Category Archives: Los Angeles

Los Angeles

LOS ANGELES: Mayhem round-up

Occasionally, reporters deal with a scattered blast of stories. I did this a lot in Stockton years ago when I was a crime reporter there: the mayhem round-up.

Today, it was  a shooting of a robbery suspect by USC public safety officers near the school’s fraternity row, this coming early in the a.m. A sensitive event, as last week two USC grad students from China were killed in a car late at night.

Then at noon, a press conference about an ex-con who allegedly developed a business model of driving around town in a Mercedes convertible looking for cars to break into, mostly near movie studios. Usually the cars had property in plain sight. They charged him with receiving stolen property, something he was on probation for already.

Cops displayed a few tables of loot they’d confiscated at his house (see photo), most of which they were still sorting through but some of which was already shown to be stolen.

A remarkable haul: cameras, lenses, iPads, iPods, cellphones of various brands, laptops, external hard drives, comic books, backpacks, watches, jewelry, foreign currency and $24,000 in U.S. cash.

Then there was the death — no foul play suspected — of a CSU San Bernardino student in his dormitory. This is the school where my old Claremont High School friend (CHS ’77) Sid Robinson is the director of communications. Cheers, Sid!

 

 

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LOS ANGELES: A legend of the raspado

I spent some time yesterday with a legendary street vendor.

Ramiro — don’t know his last name — spent 15 years as a street vendor before moving to an established shop a month ago. He’s from San Andres Yaa in the Sierra Juarez in Oaxaca.

In the neighborhood west of MacArthur Park, he was famous for his raspados — shaved ice, snow cones essentially, though with amazing flavors added, such as mango, coconut, cucumber, various chile powders. (During colder weather, he sold steamed corn. Made it all in his house.)

People would form lines for his raspados and some got his cellphone number so they could find him each day.  But the police have been tougher on street vendors lately, so he rented a shop and is easy to find, in his business at James Woods Boulevard and Westmoreland Avenue.

However, he shows signs of not really having left the street behind. When I visited, he did almost everything — just as I imagine he did on the street — while his wife and two employees stood around and watched the maestro at work.

The world of street vendors in LA is now deep and rich — with must be thousands of people making their living this way: selling sodas, fruit, corn, Popsicles, hot dogs, candy, and more. A robust informal economic ecosystem with direct roots in Mexico and Central America.

Quite controversial, too, as tax-paying, rent-paying merchants see no reason why they should have to compete with others who don’t. The health department, too, has issues with the way a lot of the food is prepared and stored.

 

 

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LOS ANGELES: Transgenders in jail

Wrote this story off a meeting Thursday night between transgender folks and LAPD Chief Charlie Beck and his command staff.

Very interesting meeting, in part because of what didn’t happen. No heated exchanges, no accusations — as has happened often in previous meetings, I was told. The whole thing ended early — this in a meeting between two groups which have historically had many contentious dealings.

LAPD announced new a jail policy and a new officer training on dealing with transgenders on the street.

The comment to the story by DELTA5 is interesting, and well expressed — adding to the complexity of this story, seemed to me.

I think he has a point. The one thing transgender women — men dressing and identifying as women, even to the point of breast/buttock/cheek implants, but not a sex change —  cannot change is their hands. They remain large and do not get smaller with hormone treatments, and thus remain potential weapons in a jail setting.

 

 

 

 

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LOS ANGELES: In Praise of the 4 Bus

Took this off a Yelp entry….A young woman, name of Oiyan P. writes of why she likes the 4 bus, which heads out of downtown LA and out to Santa Monica….Very hip….

“I ride this bus and the 704 up and down Santa Monica Blvd., to City Yoga, to Java Detour, down into Santa Monica, and even to Dodgers games.  For my roommate, whose a So Cal native, what I do is CRAZY! Having grown up on mass public transit in Boston, and learning to feel like a car was a burden, I love me some public transportation.
“I must say that this bus and the 704 has a mix of very interesting characters. Grannies, trannies, backpackers, and crazy people! Most of the time when I only go 2-3 stops and stay within WeHo, there will be some crazy looking grannies and trannies. I know it’s totally politically incorrect of me to say this, but when a man trans to a woman, I really think she should get fashion/makeup lessons. This one time after yoga, I waited at the bus stop with a very tall M to F, who was wearing some leopard print, clunky biker boots, and a man’s black overcoat, with some chandelier gold earrings, really long nails painted hot pink, and her make up… oh my… her make up reminded me of the scary dude from Silence of the Lambs. You know that scene where he’s putting on lipstick all over his lips and face and saying, “F*ck me.” OMG, when i see these ladies, I really want to talk with them about the art of make up. Perhaps even suggest they go to Muse Atelier and pay Atticus a visit.

“Don’t mess with the Russian immigrant grannies either. They hock loogies and spit with some serious distance.

“And of course there’s the plain crazy people who talk to themselves and no one and everyone all at once.

“And then there are the Japanese and European backpackers who just look completely shocked.

“The other day I got in a conversation with an ex-con, a 2nd striker. One more, and he told me he’s going off to the clink for life. He was really nice, and we had some good conversation about baseball.

“I really do love taking public transit. You meet some amazing people from everywhere. It’s just too bad that sometimes the bus is in bad need of some clean up inside. The best part is that I only fill my gas tank about once a month now, and I pay $50 for 3 months of a bus pass. Love it!

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LOS ANGELES: Chinese USC students killed

Today’s story was of the two USC engineering students from China shot to death on a street in the West Adams district early Wednesday.

The area is a mix of old two-story elegant wood-frame homes, which I’m tempted to call Craftsmans though I don’t think they officially are, and 1980s dingbat apartments — the kind that look like they’re up on stilts, with poles/carports underneath, no open space, and which almost always lead to a degradation of a neighborhood, at least in LA.

USC students, mostly from abroad, and Latino workers in L.A.’s service industries live in the area.

Police seem to have very little on the crime. Could be a carjacking, or a straight-up robbery. A crime of passion?

I worked with Rosanna Xia, a Times colleague who speaks Chinese and did really great work. Chinese, English, Spanish — the three languages of the 21st Century, at least for this part of the world.

 

 

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LOS ANGELES: Vin Scully

Can’t say I love the Dodgers, or even my dear colleague TJ Simers, whom I’ve never met, but his column today is worth reading.

Vin Scully is one of the great things about Los Angeles. In a time when most sports announcers sound like insurance salesmen, possessed of a cardboard sense of language, he’s got a depth of vocabulary and imagination that is beautiful to listen to. A great reporter, Mr. Scully. There’s something about his tone of voice, too, particularly at dramatic moments in a game, that just exudes excitement. For guitar players, it’s like listening to a 1950s Fender Telecaster through a pre-CBS Twin Reverb.

Don’t know how he tolerated Ross Porter or Jerry Doggett for so long.

This guy in the photo with him, Roberto Baly, writes a blog when his baby is sleeping titled Vin Scully is my Homeboy, which is very hip. Check it out.

 

 

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LOS ANGELES: Homeless Good Friday

I spent Good Friday in the Hollywood Hills with some police and deputy sheriffs, who were removing homeless encampments. (Here’s the LAT story.)

One homeless fellow lived high into the hills. Two officers and I followed him up to where he had his tent. It was well above the Hollywood cross, where his neighbors were a hawk and a deer and another homeless guy.

He said he was bi-polar, and had been in prison in Missouri and was out in LA escaping a bad marriage, among other things. He made the trip up the hill every night, he said.

Down below were new houses near Lake Hollywood, where officers tell me the new residents are now bothered by people coming up to look at the Hollywood sign.

Anyway, we moved him out of there. He carried a large suitcase on his back past the cross and down that hill, off a promontory from which we had a virtually 360-degree view of Southern California.

The officers and I grabbed bedding and bags of his belongings, one of which was a Star Wars light sabre.

He gave me a staff, saying it was given him by the “necromancer” and could raise the dead. He had a Darth Vader mask as well.

Down below, the Ford Theaters advertised an upcoming show as “Naked Before God.”

The religious symbolism never stopped coming all morning.

 

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LOS ANGELES: Homeless Hollywood (encampment signs)

I spent yesterday with police and Sheriff’s deputies as they traversed hills and freeway embankments looking for homeless folks. They moved them out, offered them services, such as shelter housing, which some of them took. (See the LAT story.)

One encampment had nine people, sleeping in a line next to a wall that ran along an on-ramp to southbound Highway 101. The place was strewn with bedding, cigarette and fast food wrappers, and hand-made signs. Here are a few.

 

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LOS ANGELES: Sweet tombstone

Headstone, Hollywood Forever Cemetery

I don’t know who this woman was, but I thought this tombstone was a nice, simple way to say a lot.

 

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LOS ANGELES: Eduardo, Justin Bieber and Me

Donut Shop

So I was in this donut shop today — it’s at Santa Monica and Western, a neighborhood of Central Americans and Oaxacans.

I often go to donut shops to write, as it puts me in neighborhoods that don’t often see a Times reporter.

As I sat there writing, facing the door, who should pull up but teen pop heartthrob Justin Bieber, with his girlfriend, whose name escapes me for the moment.I didn’t first recognize him as he was wearing a wool cap hiding all his hair, but his BMW didn’t really fit in the parking lot of older model Nissans and Toyotas and Fords.

Wikipedia, if I can believe it, informs me that he’s Canadian and just turned 18.

Anyway, they get out, walk in to the Subway shop next door — advertising 6″ sandwiches, buy one, get one free — and five minutes later walk out with the sandwiches and get in a drive off. I heard later that he’d just purchased property in Calabasas.

It was not a little surreal, like a movie or a river passing before my eyes — there went a pregnant mother, a couple of construction workers, a skateboard kid, Justin Bieber and his girlfriend, a woman pushing a stroller and leading a kid licking a lollipop …

A while after that, I got into a conversation in the shop with a Guatemalan guy named Eduardo. Eduardo is a metal recycler. He buys junk metal and recycles it. Most of his clients are auto shops and he travels all over Southern California to get their discarded metal, from Riverside in the Inland Empire out to Thousand Oaks in Ventura County.

Seemed like a couple of strange encounters, but just like Los Angeles.

 

 

 

 

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LOS ANGELES: Paartaaay!!!

This party story in Holmby Hills, near Westwood, reminds me of high school a bit — just on steroids.

Five hundred people showing up in half an hour, outside your home. Cell phones like cigarette lighters.

I love the woman, Ms. Newman — who overnight becomes my armchair tech philosopher.

 

 

 

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LOS ANGELES: “Some weird things wash up in our city”

The LA suburb of El Segundo saw a boatload of illegal immigrants come ashore on Wednesday morning; they were taken into custody.

Boats — flat panga boats in particular (used by Mexican fishermen) — are the new transport vehicle in the coyote business. El Segundo is about as far north as I’ve heard them landing.

At first, they were landing in San Diego, then ICE got wise, and they began landing in Orange County. Crystal Cove woke up to a few launches, with footsteps in the sand.

Now they’re coming ashore well into LA County.

 

 

 

 

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MIGRANTS: A Oaxacan baker and the “The Radicalism of the American Revolution”

Juan Gutierrez, Oaxacan baker in Santa Monica

I’ve been reading The Radicalism of the American Revolution by historian Gordon Wood lately. The book talks about the ways in which colonists were breaking from dependence on each other and from Britain, from traditions of England, from old religions to a new, individualistic Great Awakening and new ways of thinking, making a living and doing business.

This break from the Old World and creation of the New has always intrigued me.

Thus I was fascinated to listen to the story of Juan Gutierrez, a Zapotec Indian from a village in Oaxaca, and the owner of Panaderia Antequera in Santa Monica, which was the first Oaxacan-owned business in the LA area when it opened in 1985 or so.

We spoke in his bakery (17th and Ocean Park) the other day.

He and his wife began baking in their house, then found the small shop that was barely surviving and took it over. With the huge population of Oaxacan Indians on LA’s west side (the reasons for which are themselves fascinating, but which I’ll go into later), business has been great almost from the start, and this has encouraged other Oaxacan Indians to start their own.

Living and doing business here, far from the traditions and customs of his village, Gutierrez has had his own awakening, new ways of viewing what’s possible.

Running a business in Santa Monica, he was at the same time dealing with the 17th Century, in the form of demands by villagers back home that he return to do what’s known as his tequio or servicio. Indian villages in Mexico require members in good standing to perform a servicio, unpaid for three years.

This communal custom goes back hundreds of years and has been essential to the functioning of Indian villages. Those who don’t perform it can have their land, houses and property confiscated.

Now, though, many villagers live in the US, with responsibilities up here. Even if they have legal residency, it’s still expensive to go home; if they do not have papers, it’s even more so to return. Plus, they no longer are thinking like the young migrants they were when they arrived from the village as teenagers.

Mr. Gutierrez noted that the village depended on remittances from paisanos in the US, who had also donated money to the annual fiesta each year and funded improvements to city hall and the local school.

He offered to pay someone to do his servicio, saying he had a family and business up here and both needed his attention.

But the village authorities, in his view motivated by envy and believing him rich because he owned a business, insisted he come personally, to be a city councilman for three years.

So for three years he lived in the Old World and the New.

More later on what happened.

 

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LOS ANGELES: Dwayne Alexander

I spent yesterday on the story of Dwayne Alexander, the counselor at the Los Angeles Job Corps who was stabbed to death Wednesday by one of the students at the center.

I was struck by how his friends, some from years ago, spoke about him, and overwhelmed because of that, as the day went on, by what a sweet and solid guy he must have been in life. They described him as “a gentle soul” and “a very kind spirit,” rarely angry and never a braggart. These would be rare qualities, I suspect, in the world of record label promotion, which is where he spent much of his career. I suspect also that they would have been enormously helpful as a job counselor for youths on the edge.

He seemed also the kind of guy who had a long-term goal — screenwriting and production — that was his guiding compass. No matter what he did, he was headed that way.

But he interrupted it all to go back home to Tulsa to help his mother recover from double knee-replacement surgery a few years back.

“People say the good die young,” R&B singer Millie Jackson told me, “and this was a totally good example of that.”

 

 

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MIGRANTS: Curandero Carlos, Guatemalan Witch Doctor

Yesterday, I met Hermano Carlos, a curandero, or witch doctor, from Guatemala.

One of the great botanicas in all LA, his place on Pico, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite streets in town.

His place is filled with soaps to Keep Hate Away, and aerosol sprays for love, and candles, Santa Muerte, San Simon, Jesus Malverde, and every kind of icon to ward off evil and welcome good luck and happiness. A lot of it’s made in China.

He said he’s been curing people since he was 5, and came here in 1988, fleeing Guatemala’s civil war.

Initially, he had some competition from El Indio Amazonico, a strange fellow who seemed to franchise out his curing shops and had several the last time I looked. But Carlos said those shops seem to be closing, so Hermano Carlos has more business. The recession hasn’t hurt either, as more people have come to him for help finding work.

He had to interrupt our chat to read the cards of a client who happened by. More later.

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