Category Archives: Los Angeles

Los Angeles

WRITING: Ray Bradbury, an appreciation

There’s a great appreciation of Ray Bradbury, who died yesterday at 91, by Scott Timberg in Zocalo.

In it, among other things, Timberg wonders why it was California where science fiction writers flourished. He concludes that it was because there was no literary elite or hierarchy to disapprove of the genre.

Reminds me of Tijuana in the 1950s through the 1980s, where lots of poor people could join the middle class because there was no wealthy class controlling opportunity as there was in the long-established cities of Mexico’s interior.

Timberg sees a California vibe in Bradbury’s stories about Martians, and notes the author was a young autograph hound, with no college education, who wrote his first stuff on butcher paper, and Fahrenheit 451 on a UCLA library typewriter into which he had to keep pumping dimes.

“Libraries raised me,” Bradbury is quoted as saying. “I don’t believe in colleges and universities. I believe in libraries.”

Timberg writes the MisreadCity blog.

 

 

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LOS ANGELES: Ken McRoyal, Univ of Idaho football player

Today’s story on Ken McRoyal, slain University of Idaho football player, was a sad one to do. But it was also a remarkable tale, I thought as I was doing it.

The story was really about how a kid was coming into the world from real isolation of the Lower Ninth Ward in New Orleans, first, after the hurricane, to the Samoan community of Carson, then to the virtually all-white world of the school in Moscow, Idaho.

As I spoke to those who knew him well, I came to feel that even if he didn’t make it in the NFL, which, given his size, was a real longshot, he was going to find a way in life, motivated by the love for his daughter and a feeling, gained as he matured and saw new things in life, that he was capable of a lot.

It was, it seemed to me, a story about what college sports should be about, which is showing youths what they can achieve if they put in the effort — not shoe contracts, but a decent life.

 

Photo Credit: University of Idaho

 

 

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VIRGIN: The Virgin of Nadeau Street

Much of the sweetness of the Virgin of Guadalupe, I believe, lies in her eyes, which are cast down, and the humility that implies.

Always an oasis in LA, whenever I see her.

 

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LOS ANGELES: Carwasheros and the immigrant economy

Covered this story yesterday, about carwash workers suing a family that owns three car washes in the area.

There’s been several of these lawsuits lately, all alleging the same practices at different car washes: non-payment of overtime, breaks denied, pay records falsified, etc.

The story again showed how much of the LA economic ecosystem is made up so entirely of immigrants. Immigrant business owners; immigrant workers. Often the customers are immigrants. Such a major change in only a few decades.

Also, many of the Westside carwash workers come from one town — Libres, in the state of Puebla, Mexico. In occasionally covering this issue over the last few months, I’ve run into many from that town. They assure me that hundreds of men and women from Libres work in the carwash industry, particularly in Santa Monica, Palos Verdes, Malibu, Venice, and similar areas.

The guy I spoke to for the story, Marcial Hernandez, was one of them.

 

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LOS ANGELES: Westlake street

This is on a street in Westlake, just west of downtown L.A.

 

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LOS ANGELES: Someone Left the Cake Out in the Rain

I’ve been spending a lot of time lately at MacArthur Park.

So the sad passing at 63 of Donna Summer sent me scurrying to her version of “MacArthur Park” (youtube version) — with its classic “cake out in the rain” lyric, wondering what that lyric was all about, as I’d spent my life never really considering the question.

I know I’m not alone.

Did not know that Jimmy Webb, the song’s composer, wrote it as a metaphor for a breakup of a relationship — with Susan Ronstadt, cousin of American singing icon Linda Ronstadt. Apparently, the couple used to frequent the park — this coming, I presume, in the days before the park was run by the Columbia Lil Cycos clique of 18th Street.

Moreover, the cake/rain reference is why the song has been deemed the “worst” and the “oddest” ever written. (Waylon Jennings also did a version, so it couldn’t have been that bad.) However, later in the song there’s this pressed pants metaphor for the affair that makes you imagine that Webb must have been pretty overwrought at the breakup, his imagination running into high gear: “We were pressed, in love’s hot, fevered iron like a striped pair of pants.”

Apparently the relationship also inspired Webb’s “By the Time I Get to Phoenix.”

That must have been some love affair!

Webb’s quoted as saying, “I see it as a relatively simple love song with some very sad imagery and about things passing away and never being the same again.”And then in another interview: “Those lyrics were all very real to me; there was nothing psychedelic about it to me. The cake, it was an available object. It was what I saw in the park at the birthday parties. But people have very strong reactions to the song. There’s been a lot of intellectual venom.”

Sammy Cahn called the song a “major piece of work” and compared it to Rhapsody in Blue. It was in the Top Ten twice — once in 1968, with Richard Harris’s version, then a decade later for the late Miss Summer.

Shouldn’t surprise anyone that there’s a blog, Someone Left the Cake out in the Rain.

Or a Pinterest photo collection. Or a Mardi Gras float.

Urban Dictionary says “a cake out in the rain” has come to mean an eccentric person.

So, because I know that by now you want it, here are the lyrics in full to  Jim Webb’s …

MACARTHUR PARK

Spring was never waiting for us till
it ran one step ahead
as we followed in the dance.

Between the parted pages
we were pressed,
in love’s hot, fevered iron
like a striped pair of pants.

Mac Arthur’s Park is melting in the dark
all the sweet green icing flowing down
someone left the cake out in the rain
I don’t think that I can take it
’cause it took so long to bake it
and I’ll never have that recipe again
Oh, nooo!

I recall the yellow cotton dress
foaming like a wave
on the ground beneath your knees
birds like tender babies in your hands
and the old men playing
Chinese checkers
by the trees

Mac Arthur Park’s is melting in the dark
all the sweet green icing flowing down
someone left the cake out in the rain
I don’t think that I can take it
’cause it took so long to bake it
and I’ll never have that recipe again
Oh, nooo!

There’ll be another song for me
and I will sing it
there’ll be another dream for me
someone will bring it
I will drink the wine while it is warn
and never let you catch me
looking at the sun, oh yeah
and after all the loves of my life
after all loves in my life
you’ll be the one

I will take my life into my hands
and I will use it
I will win the worship in their eyes
and I will lose it
I will have the things that I desire
and my passion flow
like rivers through the sky
oh and after all the loves in my life
after all the loves in my life
you’ll still be the one
and I’ll ask myself why.

Mac Arthur’s Park is melting in the dark
all the sweet green icing flowing down
someone left the cake out in the rain
I don’t think that I can take it
’cause it took so long to bake it
and I’ll never have that recipe again
Oh, nooo!

 

 

 

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LOS ANGELES: Prom Dress

This was on display in a Broadway dress shop downtown.

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LOS ANGELES: R.I.P. Chalino Sanchez

Perhaps the most influential musical figure to emerge out of Los Angeles in a generation was Chalino Sanchez, who was found shot to death 20 years ago today outside Culiacan, the capital city of his native state of Sinaloa, Mexico.

An unlettered immigrant who spoke no English, he virtually singlehandedly created the narcocorrido genre of music, with songs he composed himself that act today as an oral history of the lawless ranchos — villages — of Sinaloa, Durango, Chihuahua and other northwest Mexican states, where impunity and drug trafficking were rife.

On May 15, 1992, he’d given a show in Culiacan and gone out afterwards with friends. A group of men dressed as policemen stopped the caravan of cars and took Chalino. His body was found in a field the next day with two bullets in his head.

Sanchez was already an underground star in LA by then. His death confirmed his street cred and he became a phenomenon. He is today a legend and well known to kids who weren’t even born when he was alive.

Chalino also did the impossible by making tubas, accordions and clarinets hip and cool instruments, so much so that young Latino kids would blast tuba- and accordion-based polkas from their trucks as they drove down the streets of towns in southeast LA County. Still do.

Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of LA-born kids followed him, becoming narcocorrido singers and sounding and looking just like the master.

I’ve always felt, though, that they imitated the wrong part of Chalino — his dress, his raw style of singing. Instead, the point of Chalino’s life, I’ve always thought, was to follow your own vision, your own way of doing things. People would tell him to shut up, that he couldn’t sing. “I don’t sing; I bark,” he said, fully aware of his own musical shortcomings. But he kept on, trusting his own experience and ability. he wrote corridos from the people he met in LA; recorded them in small studios, then sold the cassettes of these songs at Mexican bakeries, butcher shops and at swap meets.

DIY — that’s how great things are accomplished.

The narcocorrido scene he fathered in LA was one of the great DIY musical movements to come out of LA. First was punk, in Hollywood. Then gangster rap out of Compton. Then narcocorridos out of Huntington Park, Paramount, and other southeast LA County cities.

You can read more about him in my first book, True Tales From Another Mexico: The Lynch Mob, the Popsicle Kings, Chalino and the Bronx.

There’s a concert in his honor on Friday at the Gibson Amphitheater, which should be great, and a tour coming out of that later this year.

A great punkrock spirit. RIP Chalino Sanchez.

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LOS ANGELES: “This is a business trip”

I was at a church service for junior college athletes, several of whom are from out of town. It’s held in El Segundo and aimed at bringing kids together who really felt out of place in LA.

I met these three fellows — Jamsky Baptiste, Jahrie Level and Luckner Brady — all wide receivers at El Camino College and all from Miami, here studying, playing ball and getting grades in shape to be able to get a scholarship to a four-year school. Level already has one to U of Texas, El Paso and leaves later this summer.

Los Angeles, apparently, and California generally, attract lots of out-of-state junior college football talent, particularly from states that don’t have JCs or don’t have JCs with football programs, Florida being one.

The weekly church meeting allows them to get a full meal and feel a little at home in a place they don’t know and where they have no car. Respectful, cheerful, friendly, and maybe a little daunted by LA, each was nevertheless certain that an NFL career awaited him.

“This is a business trip,” said Brady, of his El Camino sojourn. “I got kids to feed.”

I wish them all great luck.

 

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LOS ANGELES: Broadway Shoeshine Man

Saw this guy during the May Day parade on Broadway.

He stood like this, unmoving, as I snapped some shots and stayed that way when I left.

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LOS ANGELES: A sauna that’s my favorite place in Hollywood

Check out a column in today’s LA Times about the sauna in Hollywood, in the club now owned by LA Fitness, where I love to spend time in and which is well worth visiting for all it can tell you about Los Angeles, I think.

I always liked the idea of the region as a place where people come and live with their own, more or less oblivious to others from elsewhere who live nearby. This, too, is on display in the sauna.

It’s a raw place; you may hear things that offend a PC sensibility, but L.A.’s geography of multiculturalism can be messy, which makes it so interesting.

Don’t pay attention to the commenter who says the only language you hear in there is Spanish. That’s nonsense.

 

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LOS ANGELES: Who was that masked man?

Yesterday, the May Day march was the smallest it’s been since it began in Los Angeles in 2006. (Here’s the LA Times story.)

Absent are the vast numbers of immigrants and their families — the region’s working class essentially — who populated the first marches and gave them an organic energy.

Nowadays, a much higher percentage of marchers is made up of youths with masks and bandanas covering their faces, and often with anarchist slogans, such as “Abolish Wage Slavery,” and calling for an end to the Federal Reserve.

 

 

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MIGRANTS: Salvadorans and Koreans

Yesterday I spent some time with Salvadoran immigrants as they inaugurated the corner of Pico and Vermont as Monsenor Oscar Romero Square.

An interesting exertion of the ethnic presence in an area where Latinos are the majority population, but the economic power is largely Korean.

These kinds of (I’ll call them) tensions make I think for interesting stories. The square and a hoped-for El Salvadoran Corridor down Vermont was presented to me as a way of having Salvadorans recognized, but also saying to Koreans that Salvadorans are here and to be taken into account.

Salvadorans were stung two years ago when Korean-American leaders tried to expand the official boundaries of Koreatown to include (largely Latino) Pico-Union without consulting them.

It’s unclear how forceful a square or corridor will be — but the precedent of Chinatown, Koreatown, Little Tokyo, Little Armenia, etc. is there. So Salvadorans feel they have something coming, too.

The other interesting point to come out of it, seems to me, is that the Salvadorans pushing this are, for the first time, business owners and Salvadoran-Americans, and mostly younger.

The Salvadoran community took shape in the 1980s amid lots of attention to its civil war. Nonprofits formed here to attend to the needs of the new refugees. The folks who ran these nonprofits became the public face of the Salvadoran community and have been there ever since. The business community was small and disorganized and the political class was nonexistent. (Salvadorans still have elected no one to public office in LA County.) Yet these nonprofit leaders, apparently, often clashed with each other over; occasionally the dividing lines were the same as those during the civil war. Most folks I spoke with count this as a reason why Salvadoran economic and political power has lagged here in L.A.

But that now seems to be changing, as a new generation steps forward, and seems to leave behind the divisions created by the country’s civil war (1980-92). Be interesting to watch how it unfolds.

 

 

 

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MIGRANTS: Carmen of Honduras

I was at a ceremony inaugurating the corner of Pico and Vermont as Monsenor Oscar Romero Square, and I met Carmen, who asked if I had any work for a housekeeper.

I said I didn’t, but she seemed nice, with good references, she assured me, so if you have any work for a housekeeper, let me know.

 

 

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LOS ANGELES: Virgin of the Sundown

Another in my continuing attempt to photograph all the Virgins of Guadalupe in Los Angeles — this in South L.A., on Central Avenue, I believe.

 

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