $33 million in compensation to the Goldman family, Simpson maintained his lavish lifestyle by taking advantage of California laws protecting pensions from being used to settle judgments. He later moved to Florida, where statutes prevent the seizing of someone’s home to pay off debts.

Simpson may have remained free, but with his reputation in tatters he was virtually unemployable. His descent was also far from over. He was arrested for battery in 2001 after a traffic accident, cited for unsafe boating the following year after speeding through a manatee zone off Florida’s east coast, and got caught using illegal electronic devices to pirate cable TV signals in 2004. Then in September 2007, he and a trio of associates broke into a Las Vegas hotel room where, at gunpoint, they relieved its occupants of some sports memorabilia Simpson claimed was rightfully his. They were arrested; shortly thereafter his three “friends” all took plea bargains. Simpson got 33 years for armed robbery and kidnapping; he’ll be 70 years old when he first becomes eligible for parole in 2017.

But less well-known people are capable of ruining a good thing, too.

On Aug. 25, 2001, an unemployed ex-convict who owed child support and lived in a home without running water bought $7 worth of Powerball lottery tickets at a Westwood, Ky. convenience store. Later that night, the 46-year-old high school dropout’s lucky numbers were drawn. He could have taken a $2.9 annual payment for 25 years, but opted instead for a one-time payoff of $27 million. The saga of how he lost that money ”“ think cars, houses, jewelry, sponging friends, drug addiction and similar expensive hobbies, for starters  ”“ is nearly as sad as it is astounding.

Fame isn’t necessary to go from rags to riches to rags, but can bad karma be spread via a surname? That lottery “winner’s” name: David Lee Edwards.

— Andy Young teaches English at a York County high school. He has never been arrested for piloting his yacht through a manatee zone.