"Can We All Get Along?"

Twenty-nine years old. I was working at the Los Angeles bureau of LIFE magazine. The LIFE bureau at that time was located at10880 Wilshire Blvd., Westwood, California. 

The brutal beating of Rodney King by four police officers was broadcast hundreds of times on television news.  A high speed car chase ended with the inebriated King suffering numerous injuries at the hands of four police officers claiming to subdue and arrest the man. 

April 29, 1992, 3:15 pm-- Most people I knew were shocked by Judge Weisberg’s acquittal of the officers on trial for beating Rodney King. 

6:45 pm -- The outrage of the acquittal led to the horrific beatings of Reginald Denny and Fidel Lopez. The video of the incident seemed to play on an endless loop. Violence, anger, hatred, and fear spread throughout the city.

Living north of I -10 in West Hollywood I felt safe somewhat removed from the violence. Outside my ground floor apartment I watched the smoke rise from the south, east, and southwest.  I felt the need to see what was happening.

Curfew in effect I jumped in my red Nissan pick-up truck to check out what was happening. I had official LIFE press pass and was hoping I would be immune from arrest and violence. My goal was to locate amateur photographers throughout the city and hopefully acquire great photos for possible publication. I spent little time thinking about any danger in my outings.  

I never anticipated the feeling of isolation as I drove the streets undisturbed. Occasionally I would spot or hear an emergency vehicle. There were very few police cars and no police in action. The National Guard was on its way but not in place as I headed south on La Brea Boulevard.

I drove slowly by burnt out building and buildings fully engulfed in flames, no fire trucks or police cars in site. I assumed they were patrolling other areas perhaps further north in the more affluent neighborhoods. 

I headed East stopping and handing out cards to the few brave souls snapping photos of the destruction, violence, and looting.  I sped by a Circuit City east of Hollywood as looters walked away with televisions and anything else they could carry.  Witnessing looters fighting over a small appliance I felt the need to find a safer place. I hurried home. Not one looter I saw was black. I tried to mentally grasp the mayhem I just witnessed in the predominantly Hispanic neighborhood north of Korea town.

That day I never thought Los Angeles would ever return to the city is was on April 28, 1992. When I returned to the office the National Guard soldier was standing on the corner of Glendon and Wilshire holding what appeared to be an M-16. The sight of the soldier in combat gear didn’t make me feel any safer. It made the atmosphere of fear more palpable. Living in a combat zone was what people were experiencing in Los Angeles.  It was surreal.  I wondered if things would ever return to “normal.”

The new world order was people living in isolation and fear.

Social Inequalities continue as well as police brutality. Racist acts of violence grab headlines everyday. It seems we are forever cast back to the infant stage of the equality learning curve. I think about Rodney King’s plea, “Can we all get along?” 

It's a sad answer.

Geo & God

I miss my friend and colleague George Blooston. I've been thinking about our Thursday afternoon jaunts to the 8th street farmers market in DC.  He always purchased a freshly made empanada, or 3---occasionally adding fresh peaches, heirloom tomatoes, or a pint of mushrooms to take home to share with his family. He always ate an empanada on the spot and was quick to offer a treat to a friend.  George's passion, emphatic intellectual wit, his easy comforting demeanor, his joy of life will be greatly missed.

George wrote the following last week; “God and journalists are often at opposite poles, one all knowing, one all seeking, searching for wider perspective.” George fought harder than any of us know against an aggressive cancer with a team of experts in the field at his side. Short of his hopes it, the cancer returned with a vengeance. His recent battle was more difficult than I can ever imagine though through my ears and eyes his spirit never waned.

His resolve to stay here with his family was vetoed this past Tuesday August 23, 2011. I imagine him arm wrestling God with his right hand while speaking loudly-- clearly, telling God that the almighty made a mistake. Perhaps the wider perspective is understood. There is one thing I know for sure.  The earth shook rather aggressively the day George left us. We all ran outside into a beautiful day.

I am fortunate for having known George.  I pray that Jeanne, Leo, and Isabelle will be comforted by George’s spirit. His legacy lives on in all who were lucky enough to know him.

IT IS WHAT IT IS

A near accident startled me this weekend. I narrowly avoided being hit by a speeding car at a fairly new four-lane intersection at the entrance to my street. Several years ago the approach to my house was a simple fork in the road.  All of the roads were quiet, wooded sleepy lanes nestled with summer cabins and cottages.

 In the past bearing right was all you needed to do. When giving driving directions I simply said, "Bear right at the fork in the road and continue up the hill. Simple."

Today there is a four-way intersection. The road to the left continues to be identified as Sunset Beach Road and what used to be a sleepy lane straight ahead is still called Bowers Lane. It’s much wider than it used to be and leads directly to a new highway. My road, the path to the right, is now called Beaumont Drive.  My new, old street. Some locals pronounce the fairly new name Boo-mont. I identify it as Bow-mont. Momentarily there is no way out of Beaumont. The road was just washed away by a flash flood.

I can’t find the street sign to this neglected state road. I think West Virginia misplaced the street during the re-naming of rural roads for 911 emergencies, a change in mapping that makes it easier for emergency response teams to find people in need.

Perhaps the state misplaced the street sign when the highway department built flood control drainage and changed the intersection at Beaumont and Sunset to accommodate the runoff all the new asphalt and concrete for recently completed highway 43.

I am certain no one could find me today because there is no street sign identifying the road on which I reside.  I suppose if someone had GPS tracking device they may find my street. When I Google my address on Google Earth a neighbors house at least 100 yards away is located with the Google zoom feature. I am actually fine with this Google faux pas. I think in most cases I would rather not be found by someone entering my address into a computer. I feel comfort knowing my home coordinates are not correct in the cybersphere. I guess I might be screwed if the bank or government started using Google mapping to prove property ownership. Of course, neighbors know exactly where I live as well as the taxman. The coordinate error led to the wrong location being pictured in my recent appraisal included in my mortgage documents. I didn't mention it. Should I have mentioned it? 

Can you truly be invisible? Can you live off the grid? You may be able to avoid being found if only for a while.  Eventually someone may appear out of nowhere. And there smack dead center into your nowhere another junction of dysfunction to reckon. 

It is what it is, so to speak.